The Heart System

Chapter 668: Chapter 668

I grabbed the handle and pulled the door open.

Inside was almost completely dark, so I pulled out my phone and switched on the flashlight. The beam cut through the black interior and illuminated five folders stacked neatly inside.

"Hmm."

I reached in and took them all out, setting them on top of the safe one by one. Then I opened the first folder and started reading.

And that was when it all started to make sense.

The first folder contained property records. Not just one, but several. The pawnshop, a small storage unit downtown, a laundromat, and a small apartment block all connected to the same chain of transfers. On paper, the names looked different, but the purchase dates were too close together and the signatures had the same shape. The businesses had all been taken under a shell company that existed only on paper and seemed to have been bought up through fake loans and pressure tactics.

Brok had not just bought a pawnshop.

He had been swallowing the block piece by piece.

The second folder made it worse. It was full of letters, printed threats, and handwritten notes. Some were sent to owners, some to tenants, and some to random people who had apparently gotten in his way. A few of them were full of vague talk about debt, interest, and consequences. Others were much more direct. One note mentioned ruining a man’s shop if he refused to sign over his lease. Another threatened to expose a woman’s private life if she did not cooperate. The language was ugly, forceful, and completely deliberate.

This was not business.

It was extortion.

The third folder had photographs. Not the kind I wanted to think about, either. There were pictures of men meeting Brok in alleys, pictures of cash handed between people, pictures of staff from one of the other properties looking terrified with bruises on their faces. One page had a handwritten list of names with amounts next to them. Some were crossed out. Some had the word settled written beside them. A few had a date written underneath, probably when someone had been forced to pay.

Brok was not just threatening people. He was running a system.

The fourth folder contained invoices and account sheets, but they were obviously fake if you knew how to look at them. Excessive repair costs, cleaning fees, supply replacements, all the kind of garbage people used to move money around without making it obvious. One page showed large cash drops with no receipts. Another had a chain of payments that ended in accounts I did not recognize. It was pretty clear he was laundering money through the pawnshop and probably through at least two of the other properties too.

The fifth folder was the worst one.

It was a mix of evidence on people like Eleanor and others I did not know yet. Debt notices, copies of ID cards, family information, addresses, photos of targets leaving their homes, and a few pages detailing "pressure points" in neat little notes. That alone told me enough. Brok was not just collecting money. He was collecting fear. He used it like currency. He learned where people lived, who they loved, what they owed, and then he squeezed until they broke.

I stared at the stack of folders for a second longer, then let out a slow breath.

This was gold.

Actual, beautiful blackmail gold.

If I showed this to the right people, Brok was done. Not just "back off Eleanor" done, but completely burned to the ground done. The only problem was making sure I used it the right way.

I looked back at Brok, frozen mid-sip with his stupid glass of vodka.

Yeah.

This was going to be fun.

I gathered the folders and stepped away from the safe, already thinking through how much of this I should copy, how much I should keep, and exactly how hard I wanted to hit him with it once time started moving again.

I walked out of the office and headed for my car. After tossing the folders onto the passenger seat, I locked the door and made my way back into the pawnshop. A moment later, I stepped into the office again and looked at the idiot sitting behind the desk.

"You’ve been a bad boy, Brok," I muttered as I returned to where I’d been standing before. "Let’s see if we can fix that."

Time Stop ended.

Brok and I immediately met eyes.

"See, Brok," I said with a small nod, "I have some dirt on you. And trust me, whatever dirt you think you have on me or Mark doesn’t even come close."

"Huh?"

"How about this?" I crossed my arms. "You pay me two million dollars and we call it even."

He slowly set his vodka glass on the desk and stared at me. Judging by the look on his face, he probably thought he was intimidating me. The funny thing was, I couldn’t have felt safer. If he tried anything stupid, I could always use Time Stop again.

"You’ve got balls, kid," he sneered. "But my patience is running out. You either pay me, or you give me Eleanor."

"I have the files," I replied evenly. "When was the last time you checked your safe?"

His eyes narrowed.

"What files?"

"Come on, Brok." I chuckled. "Don’t play dumb with me. All the little secrets you’ve been keeping in that safe? I have them."

"I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about." He slammed a hand onto the desk. "And you will—"

"Five."

I cut him off before he could finish.

"Five million dollars. You have two days to pay me. If you don’t, those files go public."

His jaw tightened.

"You don’t have th..."

"I’ll be back," I said with a smile, giving him a casual wave. "Try not to do anything stupid until then."

Before he could say another word, I turned and walked out of the office.

Dakota and I met eyes on the way out.

The guy looked like he’d seen a ghost. Sweat covered his forehead, and his face had gone pale. He was probably convinced his life was over.

Maybe it was.

At the moment, I really didn’t care.

I pushed through the front door and headed back to my car. Once I settled into the driver’s seat, I glanced toward the pawnshop.

Brok was standing by the office window, staring directly at me.

I grabbed one of the folders from the passenger seat and held it up where he could see it. Even from this distance, I could tell he wasn’t happy.

"Fucking idiot," I muttered as I started the engine. "That’s what happens when you keep all your skeletons in one place."

The engine rumbled to life.

Still holding the folder up for a second longer, I gave him one final smile before tossing it back onto the passenger seat and pulling away from the curb.

⟁ ⟁ ⟁