Chapter 2 The action

The morning sun filtered through the towering windows of the Denver mansion, casting long shadows over the dining hall where the family sat around a sleek, circular table. It was time for the final briefing before they set their plan into motion.

Mr. Denver, as always, sat at the head, the self-proclaimed mastermind, though he rarely lifted a finger. He didn't need to. His children did all the work while he reaped the rewards.

Max, his right-hand man and eldest son, had the plan laid out, ready to walk them through it one last time. Ethan leaned back in his chair, chewing gum with his usual disinterest-he never did much, never had to. Ophelia sat with her arms crossed, waiting. And William, as energetic as always, tapped his fingers against the table, eager to get started.

Max cleared his throat. "Before I approach Jonathan Black with the business deal, Ophelia has to have the accident first," he began.

Ethan groaned, stretching his arms behind his head. "Ugh, this job sounds boring already. Where's the action? No fights, no chases, just a stupid accident?" He exhaled dramatically. "I need action, Max. You know I do. I'm the best fighter here, and you're wasting me on-what?-watching Ophelia play dead?"

Max rolled his eyes. "Not every job has to be a damn brawl, Ethan."

"Maybe, but this one's dull." Ethan yawned, then shot Ophelia a smirk. "No offense, sis, but I'd rather be in a real fight than watching you flop in front of some guy's car."

"None taken," Ophelia muttered, barely sparing him a glance.

Max waved him off. "You'll get your action eventually. But for now, focus."

Ophelia frowned. "And if something goes wrong?"

Max barely glanced at her. "Nothing will go wrong. We've done this before."

"Not like this," she countered. "What if he doesn't stop in time? What if I actually get hurt? What if-what if I die?"

William stiffened at that, his usual playful expression disappearing.

"You're overthinking," Max said, clearly impatient. "You're a fighter, Ophelia. You know how to take a hit and sell it. You'll control the impact. Stumble into his car, fall just right, and boom-amnesia. You've done worse."

"Worse?" William scoffed, leaning forward. "She's throwing herself in front of a moving vehicle, Max. You're making it sound like a stage trick."

"It is a trick. A trick we've perfected. Look, Jonathan Black is an easy target. He's predictable. He'll panic, take her to the hospital, and that's when we get inside his life. It's the simplest way in."

Ethan huffed, kicking his feet onto the table, earning a glare from Mr. Denver. "Still sounds like a waste of time. If he's that predictable, why don't we just break into his place and beat the crap out of him until he gives us what we want?"

Mr. Denver scoffed. "Because we aren't common thugs." His voice was sharp, final. "We do things smart, Ethan. And if you want to keep living like a king, you'll follow the plan."

Ethan clicked his tongue but didn't argue.

Max, satisfied that the conversation had shifted back to him, continued. "After the accident, I'll meet him for the business deal. He needs to believe we own luxury hotels in Argentina. Thanks to my research, that won't be hard."

He slid a folder across the table. Inside were documents, photos-proof of ownership.

"I actually bought this place years ago," he said, tapping one of the pictures. "It's a wreck now, completely abandoned. But Black doesn't need to know that. We just show him the right pictures, play it smart, and he'll bite."

"And once I'm in his house?" Ophelia asked.

"You look for anything valuable. Property papers, investment details-anything we can take."

Mr. Denver smirked approvingly, swirling the whiskey in his glass. He always loved a well-laid plan-especially one that promised to fill his pockets.

William let out a breath and leaned back. "I still don't get it. We have money. We have everything. Why do we keep doing this?"

The room went silent.

Mr. Denver's expression darkened. "Because this is what we do." His voice was cold, final. "The rich get richer, the poor stay poor. And we're the balance. We take from the rich and give to the poor."

Ophelia nearly laughed out loud. Give to the poor? Since when? She had never seen her father donate a single dollar. All he did was buy another sports car, another yacht, another diamond-encrusted watch.

But she kept her mouth shut.

When the meeting wrapped up, they reviewed photos of Jonathan Black, memorizing details about their target. Then, one by one, they left the table, the plan set in motion.

Ophelia stepped outside, needing air. The garden was her escape, the only place in the mansion that felt like hers. She sat beneath the shade of an old oak tree, put on her headphones, and opened her laptop.

She started writing.

It was always the same story-the story of a girl trapped in a world of deception, longing for a way out. A girl so deeply embedded in the con that even she wasn't sure who she was anymore.

Her fingers hesitated over the keys. She wanted to write a different ending this time-one where the girl escaped. Where she broke free.

But could she?

Did people like her ever truly get out?

She sighed, leaning back against the tree trunk.

"Hiding?"

She looked up to see William standing over her, hands in his pockets.

"Thinking," she said.

He sat beside her, stretching out his legs. "You ever wonder what life would be like if we weren't them?"

Ophelia's fingers froze over the keyboard.

"All the time," she admitted.

He exhaled, shaking his head. "Yeah. Me too." Then, after a pause, "But I owe him. Mr. Denver saved me. I was nothing before he took me in. Now, I'd do anything for him. Anything. Even if I don't like this life, I'd still follow him."

Ophelia studied him carefully.

"Saved you?" she asked. "From what?"

He gave a small, humorless laugh. "From starving. From the streets. I was just a kid, and he took me in. Fed me. Gave me a home. Everything I have is because of him."

Ophelia wanted to tell him the truth. That she was leaving. That she couldn't keep doing this. But looking at him, she knew she couldn't. Not yet. He wouldn't understand.

William grinned. "Shopping. You in?"

Her eyes lit up. "You know I never say no to shopping."

And just like that, they pushed the heavy conversation aside. Because that was the Denver way-ignore, pretend, keep moving.

But Ophelia knew the truth.

She wouldn't be ignoring it for much longer.