Chapter 8: Trading Gold for Survival

Brown

“Eight thousand dollars? For all of this?”

My voice cut sharply across the dusty counter of Gold & Gilded Pawn. The old man behind the glass didn’t even flinch. He wiped a tarnished silver spoon with a dirty rag and shrugged.

“Look around you, miss,” he muttered. “This isn’t Fifth Avenue. You bring in a bag full of heavy gold chains, a platinum Rolex, and a couple of Patek Philippes with no papers? You take what you get. Eight thousand cash. Take it or leave it.”

I stared at him, jaw tight.

Dammit. In my rush this morning, I had completely forgotten to grab the original receipts and authenticity papers from the safe. Frustration hit hard, but I crushed it down fast. Going back to the penthouse through morning traffic would waste hours I didn’t have. Day Zero was getting closer with every minute.

“Do you have any idea how much these cost retail?” I snapped, towering over the counter. The old man stepped back half a step. “The Rolex alone is worth twenty times that. Eight thousand is an insult.”

“Retail means nothing here,” the broker scoffed. “You want full price, go get the papers. You want cash across this desk with no paperwork? Eight thousand five hundred is my final offer. Take your stuff elsewhere if you don’t like it.”

I checked the clock on the wall. Every minute spent arguing was a minute stolen from survival.

“Ten thousand,” I said, voice dropping low and cold. “Cash in my hand in sixty seconds. Deal or I walk.”

The broker blinked. He looked at the duffel bag stuffed with gold and diamonds, then up at my eyes. He swallowed hard and finally nodded.

“Fine. Ten thousand cash. You drive a hard bargain, lady.”

—-

Ten minutes later, I walked out with a thick stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills. I slid into the driver’s seat of the stolen Ford pickup and quickly tallied the numbers in my head. Ten thousand from the pawn shop, plus the $4,850 still sitting in my bank account. Nearly fifteen thousand dollars total. It was still far below what the jewelry was worth, but I had no choice. Time was running out, and this money was enough to secure the essentials.

Without wasting a second, I drove straight toward the industrial wholesale district. An hour later, I pulled up to Apex Industrial Generators & Power Supplies.

“Looking for a heavy-duty commercial backup diesel generator,” I said, dropping a thick stack of cash onto the desk. “Plus four fifty-gallon drums of diesel fuel, heavy-duty electrical wiring, a high-voltage surge protector, and a commercial-grade, shock-proof solar refrigerator-freezer unit. Everything loaded into the truck bed right now.”

The owner eyed my beat-up truck with a suspicious squint. “That’s a heavy industrial setup and a deep-freeze unit. What’s the rush? You planning on moving into a bunker or something?”

“Do you want my money, or do I take it somewhere else?”

The man chuckled and swept the cash into his pocket. “Alright. Keep your secrets. Cash talks. Back the truck up to bay three.”

Within thirty minutes, the heavy generator, fuel drums, and the massive industrial refrigerator unit were strapped down securely in the bed. From there, I hit a commercial electronics surplus yard and burned through the rest of my funds for high-grade thermal perimeter cameras, motion sensors, and a multi-channel security monitor box.

Just as I finished throwing the last box of surveillance gear into the passenger seat, a sharp, whiny voice cut through the rainy parking lot.

“Brown?!”

I froze for half a second, wiped grease off my hands, and slowly turned around.

Standing near the edge of the lot, clutching a cheap fake-leather umbrella, was Ginger. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her hair was a frizzy mess. Her face was flushed with frantic rage.

“I can’t believe it’s actually you!” she shrieked, stomping over in muddy heels. “Mavel is lying in a hospital bed broken because of you, and this is the useless junk you’re wasting your time buying?!”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t stop packing. I just zipped up the side compartment of my tactical bag and treated her like background noise.

“Are you deaf?!” Ginger barked, stepping closer and pointing a trembling finger at my chest. “He’s your boyfriend, Brown! He can barely move his jaw, the police are asking questions, and you’re out here buying industrial trash like a psycho! What is wrong with you?!”

I turned my head slowly and looked down at her.

“He’s no longer my boyfriend,” I said, voice calm and cold. “You can keep him.”

Ginger’s face twisted with pure venom. “You ungrateful bitch!”

She raised her hand and lunged forward, trying to slap me or grab my jacket.

Before her fingers could even touch me, I caught her wrist mid-air and squeezed until the bones groaned under my grip.

Ginger let out a high-pitched gasp. Her umbrella dropped into a puddle as she buckled at the knees.

“It seems the last warning at the hotel wasn’t enough,” I whispered, leaning down until my eyes locked onto hers. “Do you want me to break this wrist right here in the rain, Ginger? Or do you want to back off while you still have two working legs?”

I released her arm and shoved it away. She stumbled backward and landed hard on her butt in a muddy puddle, clutching her wrist and shaking.

When she realized her threats weren’t working, the fake pride drained from her face. Panic took over. Tears welled up in her red-rimmed eyes and mixed with the rain on her cheeks.

“Brown… please!” she sobbed, scrambling forward on her knees in the mud. “You have to help us! Call whoever you made that deal with at Crown Holdings or the bank! Tell them it was all a mistake! Tell the press it was a setup!”

She clasped her trembling hands together, looking up at me like a drowning animal.

“The police are after us right now!” she whimpered, teeth chattering. “They’re at the hospital doors. They’re threatening to haul both of us into the station even with Mavel pinned down on a bed bleeding. We have nothing left. Our accounts are frozen. The media is tearing us apart. Please, Brown… just fix this!”

I stood over her in the pouring rain, arms crossed, watching her grovel in the mud. There was no pity in my chest. No warmth. No regret.

I leaned down slightly. A slow, calm smile pulled at the corner of my mouth.

“Fix it?” I murmured. “Ginger, look at me. This isn’t a mistake… and this isn’t over. This is just the beginning.”

Her mouth dropped open. The full weight of my words hit her. She stared up at me like she was looking at something dangerous and unfamiliar.

I tilted my head, looking down at her shivering form with cold amusement.

“Don’t worry too much,” I added, voice deceptively soft. “I’ll make sure to visit you in jail… right before the world ends.”

Ginger blinked, confusion cutting through her tears. “W-What? What are you talking about? What world ending?!”

I didn’t answer. I just let out a dark, low laugh that made her flinch. The sound mixed with the rain and left her frozen in the mud.

Desperate to regain some control, she scrambled up from the puddle and pointed a shaking, muddy finger at my truck. She tried to force a look of disgust onto her face.

“Look at you!” she shrieked. “Is this how broke you’ve become? Driving around in a rusted, low-class piece of junk? You used to ride in limousines, Brown! Have you really sunk this low?!”

I paused at the door of the truck. Then I turned back slowly and looked down at her with pure, unbothered calm.

“A wreckage?” I murmured. “At least it’s a ride… something your broke, homeless, parasitic self can’t even afford.”

Ginger’s jaw dropped. Her face burned red with humiliation. For once, she had nothing left to say.

I stepped up into the truck, slammed the door shut, and cranked the heavy engine. The truck roared to life. I shifted into drive and hit the gas.

The rear tires spun hard, kicking up a thick wave of dirty rainwater that splashed straight over Ginger’s head, face, and clothes. Her high-pitched scream was swallowed by the rain and the engine.

I didn’t check the rearview mirror.

As her screams faded into the distance, I held the steering wheel with one hand and reached for my phone with the other.

I needed an expert team. Installing an off-grid industrial power grid, high-voltage wiring, a commercial deep-freeze unit, and a full perimeter thermal camera network inside a deep mountain bunker wasn’t a one-woman job—not if I wanted it done fast.

I dialed a confidential number from my late father’s private black book—an elite ex-military technician contractor who handled high-security off-grid installations without asking questions.

The phone rang twice before a deep, gravelly voice answered.

“Speak.”

“It’s Brown,” I said, voice cold and hard. “I have an industrial diesel generator, four fuel drums, a heavy refrigeration unit, and a complete thermal surveillance grid sitting in the back of my truck. I need your full team at the Mount Ironwood site within two hours. Wire the power, integrate the refrigeration, connect the blast doors, and mount the cameras.”

There was a short silence on the line before the contractor grunted. “That’s a heavy job, Miss Brown. It’s gonna cost you.”

I stared ahead at the rainy mountain road, eyes steady.

“Name your price,” I said. “Just get it done immediately.”