Leo's battlefield aura froze several would-be searchers in their tracks.
"Don't be scared!" Derry shouted. "Once we find the money, Ricardo's finished!"
He was the first to act, darting toward the fireplace with determination.
Carlo had instructed him that the money would be hidden behind the top panel. It was a calculated choice—Maria cleaned the house top to bottom, but the fireplace was Ricardo's domain.
Back in the day, Carlo and Leo had discovered Ricardo's stash spot here—many feasts were funded by it.
Derry reached in. His eyes lit up.
"Gentlemen, look what I found!"
Too fast.
He pulled out a brown paper bag—one shaped exactly like those used to carry stacks of cash. The moment caught the crowd off guard. They had barely recovered from Leo's icy warning.
All eyes turned toward Derry.
And Carlo couldn't help but smirk. Crude or not, Derry had found the bag. The crowd would turn.
Indeed, murmurs surged.
The plan's working. Ricardo's done for.
Carlo turned to Leo, expecting to see despair—but found only mockery in his eyes.
That look said: Where did you find this idiot?
"Ricardo, the money's right here. Got anything to say for yourself?" Derry crowed, soot-stained and smug.
He turned to Leo. "What now, kid? How are you going to settle accounts with us, huh?"
The workers looked to Ricardo—especially John Billy, who had always believed in him.
Sean, who had come in support, now looked uneasy.
Leo stepped forward, cool and sharp.
"Derry, this is your first time in our house, right? You didn't check anywhere else. Went straight to the fireplace. Pretty confident there'd be money there, weren't you?"
The room quieted again.
Everyone knew Derry wasn't close with Ricardo. He wasn't the type to be invited to dinner.
Something felt off.
Carlo grimaced. Leo had gotten smarter.
Afraid the plan might unravel, Carlo had launched early—leaving no time to coach the fool.
A mistake.
As eyes turned suspicious, Derry panicked. He glanced at Carlo.
Leo pounced: "Why're you looking at Carlo? Did my best friend tell you the money would be there?"
All eyes now turned to Carlo.
Cornered, Carlo snapped, "What's that got to do with me? I came here for justice."
"Don't dodge the point," Carlo said louder. "That bag's thick. There's definitely cash inside. What else would anyone pay Ricardo for, besides the union shares?"
The crowd's anger returned.
"Ricardo, explain yourself," said John Billy. He wanted to believe Ricardo—but the bag was damning. He hoped for a clean explanation.
Carlo didn't want to give Ricardo the chance.
"Enough talk! Let's call a union meeting. Vote Ricardo out as leader. Demand he return the 20% stake in Brown Lumber that belongs to the union!"
With passions high and minds dulled by outrage, few could think clearly.
Carlo's fiery rhetoric was his specialty—he'd run many such strikes before.
Cries of agreement followed.
Carlo gave Derry a look: Open the bag. Fuel the fire.
Derry reached in, bragging: "Carlo's right! This man doesn't deserve our trust. Look! This is how much he took—"
He froze.
Everyone stared.
In Derry's hand wasn't money—but a stack of newspaper cut into bill-sized pieces.
Sean burst out laughing.
Leo's handiwork.
The crowd blinked in confusion—these weren't exactly intellectuals.
Derry was stunned, staring at the paper.
Where's my money?
He had been promised $10,000 by Carlo—a deal he couldn't refuse. Cooperate, and get paid. Refuse, and Carlo's enforcers would collect.
Last night, Derry had dreamed of wiping his debts, of gambling for weeks. He hadn't slept, thrilled by the bag's weight.
Now, the devastation was complete.
He muttered, "Where's my ten grand...?"
The words slipped out before he realized.
Carlo, realizing disaster had struck, began creeping toward the door.
Leo moved fast. His arm locked around Carlo's neck while his other hand deftly removed the MI911 pistol from Carlo's belt.
Carlo gasped. One second he was moving—next, immobilized.
His hand reached for the gun—gone.
He struggled, but Leo's strength held him in place.
"Easy now," Leo said. "The star of the show doesn't get to leave before the final act."
Then he turned back to Derry.
"Tell me, Derry. How did you know the bag should've had ten thousand dollars in it?"
"Of course, I—Car..."
He caught himself just in time.
But the guilt was written all over his face.
John Billy strode over in three long steps, grabbed Derry by the collar, and lifted him off the ground.
"You filthy gambler. You're hiding something. Spit it out—or you're not walking out of here!"