Maluck took a leisurely sip of his whiskey, watching Dennis finish the last of his whiskey like it was his final meal. Good. He needed the guy relaxed enough to not start panicking—yet.
“Alright, Dennis,” Maluck said smoothly, “you know how this works now. We’re not just shaking you down for fun. This isn’t some smash-and-grab. We’re here to fix things.”
Dennis let out a weak, nervous chuckle. “Fix? That’s, uh, that’s a funny word to use.”
Cass, flipping through the files she and Chloe had stolen, smirked. “Yeah, well, your version of ‘charity’ is funny too. We’re just making some adjustments.”
Dennis gulped. “So, uh… what do you need me to do?”
Maluck grinned. “Oh, buddy. Everything.”
Maluck had just finished his drink and was in no hurry, admiring his handiwork. Dennis was still pale, gripping his empty glass like it was a lifeline, while Chloe and Cass were enjoying the sheer pleasure of watching him squirm. The pieces were in place, the operation was shifting hands, and everything was coming together.
And then?
Soi walked in.
The man looked around the bar, spotted them instantly, and sighed like a parent arriving late to a parent-teacher conference knowing his kid had set something on fire.
He walked up to their booth, slid into the seat beside Cass, and casually glanced at Dennis—who was sweating like a man who had just realized he was the last remaining contestant in a very illegal game show.
“You know,” Soi said, adjusting his glasses, “when I got your text saying, ‘Come to the casino, we own a charity now,’ I really thought I was misreading something.”
Maluck grinned. “Nope. That’s exactly what happened.”
Soi pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course it is.”
Dennis, still trying to process his life imploding, looked between them. “Wait—you invited an accountant to this?”
Cass smirked. “Forensic accountant. There’s a difference.”
Soi leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “Right. And what, exactly, do you need me to do now?”
Maluck grinned. “Oh, you know, nothing major. Just completely restructure the financial system of a fraudulent charity and make sure the money flows in a way that doesn’t get us arrested.”
Soi blinked. Then turned to Dennis. “Do I even want to ask how much of a mess this is?”
Dennis, now beyond the point of self-preservation, just slumped in his seat. “I don’t know, man. I just move the numbers around.”
Soi sighed, pulling out his phone. “Alright. Give me every account, every ledger, every single document with a dollar sign on it.”
Dennis twitched. “You sound a lot like a CRA auditor right now.”
Soi adjusted his glasses. “That’s because I used to be one.”
Dennis’ pupils dilated with pure terror.
Maluck grinned, patting him on the shoulder. “You hear that, Dennis? You’re in good hands.”
Chloe chuckled, sipping her drink. “Yeah, welcome to your new reality.”
Dennis looked at the group around him—the smooth-talking gambler, the grinning forensic accountant, the scarily competent goth girl, and now the guy who used to work for the government.
He swallowed hard. “I should’ve just gone home.”
***
Soi and Cass had already started laying the groundwork.
“Alright,” Soi said, tapping his laptop, “step one, we need full access to the accounts. All of them.”
Dennis twitched. “I don’t have full control—I mean, I do the money movement, but the actual accounts belong to—”
Cass cut him off. “We know. And we’ll get there. But right now, we need you to give us the passwords and logins you do have.” She pushed a pen and paper toward him.
Dennis hesitated. “You’re asking me to—”
“Give us what we already know exists?” Soi finished. “Yeah. Chop chop.”
With a sigh of a man who knew he was already doomed, Dennis scribbled down a list of logins. Cass handed it to Soi, who immediately started working.
“Okay, got into the first account,” Soi muttered. “Jesus. They really are moving this money like a goddamn shell game.”
Maluck took a sip of his whiskey. “Yeah, well, the house always wins. Until we own the house.”
Cass, flipping through more files, let out a low whistle. “Well, well, well. Dennis, buddy, I hate to break it to you, but you weren’t the only one with sticky fingers.”
Dennis rubbed his face. “I told you I don’t know everyone involved—”
Maluck grinned. “That’s fine. Because I do.”
Dennis frowned. “You… you do?”
Maluck tapped his temple. “Scammer Slayer, baby.”
Dennis blinked. “Is that a, uh, real—?”
“Shh,” Maluck said, closing his eyes dramatically. “Thieves and grifters? I can sense them.”
Chloe smiled. “He means he’s about to eyeball people until they get nervous and start sweating.”
“Oh.” Dennis nodded. “Yeah, that, uh… that actually is kinda crazy.”
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
“Thank you,” Maluck said, opening his eyes. “Now, who do we need to have a conversation with?”
Dennis swallowed. “Well… There’s Mike in accounting.”
“Mike’s always in accounting,” Cass muttered.
“There’s also Darla, who does payroll, and—”
“Okay, okay,” Maluck interrupted, “so we’ve got an accountant and a payroll officer. Classic. Where are they?”
Dennis hesitated. “Mike’s probably still at the office. He works late. Darla… she might be at The Golden Palm.”
Maluck frowned. “What’s The Golden Palm?”
Dennis coughed. “Uh… a very high-end spa.”
Maluck and Chloe exchanged a glance.
Chloe grinned. “So I break into an office, and you storm a luxury spa?”
Maluck sighed. “I hate that this sounds like a fair split.”
***
Maluck strolled into The Golden Palm with the confidence of a man who absolutely belonged there, even though he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt.
The receptionist, a perfectly polished woman who had definitely seen some shady things, raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you, sir?”
“Yeah,” Maluck said smoothly. “I’m here to see Darla. Business.”
The receptionist barely blinked. “She’s in a private suite.”
Maluck grinned. “Perfect. I’ll be real quiet.”
The woman hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. This was the kind of place where people paid extra for privacy, and Maluck had the air of someone who was going to get into someone else’s business.
But his charisma was now at 1.32. And somehow, he looked like he owned the room.
It wasn’t just confidence—it was the way he carried himself, like he was exactly where he was supposed to be, like the world would adjust to his presence rather than the other way around.
She decided it was really not worth it to get involved, and let him in.
Five minutes later, he was sitting across from Darla, who was wrapped in a plush robe and drinking cucumber water like it was champagne.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Who the hell are you?”
Maluck smiled. “Your new favorite person.”
She blinked. “What?”
He leaned in. “I know you’ve been making adjustments to the payroll.”
Darla’s face barely changed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Maluck pulled out a file from Cass and flipped it open just enough for Darla to catch a glimpse of the neatly compiled documents inside. He didn’t shove it in her face, didn’t need to. Just the weight of it in his hands, the casual confidence in his tone, did the job.
“Oh, you don’t?” He arched a brow, tapping the folder. “Because this says otherwise.”
Darla’s gaze flickered to the papers, but if she was rattled, she didn’t show it. Instead, she took another slow sip of cucumber water, the ice clinking softly against the glass.
“…Okay. And?”
Maluck chuckled, shaking his head. “And I’m not here to punish you.” He leaned forward, voice dropping just enough to make her listen. “I’m here to promote you.”
Darla frowned, finally giving him her full attention. “Excuse me?”
“Think about it. We both know this place is a racket. The books are cooked, the cuts aren’t clean, and someone upstairs is making sure you take the blame if it all falls apart.” He gave her a knowing look. “You’re skimming, yeah. But not nearly as much as the people actually pulling the strings.”
Darla didn’t confirm or deny it, but the slight shift in her expression told him he wasn’t wrong.
“So here’s what’s gonna happen,” Maluck continued, leaning back with an easy smile. “You’re gonna stop skimming—for yourself, anyway. But you’ll get your fair share versus the scraps you were taking before. Because from now on, you work for me.”
He let the moment stretch, then shrugged, tilting his head toward the file. “Or, you know, I could make sure this finds its way to the CRA. They’d have a field day with these numbers.”
Darla stared at him for a long moment, her fingers drumming lightly against the table. She knew this day would come someday. She just hadn’t been sure in what form.The weight of the offer hung between them, the reality of what he was saying settled in.
Then, with deliberate care, she set her cucumber water down.
“…So what’s the salary?”
Maluck grinned, sharp and satisfied. “That’s the spirit.”
****
By the time Maluck returned, Chloe had already broken into Mike’s office, bypassed the cheap electronic lock like it was an inconvenience rather than a security measure, and helped herself to his financial records and passwords which were predictably written down. She hadn’t just taken what they needed—she’d made sure Mike knew someone had been there. A strategically placed note, written in casual, almost friendly handwriting, sat on his desk:
Nice try. Do better.
It wasn’t signed, but it didn’t have to be. Mike would spend the next week tearing his hair out, combing through his accounts, and second-guessing every move he made.
Meanwhile, Soi had been busy, fully rerouting the money flow with the precision of a surgeon. He’d cut off every lazy, predictable path Mike had used to launder his earnings and rebuilt the system from the ground up, weaving it through new, far more complicated channels. By the time Mike even noticed something was wrong, his money would already be tied up in places he couldn’t reach, funneled into accounts he no longer controlled.
Cass had taken all of that and compiled it into something dangerous—something they could use. Spreadsheets, reports, connections between accounts that Mike had tried to bury, all mapped out in a way that made it painfully obvious how deep the rot went. Every shell company, every payout, every little trick he’d used to keep himself clean was now sitting in a neat, organized file, just waiting for Maluck to decide how to use it.
And when he stepped into the room, taking it all in—the groundwork they had laid, the leverage they now held—he couldn’t help but grin.
Mike’s shell game wasn’t just compromised.
It was theirs now.
***
“So?” Chloe asked as Maluck flopped onto the couch.
“Payroll’s secured,” he said with a smirk.
Theo snorted. “You blackmailed her, didn’t you?”
Maluck grinned. “I prefer to call it aggressive recruitment.”
Cass clapped her hands together. “Well, in that case, congratulations, everyone.”
She pulled out a printed spreadsheet and set it down on the coffee table.
“We now unofficially control Cars 4 A Better Future.”
Chloe whistled. “Damn. We’re like… organized crime. But with spreadsheets.”
Maluck smirked. “Yup. We’re just that efficient.”
Soi sighed. “Please don’t make that our motto.”
Maluck grinned. “Too late. I’m getting it on a plaque.”
As they toasted to their successful takeover, Maluck couldn’t help but feel satisfied.
Sure, it wasn’t clean.
But it was profitable.
And the best part?
He had received a BUNCH of System Task Completes!
[System Task: A Generous Soul] COMPLETE You’ve taken your due, but true balance comes from giving as well. Why not tip the scales back in your favor? Donate your old car and share your fortune with someone in need.
Bonus: +0.03 Wisdom, +5 LP.
***
[Skill Activated: Scammer Slayer]
5 LP for exposing Cars 4 a Better Future
***
System Task: The Road to Hell is Paved…] COMPLETE Well, well, well. You’ve really stepped in it this time. Charity? Corruption? Extortion? Bribery? This little mess touches on greed, justice, deception, generosity, and power.
Objective:
?Dig deeper into the Cars 4 A Better Future scam.
?Follow the money trail.
?Expose the corruption—or profit from it.
?Decide whether to dismantle it, take it over, or play both sides.
Rewards Vary Based on Your Actions:
?Take control of the operation : Gain +0.2 Intelligence, +0.2 Charisma, a steady income source, and everyone watching you closely.
***
Maluck leaned back in his chair, staring at the floating numbers before him. His stats weren’t impressive at a glance—nothing that screamed powerhouse or unbeatable. But that didn’t matter. He knew better now.
Strength: 1.10. He wasn’t winning many arm-wrestling contests, but he could hold his own when it mattered. He wasn’t just some mark to be shoved around anymore.
Constitution: 1.02. Not exactly ironclad, but he’d taken a few hits—financial, social, and physical—and he was still standing. That counted for something.
Endurance: 1.18. He had stamina now, enough to outlast out of shape bikers, random street thugs, and people who hate cardio.
Dexterity: 1.03. A little sharper, a little faster. Less stumbling into trouble, more stepping around it.
Perception: 1.14. He noticed things now. The way people hesitated before lying, the little shifts in their eyes when they weighed their options. He wasn’t the one being played anymore.
And then there was the real difference.
Intelligence: 1.48. Wisdom: 1.65. He was learning. Not just how to survive, but how to win. Every deal, every conversation, every mistake—it all added up.
And finally, Charisma: 1.52. The number was still climbing, but the effect was already there. People listened now. They hesitated before dismissing him, reconsidered their choices, weighed the risks. They didn’t just see Maluck anymore.
They saw someone who mattered.
He smirked and dismissed the screen.
This was only the beginning.
***
