A low buzz came from the bank's front door intercom. One of the masked men standing near the entrance pressed the receiver.
"It's the delivery," the voice on the other end said.
Inside the bank, Ethan Black gave a nod to Ray. "That's ours. Get it in."
Outside, the police hesitated. Ethan's voice came sharply through the comms:
"Send it in—no scans, no checking. That was the agreement."
At the police line, Detective Hale frowned. He turned to his team.
"Slide a pin-cam inside the flap. Keep it tucked. No extra sensors—just video," he ordered quickly.
A plainclothes officer discreetly slipped a matchbox-sized camera into the taped seam of the delivery box. Seconds later, a uniformed officer wheeled it across the open ground and left it just outside the bank's main door.
---
Inside, tension was already brewing.
As the box arrived, Ethan, irritable and pacing, stopped near a young woman hostage who had stumbled trying to move. Her trembling hand brushed his coat.
He shoved her back—too roughly.
"Watch it," he snapped.
A.D., watching from across the lobby, moved without hesitation. He stepped in fast, grabbing Ethan's wrist before it could rise again.
The room froze.
"What the hell are you doing?" Ethan growled, yanking his arm free.
A.D. didn't speak—but his stance was clear. Protective. Defiant.
Ethan lunged. The two men clashed hard, shoving each other back against a marble column. Hostages screamed and backed away. One of the robbers—Mack—ran to the front, grabbed the delivery box, and slammed the door shut again, ignoring the scuffle.
Ray Donovan's voice blared into the earpiece from the surveillance van:
"Stop it! Both of you! We're on a timeline—get it together!"
A.D. stepped back, chest heaving, eyes locked with Ethan's. Neither spoke, but the hatred was thick.
---
Two blocks away, inside the mobile police command van, a quiet beep signaled a video feed.
"Camera's live," one officer said.
The image flickered… then cleared.
One by one, the faces of the gang came into view—Ethan during the fight, Ray giving orders, Logan trying to intervene, and two others who had pulled A.D. away.
Detective Hale stared at the screen, his throat dry.
"Get facial matches. Now," he ordered.
He didn't know yet how deeply connected he was to the people on that screen. But now the police had a piece of the puzzle they were never meant to see.
And inside the bank, things were just beginning to unravel.
To Be Continued...