The money was divided without ceremony, though the air in the warehouse was thick enough to choke on.
Stacks of cash were arranged across the long steel table in piles that looked more like bricks than currency. Evan stood at the head of the table, his arms crossed over his chest, his face as expressive as a tombstone. He watched the crew with a cold, detached intensity as they stepped forward to claim their prizes. No one was clapping. No one was poping champagne. Just the dry, scratchy sound of hundreds being flipped and the heavy, metallic scent of the ink.
Upstairs, Rhoda watched the black-and-white feed on the bedroom monitor. The lack of color made the men look like shadows, but the tension radiating off them was visible even through the grain of the screen.
Miller didn't even look at his pile. He sat back in a creaky folding chair, his legs splayed, watching Evan like a man waiting for a punchline to a joke he'd already heard.
Cal was the first to finish, stuffing his share into a duffel bag with a grunt. "We're square," he muttered. He looked up at Evan, then flicked his eyes toward the ceiling. "Though, I gotta say, Mercer… if I had a girl like that tucked away in my room, I wouldn't be standing down here talking to you lot. I'd be upstairs seeing how fast I could get her out of those office pants."
A chorus of rough, jagged laughter broke out. Jonah, who was still meticulously counting his stack, grinned and pointed a bill at Evan.
"That's the truth," Jonah chimed in, his tone dripping with a mock-casualness that didn't hide his curiosity. "It's a clean job, sure—maybe the cleanest we've ever done—but I'm starting to think you're working twice as hard just to keep your 'private guest' from getting rattled."
Evan didn't flinch. His voice was a low, dangerous growl. "If you think I'd risk the job for a skirt, you've forgotten who's running this show."
"Oh, we haven't forgotten," Cal said, leaning back until the chair groaned. "But man's allowed a hobby. We're just wondering if the hobby is starting to interfere with the business. Most witnesses get a shallow grave, Mercer. This one gets silk sheets and a room with a view. It's… unusual."
Jonah laughed again, leaning over the table. "Maybe she's just that good, Cal. Maybe Mercer's gone soft because she's got some secret talent we haven't sampled yet."
The room went deathly still. The humor was there, but the edge behind it was razor-sharp. Upstairs, Rhoda gripped the edge of the dresser, her stomach turning at the casual way they spoke about her—like she was a piece of equipment they were debating whether to share.
Evan's eyes cut to Jonah, dark and lethal. "She stays because she's the only one who can verify the sub-vault's secondary encryption keys if the bank tries a remote wipe. You want your money to stay in those offshore accounts, or do you want to keep talking about her clothes?"
Jonah held up his hands in a mock surrender, though the smirk stayed on his face. "Touchy, touchy. Just saying, it's a lot of effort for one girl."
Miller finally rose from his chair. The movement was slow, drawing every eye in the room like a magnet. He walked to the table, placed his palm flat on his untouched share of the cash, and looked Evan dead in the eye.
"Easy, boys," Miller said lightly. "Let's not confuse a man's appetite with bad judgment. Mercer's always been particular." A faint smile tugged at his mouth. "That's never been a problem."
He tilted his head, studying Evan with open, unsettling interest.
"I trust your judgment, Mercer," Miller went on, voice calm, almost friendly. "I always have. I just don't like surprises — and neither do the men who put their lives on the table working with you."
The smile lingered a second too long.
Then Miller picked up his bag and gave Evan a solid, almost affectionate clap on the shoulder. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, but it was firm enough to remind him who was watching.
"Let's wrap it up," Miller said, already turning away. "Let's just hope your appetite doesn't give us all indigestion, Mercer," Miller added, his eyes burning with a sudden, cold clarity.
The tension didn't leave with him.
It clung to the warehouse like smoke long after the crew followed, their laughter rougher now, edged with something darker than humor.
Rhoda stepped back from the monitor, her heart hammering.
Miller hadn't needed to threaten anyone.
He'd already planted the expectation. Upstairs, Rhoda stepped back from the monitor, her heart hammering. Miller had laughed, but his eyes had said everything. He wasn't convinced.