Gunfire exploded across the docks as mercenaries who stubbornly resisted and refused to surrender dropped one after another under the tightening police cordon, and Simon, limping badly, had no chance of escape—his brothers dwindled, his pistol the last thing in his hand, until he finally collapsed amid the storm of bullets, slumping helplessly against a container filled with gold in a corner as blood soaked through his clothes.
Simon weakly lifted his head, only to see the bald man standing in front of him already raising his gun.
McClane cursed, "Simon, you know what? Your brother's a bastard! Both of you are bastards!"
Simon burst out laughing. "Hahaha, yeah, he really is a bastard—you're right!" Then his expression darkened. "But he shouldn't have been thrown out a window by you, you Irish idiot!"
McClane laughed in exasperation. "I'll reunite you with him right now!"
Simon shot back, "McClane, you really think you've won?"
McClane snorted. "Don't tell me you planted another 2,000-pound liquid bomb here—hell no, I'm not falling for that again!"
"There's no bomb here." Simon, shot through the abdomen, was fading fast. "But you've never beaten me straight up. The only reason you're standing here with a gun pointed at me… is because of the Dove. I'm curious—what did you use to convince him? And when did he join you? I don't get it… what could possibly tempt him more than hundreds of billions in gold?"
"To be honest, I don't get it either. Maybe it's my irresistible charm—Ole Dove couldn't say no," McClane joked.
"I didn't expect you to be this idiot."
"Maybe you should think about what you did first," McClane said bluntly. "You dropped a bomb on his turf, sent me into Little Italy to stir up trouble—there was no way he'd ever tolerate that. You've been on the wrong side of him since day one. You should be grateful that bomb in Little Italy didn't go off, otherwise he'd have taken you out a long time ago."
"Heh." Simon sneered. "And you actually believe a Mafia guy is out here maintaining peace."
"Didn't you believe he'd sell you out for gold?" McClane shot back. "Well, now you've got your answer—he helped us recover every last bit of it."
"…"
Simon froze for a moment, then a bitter, self-mocking smile slowly crept across his face.
So that guy had been on the police's side all along?
Everything—the days they spent together, the shared danger—was all just an act?
But when Simon told his story, that man's eyes had looked so sincere, as if he truly understood him.
Even now, at the end, Simon couldn't tell which parts had been real and which had been lies.
McClane watched as the smile stiffened on Simon's face, stepped forward to check on him, and found the man already not breathing. He pressed the comms button and reported, "Simon's down!"
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[Ding! You assisted the federal government in capturing and eliminating the organization behind the massive gold heist, successfully recovering the gold and preventing a potential catastrophe that could have shaken the global economy and have upheld global economic stability]
[Skill Points +300]
[Skill Fragments +150]
[Remaining Skill Fragments: 210]
["Peacemaker" Title Progress: 1/3]
The "Peacemaker" title has been upgraded, with all attributes increased by 50%.
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A panel flickered before Luca's eyes as the skill's values were enhanced across the board—the hostility reduction during non-violent negotiations rose from 10% to 15%, the combat bonus while defending peace increased to 15%, and even the probability of conflict breaking out dropped further, from 10% to 15%, while the effective range expanded from 1 kilometer to 1.5 kilometers.
At that moment, the atmosphere on the scene shifted in a subtle, almost imperceptible way.
A young white officer roughly shoved a captured mercenary toward a squad car, clearly ready to crack him with the butt of his rifle when the man resisted—but the mercenary suddenly stopped struggling, quietly climbing into the vehicle, and the officer hesitated before lowering his weapon.
"Your boss is dead," the officer said coldly. "Quit resisting. It's pointless."
The mercenary said nothing, his expression grim.
The officer moved on to escort the remaining prisoners, then reported to Hobbs once everything was under control, briefly glancing at Luca before turning away.
Luca watched the man's back with interest.
There was something familiar about him—like the shadow of someone he'd known before—but not quite the same.
Wait… wasn't that guy a mole?
An undercover agent planted inside the police?
Luca asked casually, "That guy—NYPD? He looks new."
"He's Boston PD," Hobbs replied.
That explained it.
Luca nodded. The story involving that guy in the original plot did take place in Boston after all, but it still caught him off guard—he'd expected maybe one rare card there, not another one inside the police.
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[Character Card Discovered: Colin Sullivan (Unlocked)]
[Rank: A]
[Source: The Departed]
[Skills: Double Agent; Infernal Affairs]
[Bond: Strangers]
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Looking at the skill panel, Luca chuckled under his breath.
Funny—wasn't he playing the exact same role this time?
A double agent.
"I've got to admit, that kid did good," Hobbs added. "Front line the whole time—took down several mercs who wouldn't surrender."
"Sounds like he's earned himself a promotion party already," Luca said with a grin.
Boston gangs were clever—training kids from a young age, sending them into police academies, planting them deep inside law enforcement—but the police had the same idea, sending their own into the gangs.
Two men, living each other's lives, trapped in a hell neither of them chose.
I didn't have a choice before… but now I want to be a good man.
Luca wondered how far that story had progressed—Colin still looked like a junior officer, so it probably wasn't rooftop-showdown time yet.
"Luca."
Hobbs' voice cut through his thoughts as the big man extended his hand.
"Remember what I said a few days ago? You did me a solid. So here's my answer—if you ever need help, I've got your back."
Luca glanced at the panel, then at Hobbs.
Still don't fully trust me, huh?
But he took the hand anyway, smiling. "Appreciate it."
Hobbs held his gaze, thinking this wasn't over yet—he still intended to verify every ounce of that gold.
In the following days, the authorities wrapped up the case—recovering the gold, arresting the criminals, even hauling away the garbage trucks as evidence—and within a week, the Federal Reserve officially announced that the stolen gold had been recovered.
Using policy tools and public messaging, they quickly stabilized the panic-driven surge in gold prices, which had skyrocketed after Simon's global broadcast about destroying gold at sea.
Despite their efforts, central banks worldwide demanded audits of their U.S.-held reserves, triggering a brief run on gold banks, forcing the U.S. to stall for time while restoring supply confidence.
Once the gold was confirmed recovered, aggressive measures brought prices back under control—and even pushed the market into a sustained downturn.
---
At FBI headquarters in New York,
Hobbs finalized the case, overseeing the gold count with the Federal Reserve.
The discrepancy? Just 500 ounces—roughly 14 kilograms.
(TN: About 31 Pound)
For a haul measured in tons, that was nothing—well within acceptable loss.
The Fed had been ready for up to a 10% loss.
This result was… incredible.
But it didn't sit right with Hobbs.
He'd fully expected Luca to skim off a massive chunk.
If he had, Hobbs would've made sure he paid for it.
But there was nothing.
Just 14 kilos.
Almost like a tip.
Until a report landed on his desk.
"During the incident," a subordinate explained, "a private equity fund quietly manipulated the gold futures market—about $1 million in capital, leveraged 5–10x, timing long and short positions perfectly."
"How much did they make?" Hobbs cut in.
"At least $7 million."
"…Since when?"
"They started building positions the day of the bombing, then went aggressive after partial recovery—five days of global arbitrage after Simon fell into the water."
Hobbs' expression slowly shifted.
"Who's behind the fund?"
"Jordan Belfort."
Silence.
Then—
"Son of a—"
Now it clicked.
"Five days at most."
So that's what Luca had been doing.
No gold theft. No dirty tricks.
Just… waiting.
Waiting to legally bleed the market dry.
Hobbs shook his head, half laughing, half furious.
"That bastard!"
These were the real thieves—clean, elegant, and untouchable.
---
Out on the waters off Long Island, a luxury yacht throbbed with music and chaos.
On deck, people howled and cheered as Jordan Belfort stood above them, slamming two gold bars together like cymbals.
"Quiet down!"
He rolled up his sleeve, flashing a gleaming gold watch.
"See this? Pure gold! Know where it came from? Right under the noses of those idiots at the Federal Reserve!"
"The biggest vault in the world—and they couldn't guard it better than a damn watchdog!"
"Billion-dollar pile of gold! Do we need to steal it? No! They turned it into a buffet—so all we do is grab a knife and fork and dig in!"
"They stand there playing dumb, and we—real wolves—just bare our teeth and take the biggest cuts!"
"Remember—gold doesn't disappear. It just moves from fools… to geniuses!"
"Next time they fucked up—bring your appetite! Wall Street's buffet is always ALL-YOU-CAN-EAT!"
The crowd erupted.
Gold bars flew into the air as people scrambled like animals.
At the edge of the deck, Luca leaned against the railing, shirtless, champagne in hand, watching it all with a faint smile.
Jimmy approached, phone in hand. "Yo, Dove —it's Hobbs."
Hobbs' voice came through, tired but amused. "Turns out the biggest thief's been right next to me the whole time."
Luca chuckled. "Show some respect—Simon stole $140 Billion. I just picked up the crumbs."
A pause.
"Where are you?" Hobbs asked. "Let's meet before you disappear."
The sun hung high, the ocean calm.
Luca glanced at the horizon.
"Come to the SSR Club tonight," he said lightly. "Drinks are on me."
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