Time: 2:00 PM. Solomon's CEO Office.
The afternoon sun filtered through the bulletproof windows of the Exchange HQ, casting long shadows across the mahogany desk. The air inside Solomon’s office was silent, save for the rhythmic clicking of his mechanical keyboard. He was deep in the data from the Wall Street audit, analyzing the liquidity ratios of JP Morgan with the precision of a surgeon.
Suddenly, the silence was shattered. RRRIIING! RRRIIING!
The red rotary phone on the corner of his desk screamed for attention. It was not a normal line. It was the "Client Emergency Line"—a direct channel reserved for high-value account holders.
Solomon stopped typing. He adjusted his glasses, picked up the receiver, and spoke in his signature monotone. "Siren Capital. State your emergency."
"Mr. Gats! Oh god, oh god, help me!" The voice on the other end was hysterical. It was Rico "Gold Tooth", the Bronx drug distributor who had just become their first official depositor. He sounded like he was hyperventilating in a phone booth.
"They took it! They took the book, Mr. Gats!" Rico wailed.
Solomon frowned slightly, his brow furrowing. "Calm down, Rico. Breathe. Who took what? Did someone hijack your shipment?"
"No! Worse!" Rico screamed. "The Passbook! I was at 'The Rusty Nail', a bar on the Bronx border... The 'Swipers' gang... those low-life pickpockets... they lifted it! They thought it was a wallet! They have my Siren Capital Passbook!"
Rico paused, his voice dropping to a terrified whisper. "Please... please don't cancel my account! I know the rules! 'Protect the Asset'. I failed! But please don't kick me out! I promise I'll be more careful!"
Rico wasn't afraid of losing the money—the money was safe in the impenetrable vault of the bank. He was afraid of Solomon’s judgment. He was afraid of losing his newfound status as a legitimate "Client".
Solomon’s eyes narrowed behind his lenses. The reflection of his computer screen danced on the glass. "Rico," Solomon said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming colder than liquid nitrogen. "That Passbook bears our Logo. It is stamped with the Siren seal. It is a symbol of our guarantee."
He stood up, looking out the window at the sprawling city. "If a low-level thug is holding it, they are not just holding paper. They are holding my Reputation in their dirty hands. That is unauthorized trademark usage, Rico. It dilutes our brand equity."
"Do not worry," Solomon continued. "We do not tolerate unauthorized withdrawals or copyright infringement. We will retrieve the asset. Stay by the phone."
Click. He hung up. The hunt was on.
Scene 2: Staffing Shortage
Solomon walked out into the hallway to assemble a tactical retrieval team. He expected to find his staff busy with work. Instead, the fortress was suspiciously empty. It seemed the entire staff was suffering from a collective case of "Avoid the Boss at All Costs" syndrome after yesterday's disastrous Wall Street surveillance.
The Janitorial Closet: Solomon opened the door to the supply closet. Daniel was there. The CFO of a multi-million dollar criminal empire was on his knees, scrubbing a toilet bowl with a toothbrush, sweating profusely. "Daniel," Solomon said. "I need an agent for a retrieval op."
Daniel screamed, nearly dunking his head in the water. "I CAN'T!" Daniel yelled, his eyes wide with panic. "Stress-induced IBS, Boss! My stomach is a war zone! The doctor said no violence! Only hygiene! Look at this sparkle! I must clean! Cleaning is safe!" He scrubbed harder, terrified that Solomon would drag him into another high-speed car chase.
The Garage: Solomon walked to the garage. It was silent. He walked over to the delivery truck. He saw a pair of legs sticking out from underneath. "Gara."
"Busy!" Gara’s muffled voice shouted from the undercarriage. "Critical welding! Don't touch! If I move, the fuel line explodes! Boom! Big fire!" Solomon narrowed his eyes. There was no smell of ozone. No flash of a welding torch. Just the distinct crunch-crunch sound of Gara eating potato chips in the dark.
The Training Yard: Solomon looked out the window to the courtyard. Niko was standing in front of 50 new recruits (Tier 3). He was wearing a headband and striking a dramatic pose, one leg lifted like a crane. "Hiyah!" Niko shouted, his voice echoing. "Behold! The Dra Mraga style! The Dragon Fist of the Streets! Observe my center of gravity!" The recruits clapped in awe. Niko was beaming with pride, puffing out his chest. He was too busy being a Grandmaster to run errands for the CEO.
Scene 3: The Dysfunctional Squad
Solomon sighed, a long, weary exhalation. He walked into the main lobby. Only three people were available. The bottom of the barrel.
Benny, who was sitting on a crate, happily eating a meatball sub, getting tomato sauce on his chin. And The Twins, who were sitting at opposite ends of the teller counter, glaring at each other with enough hate to melt steel (still furious about who got to sit next to Solomon yesterday).
"Benny. Raphaela. Luciela," Solomon commanded. "Mission."
They stood up instantly. Benny swallowed his sandwich whole. "A small gang called 'The Swipers' stole a client's Passbook. Retrieve it. Teach them a lesson about corporate property rights."
Solomon looked at Benny, the towering giant. "Benny. You are the muscle. But listen to the Twins. Follow their strategy. Do not improvise. Do you understand?"
Benny wiped the sauce from his face and saluted. "Yes, Boss. Benny listen. Benny follow plan." He paused, a goofy grin spreading across his face. "But... Benny also practice new moves. Watch MMA on YouTube. Benny want to try 'Spinning Elbow'."
Solomon ignored the last part. "Go."
Scene 4: The Mission - Strategy vs. Reality
Time: 3:00 PM. "The Rusty Nail" Bar (Bronx Border).
The team parked the car in the alley behind the dive bar. The air smelled of garbage and stale beer. The thumping bass of cheap techno music vibrated through the brick walls.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The Strategy: Luciela crouched by the back wall, drawing a diagram in the dirt with her knife. "Listen," she whispered, her voice professional and cold. "Standard infiltration. Raphaela and I will cut the power from the rear fuse box. We enter using night vision. Silent takedowns. Benny, you stand guard at the front door. Do not let anyone leave. Understood?"
Raphaela nodded, checking her knives. "Clean and quiet. No noise."
Benny nodded slowly, his large head bobbing. "Guard door. Silent. Got it."
The Reality: Benny walked to the front door. He stood there for exactly five seconds. Through the wood, he heard the thumping bass. His foot started tapping. "Guard door..." Benny mumbled to himself. "Boring. Attack... fun."
He took a deep breath. "OSUUUU!"
CRASH! Benny didn't open the door. He delivered a clumsy flying kick that shattered the hinges. The door flew into the room. "HELLO BAD GUYS!" Benny roared. "BENNY IS HERE!"
Scene 5: The Dojo
Inside, the gang attacked. Benny didn't use a gun. He started shouting names of moves he invented five minutes ago.
A thug swung a bat. Benny caught it. "KARATE... CHOP!" He chopped the bat. It broke. Benny shook his hand. "Ouch. Hard.”
Another thug tried to tackle his legs. Benny grabbed him in a headlock. "MMA... SQUEEZE!" He squeezed until the thug turned purple and tapped out on Benny’s arm. "You tap? Okay, sleep now," Benny said gently, dropping the unconscious man.
"BENNY... SPIN!" He spun around with his arms out like a helicopter blade, knocking over three tables, a waitress, and a jukebox. "IRON... PUNCH!" He punched a hole in the wall.
At the back door, Luciela stood frozen, her eyes wide as she mentally calculated the property damage. Internal Monologue (Luciela): "Three oak tables: $600. Vintage jukebox: $1,200. Structural wall repair: $800. He is destroying the tactical environment! The Master will deduct this from our operational budget! This idiot is bankrupting my mission!"
It wasn't a fight. It was a natural disaster named Benny. He was shouting names of moves he invented five minutes ago. By the time the Twins ran in through the back door (guns drawn, furious), the fight was over.
"Found book!" Benny grinned, sweating, his suit ripped at the shoulders. "New style... good, huh?"
Scene 6: The Aftermath
Time: 3:30 PM. The Alleyway.
Raphaela dragged Benny out by his ear. She was shaking with pure, unadulterated rage. "You idiot! WE SAID SILENT! You destroyed the whole bar! You ruined my stealth streak!"
WHACK. She smacked Benny on the head with the heavy handle of her Desert Eagle. "Ow!" Benny rubbed his head.
KICK. She kicked him in the shin with her steel-toed tactical boot. Hard.
Benny cowered against the brick wall. He was strong enough to crush her skull with one hand, but he didn't fight back. Internal Monologue (Benny): "Ow... Ow... Why she hit so hard? Benny strong... but Raphaela scary. Mama said never hit girls. And Raphaela is... monster girl. If I hit back, she will use knife. Knife hurts more than kick. Just hide. Be a turtle."
"Sorry..." Benny whimpered, shielding his face. "But... spin was cool? Yes?"
"NO!" Raphaela screamed, raising her fist again. "IT WAS STUPID!"
"Enough," Luciela intervened, pulling her sister back. She checked her watch. "We are late. Master hates tardiness. If we keep him waiting, he will audit us. Get in the car."
Scene 7: The Report
Time: 4:30 PM. The Grand Lobby.
The team stood before Solomon. To his right stood Moon and Cara, holding clipboards, looking like stern judges.
The visual contrast was stark. The Twins looked pristine. Not a hair out of place. Their suits were spotless. Benny looked like he had wrestled a cement mixer. His left eye was swollen shut. There was a distinct, muddy boot-shaped bruise on his right cheek. His suit was torn in three places.
"Report," Solomon said, taking the dusty Passbook from Benny.
"Boss..." Benny said, trying to smile through a swollen lip. "Mission... done. Book... safe. Enemy... strong. Very strong. But Benny... stronger. Used Karate."
Luciela stepped forward, adjusting her glasses smoothly. "Benny displayed... excessive enthusiasm. The tactical approach was compromised, but the asset was secured."
Solomon cleaned the Passbook with a silk cloth. He inspected it. Then he looked at Benny’s face. He zoomed in on the bruise on Benny's cheek. It was small. Sharp. Distinct tread marks. It was a perfect size 36 tactical boot print.
Solomon looked down at Raphaela’s feet. She was wearing size 36 tactical boots.
The Mamas' Commentary:
Moon took a sip of her Earl Grey tea. She glanced at Benny’s bruise, then at Raphaela’s shoe. A subtle, mocking smile played on her red lips. "My, my," Moon said softly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "It seems the 'weather' in Manhattan was quite stormy today. Some aftershocks seem to have hit Benny's face... after the battle was over? Poor dear, did you trip onto a boot?"
Cara bit her lip, turning away to suppress a laugh. She cleared her throat loudly to maintain discipline. "Benny," Cara barked, though her eyes were amused. "Go to the infirmary. You look like a chewed-up dog toy. It damages the corporate image." She turned to the Twins, her voice stern but mocking. "And you two. Please treat the heavy machinery with care. We can't afford to repair the 'Tank' every time the drivers get temperamental. Control your temper, little girls."
The Reaction: Raphaela’s face turned bright red. She glared at Moon and Cara with pure hatred. Her hand twitched towards her knife. "Old hags," she mouthed silently. "I will shave your eyebrows while you sleep." Luciela’s smile twitched. She adjusted her glasses, hiding her annoyance. She hated being lectured by the "housekeepers".
The Verdict:
Solomon closed the Passbook with a sharp SNAP. "Friendly fire," Solomon said, his voice cold and final. "It damages unit cohesion. And medical supplies are an unnecessary operational expense."
He looked at Raphaela. "Raphaela. Because you damaged company property (Benny's face) due to emotional outburst... I am regretfully cancelling your Donut Privileges for the week. No sugar. No sprinkles. The cost of your desserts will be reallocated to buy Benny an ice pack and some painkillers."
Raphaela gasped, clutching her chest as if she had been shot. "NO! My donuts! Boss, please! Take my money, but not the donuts!"
Solomon ignored her. He turned to Luciela. "Luciela. You maintained professionalism. You managed the chaos. Tonight, I will treat you to that Omakase Sushi dinner you requested."
The Internal Monologues (The Slackers): From the hallway, Daniel, Gara, and Niko were peeking out, watching the execution.
- Daniel: "Holy spreadsheet. Look at Benny. That could have been me. Thank god for the toilet excuse. I love hygiene."
- Gara: "Hehe. Poor big guy. Note to self: Never annoy Raphaela when she's hungry. Welding under a truck was the best decision of my life."
- Niko: "Tsk tsk. Bad form. Benny has no defense. I should teach him Dra Mraga to dodge the ladies."
The End: Luciela smiled triumphantly, bowing to Solomon. "Thank you, Master. I look forward to it."
Raphaela stood frozen. No donuts? And the Witch gets Sushi with Master? Slowly, she turned her head toward Benny. Her eyes were burning with the fury of a thousand suns. Internal Monologue (Raphaela): "This is your fault, Bear. You owe me donuts. I will haunt your nightmares."
Benny gulped, shrinking behind his own muscles. "Uh... Boss? Infirmary? Now? Before she kills me?"
Solomon walked away toward his office. "Dismissed."
End of Chapter 45.
[URGENT CORPORATE MEMO: PRODUCTION QUOTA AT RISK]
Shareholders,
sub-optimal.
The Data: While our core investors are loyal, our "Market Liquidity" (Follows, Favorites, and Ratings) has stagnated. In any high-stakes venture, maintaining maximum output without market feedback is a fiscal liability.
The Strategy Adjustment:
-
THE BREAKOUT GOAL: We need to reach 25 Followers and 12 Favorites by Friday.
-
THE DIVIDEND: If the target is met, I will trigger a TRIPLE CHAPTER RELEASE (3 Chapters) this Friday to celebrate our market expansion.
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THE AUSTERITY MEASURE: If liquidity remains low, the Syndicate will shift to "Maintenance Mode" starting next week (3 Chapters/Week). This is not an emotional decision; it is a resource reallocation to ensure long-term quality over unsustainable volume.
Hippo (Don Antonio) win through your silence. Rate, Follow, and Favorite to keep the production lines running at 100% capacity.
?? ACCESS THE PRIVATE VAULT (Patreon): For those who want to skip the market volatility, the Advanced Vault is 20+ chapters ahead. ?? [Invest here: ]
The market doesn't reward the passive. The clock is ticking.
P.S. While I enjoy staying in character as Solomon Gats to keep the experience immersive, the engagement data provided is 100% factual. As an independent creator, your interaction (Follows/Favorites/Ratings) is the only 'Capital' that allows me to sustain this high-volume production. Let’s hit those milestones together to keep the Syndicate’s expansion at 100% speed.
Trading resumes this Friday. Don't be late. ????
Copyright ? 2026 by Gats VII. All rights reserved. This story is officially published only on Royal Road, Scribble Hub, and Patreon. If you are reading this elsewhere, it has been stolen.