Fifty Million Reasons

The stale air of the abandoned warehouse tasted like regret and old motor oil. Danny’s knuckles were white, his breath coming in ragged gasps that did little to cool the inferno raging in his chest. Marcus, his so-called best friend, stood across from him, a smug, reptilian smile stretching across his face. The fluorescent lights flickered, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to mock the dim light of truth finally piercing the darkness.

“Fifty million, Danny,” Marcus purred, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down Danny’s spine, and not in a good way. “All this time, just sitting there. And you were too damn sentimental to touch it.”

Danny’s jaw clenched. Fifty million. The phantom limb of a life he’d tried so hard to amputate. It was from that one big score, the one that had landed them in the crosshairs of every law enforcement agency from here to Timbuktu. They’d been careful, or so he’d thought. He’d buried it deep, a secret so buried it felt like a bad dream. Until now.