The evening sky looked gloomy as Braddy parked his car in front of a small coffee shop near the main road.
Inside, Jackson was already seated, smoking, while Jay tapped his fingers on the table.
Reggy, who had just arrived on his old motorcycle, patted Braddy on the shoulder as soon as he saw him.
“You look dead serious, Brad,” Jackson said half-jokingly, exhaling smoke into the air.
“Something important?”
Braddy looked at them one by one.
His gaze was firm, yet carried a tension he couldn’t quite hide.
“Do you know the address of RexFinance?” he asked bluntly.
Reggy, known for knowing the ins and outs of the city streets, immediately nodded.
“Yeah. A small shop-house on Veranda Timur Street, number 14. Dark blue walls, worn-out signboard—but inside, it’s like a spider’s nest. Many go in, few come out unharmed.”
Jackson narrowed his eyes.
“You sure you want to go there? That’s no ordinary financial institution. They deal with people who never show up on the country’s tax records.”
Braddy’s stare sharpened.
“I don’t care. I just want one thing done today—Florentina’s debt. I won’t let her live in fear anymore.”
Jay took a sip of his coffee, looking uncertain.
“Flora… she’s the girl who got kidnapped, right?”
Braddy nodded.
“Yes. And I won’t let her life be controlled by people who treat humans like numbers in a ledger.”
Half an hour later, their car stopped in front of a modest two-story shop-house.
The faded metal sign read *RexFinance*.
From the outside, it looked ordinary—but the atmosphere was suffocating, as if something lurked behind its walls.
The four of them stepped out.
Braddy walked in front, Jackson followed behind, alert.
Jay and Reggy flanked both sides, blending in with passing pedestrians.
Inside, the room was neat and clean.
Cream-colored walls, working air conditioning, a polished reception desk.
Yet beneath that orderliness lingered a thick aura of suspicion.
A heavyset man in a white shirt sat behind the desk, giving a thin, unfriendly smile.
“How can I help you?” he asked flatly.
Braddy stepped forward, placing a folder on the table.
“I want to settle a loan under the name Florentina.”
The man glanced at his computer screen, then smiled wider—mockingly.
“A hundred-dollar loan, yes? The current payoff amount is six hundred and twenty dollars.”
Braddy didn’t react.
He simply opened his wallet, pulled out several hundred-dollar bills, and placed them on the desk.
“Here. One hundred fifty dollars. I’m paying the principal and reasonable interest. The rest—consider it nonexistent.”
The man chuckled, his voice sharp like broken glass.
“Hey, what is this? Are you joking? Do you know our rules?”
Jackson, standing behind Braddy, crossed his arms.
His face cold.
“Do you know banking regulations?”
“This isn’t a bank,” the man snapped.
“Good,” Braddy cut in.
“Then you have no right to add interest however you like.”
The man snorted, his fingers moving toward a small bell beside the desk.
“Who do you think you are? You can’t do this.”
But before he could press it, Jackson moved swiftly, pointing a small gun at the desk.
“Don’t,” he said calmly but sharply.
“You press that, and I guarantee today ends badly for you.”
The man froze.
The atmosphere turned suffocating.
Only the ticking of the wall clock could be heard.
“This is robbery!” he shouted reflexively.
Braddy shook his head, voice low but firm.
“I don’t want your money. I don’t want trouble. This isn’t robbery—it’s debt settlement. You take this money, or I report all your illegal practices to the police.”
The man glared at them with hatred.
“You think you can come here and run things?”
“I don’t like playing dirty,” Braddy replied.
“But I’m not afraid to get dirty if I have to.” He leaned closer until their faces were inches apart.
The man recoiled.
Braddy stepped back, signaling Jackson to lower his weapon.
Before leaving, Jackson stared coldly at the man.
“I hope there won’t be any more bills or intimidation toward Florentina. Make even a small mistake, and I’ll come back. And next time, I won’t be talking.” He briefly raised the gun again.
Reggy, walking last, grinned, showing his gold tooth under the neon light.
“Remember—Flora’s debt… is PAID.”
The door closed softly behind them.
The humid evening air felt like freedom to Braddy, though his chest still felt tight.
They walked to the car in silence, their footsteps echoing on the damp sidewalk.
But far from there, another threat had already begun to move.
A black sedan stopped in front of a small guest house on the outskirts of the city.
Two figures dressed in black stepped out silently.
Their faces were covered, their movements swift and precise.
One picked the gate lock with a thin tool while the other stood guard.
Within seconds, they were in the backyard.
They pried open the kitchen door, the faint crack of wood blending with the whisper of the wind.
Upstairs, Flora—who had felt watched since morning—heard faint sounds below.
Her heart pounded wildly.
She turned off her bedroom light and hid in the wardrobe, holding her breath.
Her body trembled as cold sweat dripped down her temples.
Footsteps approached.
The bedroom door creaked open.
“She’s here,” one of the masked men whispered.
The wardrobe door was yanked open.
Before she could scream, Flora was restrained and bound.
They dragged her downstairs toward the back door.
But in the backyard, the sudden roar of a motorcycle engine shattered the silence.
Two figures appeared—dressed in dark clothing, wearing full-face helmets, holding guns.
“Let her go!” one shouted.
The masked man turned, raising his weapon—but a gunshot rang out first.
The bullet hit his calf, sending him stumbling.
His partner tried to fire back, but a second shot struck the wall near his head.
Panicking, they fled to their car and sped off, leaving Flora on the ground, still tied.
One of the rescuers rushed forward, removing his helmet—it was Jay.
“Easy, Flora,” he said quickly, untying her hands.
“You’re safe now.”
Flora looked at him with teary eyes.
“They… they knew I was here.”
Jackson, standing in the doorway with his gun still in hand, said coldly, “That means someone leaked your location.”
Braddy arrived minutes later, breathing heavily from running.
Seeing Flora safe, he lowered his head in relief—but his eyes burned with anger.
“We have to move her today,” he told Jackson.
Jackson nodded.
“I know a place. Safe. No one will find her.”
Reggy glanced at the wounded attacker.
“We just leave him?”
Braddy looked toward the empty road where the black car had disappeared.
“No. We find out who sent them. If they think this is a game, we’ll show them who’s really moving the pieces.”
Flora still trembled.
In Braddy’s arms, his hand felt warm and steady—like an unspoken promise.
At John Terano’s house, Mark Bean sat in the living room examining a folder.
Celestine appeared, dressed neatly.
“Don’t tell me you came to see me,” she said coldly.
“No, madam.
Braddy called me.
He’s taking a shower.”
“Shower?” Celestine frowned.
“Wasn’t he out?”
A cough was heard.
Braddy descended from the second floor wearing pajamas, his hair still wet.
Celestine was startled.
According to the servants, Braddy had left early that morning—yet now he appeared from upstairs.
Earlier, moving as fast as he could, Braddy had ridden his motorcycle away from the guest house where Flora was hidden.
He wanted to get home before Christine arrived—he needed everyone to believe he had never left that morning.
Christine herself was surprised when she arrived at the Terano residence and saw Braddy calmly discussing something with Mark Bean, still in his sleepwear.
That night, after everything had settled, Braddy stood on the small balcony of the guest house, looking at the distant city lights.
The wind carried the scent of rain and dust.
Below, Jackson and Reggy stood guard, while Jay prepared a vehicle for their midnight relocation.
Flora stepped out slowly, a blanket draped over her shoulders.
“You didn’t have to do all this for me,” she whispered.
Braddy turned, looking at her tired yet resilient face.
“I’m not doing this just for you, Flora. But for everyone who’s been extorted, threatened, and treated like they have no choice. If no one stands up, they’ll keep doing this to us.”
Flora lowered her head, tears falling.
“I don’t know how to repay you.”
Braddy gave a faint smile.
“By living. That’s enough.”
In the distance, faint sirens echoed from the city.
Police—or perhaps another group already in motion.
Braddy looked up at the darkening sky and whispered to himself:
“This game has only just begun.”