Chapter 2

It took pinching Sandra's philtrum hard to bring her back to consciousness.

The moment she woke up, she dropped straight to her knees with a loud thud, grabbed the detective's pant leg, and started wailing uncontrollably.

"Detective! Help us! Vince can't die! The company can't survive without him!"

The other wives immediately joined in, sobbing loudly. For a moment, I couldn't tell whether I was in my apartment or a funeral home.

The detective frowned. A case involving an international cross-border crime like this meant that by the time they completed all the necessary procedures, it would likely be too late.

For now, all he could do was calm the family members down, tell them to go home and wait for updates, and assure them that the police would open an official investigation.

Wait for updates? Those scumbags were probably already locked up somewhere underground and drinking dirty water.

The moment the police officers left, Sandra turned toward me like I was her final lifeline. She pulled a thick stack of cash—over 1,000 dollars from the looks of it—from her bag and threw it on my beat-up bed.

"Drew, you're the only guy in that group chat with half a brain! You must know where they went! The stuff you said earlier… You figured it out ages ago, didn't you?

"Please, I'm begging you to tell me—what on earth were they up to?"

I looked at the thick stack of cash. That would be enough to buy me sandwiches for an entire year.

Without any hesitation, I scooped it up and shoved it into my pocket. Poor people couldn't afford pride. Pride couldn't put food on the table.

"Ladies, do you all seriously think they went fishing?"

I pulled out my phone and pointed at the coded slang in the group announcement.

"'Night fishing' is street talk for going to underground casinos. 'Chumming the water' means bringing cash to the table. And a 'big catch' refers to a new dealer or escort service."

I pulled up a private message Gideon Eleniak—another one of the men in the group chat—had sent me and showed it to his wife, Patricia.

"Drew, they've just got some 'fresh pastries' in recently. 18 years old. Fresh and untouched. You'd be missing out if you don't come."

Patricia's face instantly flushed a deep crimson, partly from shame, but mostly from absolute disgust.

The wives who had been comforting and supporting each other just moments ago suddenly looked at each other differently. They finally realized that these upstanding, respectable-looking businessmen were actually involved in such filthy acts behind closed doors.

"That's not even the worst part."

I swiped through their recent messages and continued to break everything down for the women.

"Look at this. For the past two weeks, they've been posting screenshots of their winnings every single day. Vince won 120,000 dollars. Gideon won 60,000 dollars. Even Trevor, the stingiest of the bunch, walked away with 30,000 dollars.

"This is a classic 'fattening the pig' scam. First, they give you a taste of success and let you win. They fatten you up and make your greed grow. And last night was slaughter night."

Sandra trembled as she asked, "What does that mean?"

"It means that they weren't going there to win money last night. They went there to get bled dry. And chances are they lost everything and borrowed from the high-interest loan sharks on standby."

"Check your accounts right now," I reminded them. "See if your family's money is still there or not."

Five minutes later, the room erupted with frantic wails.

Sandra collapsed onto the floor. "The company's three million dollars in liquid funds are all gone!"

Patricia's hands were shaking. "Gideon mortgaged my mother's house!"

Trevor Watkins' wife, Candice, cried the hardest. "That bastard! He took out loans from eight different online lenders!"

Human nature shattered into ugly pieces right then and there. As it turned out, these polished, successful middle-aged men had been bled hollow a long time ago.

They had gone there last night hoping to win back their losses, only to gamble away their lives as well.

Suddenly, Sandra's phone started ringing. It was a video call request from Vince.

Everyone held their breath.

The moment she answered, nothing could be seen on the screen other than pitch-black darkness.

Then came a bloodcurdling, mangled scream.

"Help! Honey, save me!"

The lights suddenly came on. The scene was so intensely brutal that a few of the more timid wives immediately threw up on the spot.

On the screen were seven men stripped down to nothing but their underwear. Like slabs of meat, iron hooks were driven straight through their shoulder blades, suspending them over a pool of filthy water.

Vince's flabby body was covered in whiplashes, his flesh torn wide open. Gideon's glasses were shattered, his face dripping with blood. Trevor, on the other hand, was passed out cold, his condition unknown.

A man wearing a pig mask stepped into view. In his hand was a butcher knife that was still dripping blood. He lazily traced the blade across Vince's stomach.

"Good evening, ladies."

His voice had been altered through a voice changer, making him sound like a demon straight out of hell.

"Your husbands have been spending quite a bit of money here at my establishment. They owe me 750,000 dollars. I want the money within 24 hours, otherwise… I'll harvest their kidneys live on stream for you.

"Oh, and one more thing. Don't call the cops."

The masked man suddenly pushed the camera closer to his face, his eyes staring directly through the eyeholes in the mask and straight into the lens.

"We know your every move. You want your husband back? Send someone who understands the rules of the game to come talk to us."