I set the bar on the table between us.

It was a five-kilo bar, heavy enough that the table thudded slightly. The pre-collapse Velham bank stamp was clean and crisp. The serial number was etched neat along the bottom edge, in a script that didn’t quite match any modern standard.

Mira’s eyes widened. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

"...Sweetheart."

I blinked. "Yeah?"

"This is five kilos."

"Yeah."

"Of gold."

"Yes, Aunt."

"And there’s more."

"...A lot more."

She reached out and finally lifted it. Tested the weight. Turned it in the light. Examined the stamp. Examined the serial. Her face had shifted, turning sharp and focused. The same face I’d seen leaning against the car before she’d noticed me.

She set it down carefully.

"Lukas. This is excellent quality. The purity is higher than current market standard. The stamp is unfamiliar to me, which is a problem for legitimate channels, but actually a benefit for the channels we’ll be using. Old, untraceable to any active institution, no insurance claim attached to it anywhere in the world. This is, frankly, a dream piece."

"Okay."

"For this one bar, I can get you eight hundred thousand dollars."

I blinked.

"Eight hundred thousand."

"Possibly more. I’ll need to test the purity properly. But that’s the floor."

I sat there for a second.

Eight hundred thousand. For one bar.

And I had forty-three of these.

Plus the half-kilos. Plus the gemstones. Plus the tiara. Plus—

My ears were ringing slightly.

"Sweetheart, are you with me?"

"Yes. Yeah. Sorry. Yes. That’s... that’s amazing. Thank you."

She shook her head.

"Don’t thank me yet. We do this carefully and slowly. One piece at a time, spread across months and even years. We never spike a market. We never repeat a buyer. We never leave a paper trail that connects you to a piece. You will never personally touch a transaction. From this point forward, on this matter, you trust me, and you do exactly what I say. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good." Her smile softened back into the aunt smile. "Then we have a deal."

She didn’t ask about the rest. The pile, the source, the system, the secrets I was clearly still keeping. Not a single follow-up question.

I looked at her across the table and felt that crack in my chest from earlier widen by another inch.

"Aunt."

"Mm?"

"Thank you."

"Anything, sweetheart. Always."

Her smile was so warm.

...

The chocolate domes were finished. The waiter had stopped checking on us. Mira tapped her nails against the empty plate once, considering, and then looked up at me with a familiar mischievous spark.

"Are you in a hurry to get back home?"

I shook my head. "Not really."

"Good. Come somewhere with me."

"Where?"

"You’ll see. I want to show you off a little. Just for an hour."

"Show me off?" What did she mean by that?

"My nephew finally called me. I’m allowed to be insufferable about it. Come on."

I shrugged and accompanied her. As long as it made her happy.

...

The club didn’t have a name on the door. I knew it was a club only because of the line outside it, and the kind of cars that were idling at the curb. Half of them made the Auriga look modest.

Mira didn’t get in line. Instead, she walked past the line, past the bouncer who saw her coming and unclipped the rope before she’d even slowed down, and into a foyer that was all dark wood and recessed gold lighting.

The music inside was a low pulse. The crowd was thick but well-spaced, the way crowds were when everyone there had paid for the privilege of having room. Glass and chrome. Bottles on every table that I knew, by sight, cost five-figure sums.

I was severely underdressed.

Nobody seemed to notice, because nobody was looking at me. They were looking at her. And whoever was with her got a free pass.

She didn’t stop in the main room either. She walked us through it, smiling at people who nodded at her, and toward an unmarked door at the back. A man in a plain black suit stood beside it, and when he saw Mira approach he opened it without a word.

We descended a short flight of stairs.

The room at the bottom was different.

Much quieter with no dance floor. Low leather seating arranged in clusters around small tables. Thick rugs absorbing sound. Maybe twenty-five people scattered through the space, most of them in conversation, all of them looking like they belonged on the cover of a finance magazine.

The moment Mira stepped in, the room shifted.

Conversations didn’t stop, but heads turned. Several men stood from their seats and inclined their heads. A woman in a silver dress raised a glass in a small respectful gesture. Two men at a far table actually bowed, just slightly, just enough.

And then their eyes moved to me.

I felt every single one of them, most likely wondering who I was and things like that. I could already imagine their thoughts actually.

Who is this scrawny kid in a yellowed collar shirt, walking in beside her like he belongs?

I kept my face neutral. Or tried to.

Mira didn’t introduce me. She didn’t even acknowledge any of them yet. She just walked, hand resting lightly on my elbow, steering me through the room with the calm authority of someone who had built it.

We stopped at a corner table.

A tall man rose to meet us.

He was somewhere in his forties, long-faced, with grey already streaking his temples and a tailored charcoal suit that fit him like a second skin. He wore no tie. His eyes were sharp and measuring and they moved over me once, professionally, before returning to Mira.

He nodded at her.

"Madam."

"Renner."

"You’re early."

"I had a good morning." She smiled softly, which seemed to surprise the man.

His eyes flicked to me again and he waited.

Mira’s hand stayed on my elbow.

"Renner. I have some business for you."

The tall man’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture sharpened, the way a hunting dog’s does when it hears its name.

"Of course, Madam. What kind?"

She smiled. Just a little.

"The good kind."