Michael lay at home for three days.
Not sleeping, just lying there.
He lay on the living room sofa, staring at the ceiling, not even turning on the TV.
Amanda De Santa thought he was depressed and brought him a bowl of soup, placing it on the coffee table.
He took a sip, it was cold, and he set it back down.
He still kept Trevor’s text message.
“I’ll be back anytime.” These few words were like a blade hanging over his head, not knowing when it would fall.
Richard came to see him, bringing a box of pizza.
“Are you still afraid?” Richard placed the pizza on the coffee table.
“I’m not afraid.” Michael sat up.
“I’m just thinking about things.”
“Thinking about what?”
“Thinking about Brad.” Michael’s voice was very low.
“Trevor said Brad was his only brother.
You know, Brad was my brother too.
I dream about him every night—not that day in North Yankton, but even earlier.
The three of us in Liberty City, robbing our first convenience store.
Brad drove the car onto the sidewalk when he hit the gas, almost killing an old lady.
Trevor yelled at him the whole way, but when we got to the safe house, Trevor was the first to laugh.”
Michael picked up a slice of pizza, then put it back down.
“Sometimes I feel like it’s wrong that I survived.
Maybe I’m the one who should have died, not Brad.”
Richard sat beside Michael, remained silent for a moment, and then said, “Michael, it’s not wrong that you survived.
You just made the only choice you could at the time.
Dave gave you a chance—fake your death, get a new identity, start over.
If you hadn’t agreed, you would have died, and Trevor would have died too—because the FBI wouldn’t have let any of you go.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I understand the FBI,” Richard lied.
“Their way of doing things is to pick people off one by one.
Dave chose you not because you were lucky, but because you were the most valuable—you could help him catch bigger fish.”
Michael looked at Richard with a complex expression.
“Sometimes you sound like an old man, with all these theories.”
“I’m young but mature for my age.”
Michael finally smiled, though it was just a slight upward curve of his lips.
He picked up the pizza and took a large bite.
“Fine, let’s not talk about that.
What did you come to see me for?”
“Lester has a new plan.” Richard pulled out his phone and opened an encrypted file sent by Lester.
“The next target—the FBI.”
Michael’s pizza dropped onto the coffee table.
“The FBI?
The FBI?
Are you crazy?”
“Not robbing the FBI headquarters, but robbing the dirty money they’ve collected.” Richard handed the phone to Michael.
That company is called Merryweather.”
“Merryweather?” Michael frowned.
“That military contractor?”
“Yes.
Their vault is at the Los Santos Docks, and the security is ten times stronger than the jewelry store.
But Lester says if we can find the internal blueprints, we can find a loophole.”
Michael handed the phone back to Richard.
“This is too dangerous.
We already took a risk with the jewelry store, and you got shot.
Do it again, and you might lose your life.”
“That’s why we’ll be more careful this time,” Richard said.
“We need more manpower, more equipment, and a more precise plan.”
“Like what?”
“For example, we need a hacker who can interfere with the surveillance system—Lester.
We need a pilot who can fly a helicopter—do you know someone like that?”
Michael thought for a moment.
“I know a retired Air Force pilot living near Lago Zancudo.
He owes me a favor.”
“We also need an explosives expert who can blow open the vault door—Boomer Dan, we worked with him last time, we can find him again.”
“We also need an ‘insider’ who can handle Merryweather’s security system.”
Michael looked at Richard.
“Do you have a suitable candidate?”
Richard shook his head.
“Not yet.
But Lester says he has a’shortlist’ of ex-convicts just released from prison.
We can go interview them.”
“Interview criminals?” Michael couldn’t help but laugh.
“How is that any different from hiring employees?”
“The difference is, employees steal your money; criminals help you steal other people’s money.”
Michael thought about it and felt that while the logic was warped, it wasn’t wrong.
“Fine,” Michael stood up and closed the pizza box.
“Starting tomorrow, we recruit.
But before that, you have to do one thing for me.”
“What thing?”
“Help Jimmy shut down his counterfeit business.
The police are already investigating, and I don’t want my son going to prison before I do.”
Richard nodded.
“I’m working on it.
But it will take time.”
“How long?”
“A week.”
“In a week, whether it’s shut down or not, we start preparing for the FBI heist.”
The two shook hands.
Richard’s hand was a size smaller than Michael’s, but his grip was firm.
As he left Michael’s house, Richard’s phone vibrated:
Status: In Preparation.
Sub-quest 1: Recruit team members (0/4)
Sub-quest 2: Obtain Merryweather vault blueprints
Sub-quest 3: Prepare equipment (weapons, vehicles, explosives)
Sub-quest 4: Execute the heist
Estimated Reward: 3M+, Reputation significantly increased, unlock new area.
Richard looked at the task list and took a deep breath.
The jewelry store was just a “test of the waters”; the FBI was the real “big job.” And this time, he wouldn’t get shot again—he swore it.
Meanwhile, in the Desert, Trevor was directing a group of Mexicans to move crates of counterfeit goods from a truck into a warehouse.
He stood at the warehouse door, holding a fake Rolex, looking at it against the light.
“Good job,” he tossed the watch to a subordinate.
“It’s yours.”
The subordinate caught the watch, overwhelmed by the favor.
“Thank you, Trevor!”
“Don’t thank me.
Thank that Country C boss.” Trevor walked out of the warehouse, looking at the night sky.
“He gave me a hundred million worth of goods, and I only gave him a middle finger.”
Franklins Assistant whispered a reminder from the side: “It was one million, not a hundred million.”
“Same thing.”
Trevor jumped onto the truck and started the engine.
He suddenly remembered something—Walter had mentioned a name during the negotiation, “Lin.” He said, “There’s someone named Lin at the factory in charge of quality control; if you need high-end replicas, you can go to him directly.”
Named Lin.
Trevor frowned.
It couldn’t be Richard, could it?
He shook his head—impossible.
Richard was hanging around Michael in Los Santos; why would he be a quality control inspector in a Guangzhou factory?
But Trevor still sent a text to Franklins Assistant: [Check if there’s someone named Richard in Walter’s factory.]
Franklins Assistant replied instantly: [Which Richard?]
[The Country C guy around Michael.]
[Why do you suspect him?]
[Intuition.] Trevor sent those two words and then turned off his phone.
Under the Desert starlight, Trevor’s intuition was like a dormant scorpion, ready to strike at its suspected target at any moment.
But this time, it struck in the wrong direction—or rather, it struck too early.
Richard was far away in Los Santos, packing counterfeit goods with Jimmy, completely unaware of this conversation in the Desert.
But the system on his phone suddenly popped up a yellow warning:
Warning: Your identity information is being queried.
Querier: Trevor Philips’ faction.
Suggestion: Establish a trust relationship with Trevor as soon as possible, otherwise your Transmigrator identity may be exposed.
Richard looked at the warning, a chill running down his back.
“Trevor is checking on me?
Why?”
No one answered him.
The night breeze of Los Santos blew by, carrying the distant sounds of sirens and barking dogs.
Richard closed the warning and continued packing fakes, but a knot had formed in his heart—a knot named Trevor Philips that could explode at any time.