Novel & Cerita Rdr2 Get Rich Quick Book

she heard Clyde said as the massive gates before them opened. Are they automatic? Shit! They have guards? On their house?! What kind of people are they, exactly? She waited as he drove the car inside on what seemed to be the garage, mentally taking note of five luxurious car already parked. If her calculations are right, it could harbor at least 5-6 cars. She stayed seated even after he stopped and shut the car off. Clyde made his way to the backseat and took his son onto his right arm. When he noticed that she doesn’t plan on making a move, he walked towards her side and opened the door.

She opened her notebook — a journal Mary had gifted her when she turned sixteen. She flipped to the back. Nothing. Then again to the front. A single page she’d never noticed before, folded into the spine. She pulled it out. It read: If you find this, you’re smarter than I ever gave you credit for. Don’t finish my war. Win yours. She closed the book with trembling fingers. At 3:17 a.m., Camellia’s second decoy triggered. An access relay sent the document straight to an external server registered to Devereaux & Reiss, the consultancy recently absorbed into a BelleTech front.

"Great odds." "Better than we had yesterday." Arnold pulled out his tablet. "Here is what we know. Richard has approximately ten million in accessible cash—money Marcus gave him before death. He has six properties registered under shell companies. And he has contacts in the Savage Kings, though most are scattering after Victor's death." "Not enough for an army," Damien said. "But enough for assassins." "Which is why you are staying in federal protection. Both of you. Until Richard is caught or dead."

She knew what had to be done, even if it wasn’t the cleanest way to handle things. I reached for my phone and dialed the number. The line rang twice before it was answered. "Vanderbilt," Jace’s barritone voice came through, "It's been a while." "I need you for something," I said, sitting in my chair. Araceli moved behind me, her fingers pressing into my shoulders, kneading the tension there. "Name it," Jace said. I leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "I need access to an account. The name is Caleb Vanderbilt. I want every last dollar transferred, I want it done neatly, no evidence of the account it's being transferred to."

"How did you end up in this state?" Dickson, clearly displeased, promptly exited the shop, dismissing Jack's questions. "Cut the cr*p! Give a tip to the shop assistant." "Okay," Jack responded, handing the umbrella to a nearby bodyguard before rushing back to the convenience store. Opening his wallet, he extracted a 200-dollar banknote. "Thank you! This is a tip from Mr. Dickson!" Jack declared, placing the banknote on the cashier's counter. Without waiting for a response from the shop assistant, he hastily departed.

Chapter 46 The city lights shimmered like a thousand distant eyes, but inside Rosette’s penthouse, the tension was suffocating. The dossiers she had prepared were spread across the table, each one a carefully constructed weapon meant to dismantle her father’s empire piece by piece. She moved between them with precision, checking details, ensuring nothing could be traced back to her before the strike.

“Not bad.” I nodded. “Bishop’s greedy. He can survive losing men. He can survive getting shot. But he can’t survive losing money.” Grim stepped closer to the map. “We start buying on low key.” He looked at me. “Buying that bastard’s fucking weed?” “Yes.” “Including his garages, salvage yards, the towing contracts, scrap auctions. Every legal business his money flows through.” Drex scratched his beard. “That’ll cost us.” “It will.” “But it’ll cost Bishop more.”

The penthouse was quiet in the way that made every creak of the floorboards sound like a scream. Raven perched at the edge of the leather sofa, laptop open but forgotten, fingers resting on the keyboard like she might strike at any moment. She had spent hours combing through Evelyn’s financials, the coded payment ledgers, shipping manifests, and old intelligence reports that left no doubt. Her pulse thrummed not from fear alone, but from the sheer immensity of what she had uncovered.

Tony caught me before I could disappear inside. “Jamie.” His voice was low, cigar smoke curling from the corner of his mouth. “There’s a special booking in the upstairs suite. You’re the pick.” My stomach did that quick, familiar clench. I stopped, sneakers squeaking on the polished concrete. “Who?” “Three. Finance guys. Hedge-fund money. They saw your profile on the private app and requested you by name.” He pulled a folded slip of paper from his shirt pocket and held it out like it was a winning lottery ticket. “Forty-two thousand. Cash. Up front. For the night.”

Sandros' subordinate alighted from the car and helped him with the door. Sandros placed a foot on the ground before placing the other, “get the stuff.” he ordered, smoothening his crumpled shirt. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one up, “Don't waste my time, Matthew.” Matthew jogged, opened up the car trunk, and pulled out the stuff. He held the suitcase protectively, checking left and right as he walked after Sandros. His master, Sandros, should be referred to as the most ruthless man in the whole city. He was cruel, heartless, and most importantly, thirsty for more wealth. He was extremely careful while making deals with people, and once his business partners made