The rain slicked the London streets, casting neon reflections in the puddles that gathered between the cobblestones of Soho. The city pulsed with life, oblivious to the quiet war being fought in the underbelly of its nightlife. Inside The Gilded Fox—a private club that catered to the city’s elite—Hugo Mercer sat in a leather booth, nursing a whiskey as he waited.
Hugo had once been one of London’s most reliable fixers, the kind of man you hired when things got messy and needed to be tied up without a trace. He had been good—too good. That was why he’d retired five years ago. But retirement didn’t erase debts, and the past had a way of clawing back.
“Mercer,” a voice drawled.
Hugo glanced up. Across from him slid in Gabriel Quinn, a lean man with razor-sharp cheekbones and a reputation for making people disappear. Quinn was second-in-command of the Vale Syndicate, a criminal empire that stretched from the docks of Tilbury to the penthouses of Mayfair.
Hugo sighed. “I take it this isn’t a social call?”
Quinn smirked. “You still got the instincts, old man. We need you for one last job.”
Hugo chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m out.”
“You owe us,” Quinn said, tapping the table lightly. “Or have you forgotten about a certain warehouse fire in Hackney? The one that got your friend, Danny, off the hook?”
Hugo clenched his jaw. Danny was the only person he still cared about in this business. The thought of his old friend being dragged into this made his stomach twist.
“What’s the job?” Hugo muttered.
Quinn’s grin widened. “We need you to retrieve something from a safe deposit box at Coutts Bank.”
Hugo raised an eyebrow. “A smash-and-grab at the Queen’s bank? That’s not a job, that’s suicide.”
Quinn’s smile didn’t falter. “It’s already arranged. We just need your expertise on the inside.”
Hugo exhaled slowly, staring into his whiskey. He knew better than to take another job. But the truth was, part of him missed it—the thrill, the danger, the careful dance of outsmarting everyone.
And if he didn’t do it, Danny would pay the price.
“Fine,” Hugo said. “Tell me everything.”
The plan was simple—at least on paper. The Vale Syndicate had paid off a mid-level bank employee to disable alarms for a ten-minute window. Hugo, posing as a security consultant, would walk in, access the vault, and retrieve a black leather case from box #137. No gunfire, no explosions, just precision.
The catch? The box belonged to Lord Edwin Blackwood, a man deeply embedded in the city’s political and criminal networks. If they were caught, they wouldn’t just face prison. They’d disappear.
Hugo met his crew at a safehouse in Shoreditch. There was Rory, the cocky tech expert; Elena, a former MI5 operative turned freelancer; and Vince, a muscle-bound enforcer with a penchant for violence.
“We move at 8:35 a.m.,” Elena said, unfolding the blueprint of the bank. “Guards rotate every fifteen minutes. That gives Hugo exactly ten minutes inside the vault.”
“Doesn’t leave much room for error,” Hugo muttered.
“That’s why you’re here,” Rory said, smirking.
Hugo ignored him. He was already mentally walking through the job. Timing, exits, contingencies. It all had to be flawless.
The next morning, Hugo stood outside Coutts Bank on the Strand, adjusting his tie. He walked through the grand entrance, nodding to the security desk. His fake ID passed scrutiny, and he was escorted to the vault by a nervous-looking manager.
“Here we are, Mr. Mercer,” the man said. “Take all the time you need.”
The vault door swung open, revealing rows of deposit boxes. Hugo found #137 and entered the code Quinn had given him. The lock clicked open.
Inside, the black leather case sat on a velvet-lined shelf. He lifted it carefully, then hesitated. Curiosity got the better of him. He unlatched the case and opened it an inch.
Inside was a stack of documents stamped with the crest of the Home Office. Among them, a list of names. Hugo’s blood ran cold. It wasn’t just any list. These were high-ranking officials, police officers, judges—every person Lord Blackwood had in his pocket.
This wasn’t just a job. This was a war waiting to happen.
He shut the case and turned to leave—but something was wrong. The bank manager was gone. A second later, the vault door slammed shut, locking him in.
“Shit.”
Hugo’s earpiece crackled. “Problem?” Elena’s voice.
“Vault’s locked.”
“Someone tipped them off,” Rory muttered. “I’m hacking the system now.”
Hugo’s pulse quickened. This wasn’t a coincidence. Someone had played them.
The vault door beeped and clicked open. Hugo stepped out, moving quickly through the corridors. He made it to the side exit just as sirens howled outside.
Vince was waiting in a stolen BMW. “Get in.”
They tore through London’s streets, dodging police. Hugo gritted his teeth. The job had been a setup, but the question was—who had sold them out?
Back at the safehouse, Hugo tossed the case onto the table. Quinn sat across from him, calm as ever.
“You set us up,” Hugo growled.
Quinn shrugged. “A necessary sacrifice.”
“You knew they’d be waiting,” Elena said, arms crossed.
“Of course,” Quinn said. “And now Blackwood knows we have his secrets. He’ll be desperate to negotiate.”
Hugo stared at him. “This was never about the job. It was about leverage.”
Quinn smirked. “Welcome back, Mercer.”
Hugo exhaled, fury simmering. He had been played, used as a pawn in Quinn’s power struggle.
But he wasn’t finished yet.
That night, Hugo made a call. “Blackwood? I have something you’ll want.”
The old lord’s voice was smooth, measured. “Interesting. And what do you want in return?”
Hugo glanced at the case. If he played this right, he could take Quinn down and finally be free.
“I want Quinn.”
There was a pause, then a chuckle. “Consider it done.”
Two days later, Quinn’s body was found in the Thames, his throat slit. The Vale Syndicate fractured without him, and Blackwood regained his power.
Hugo? He disappeared, slipping away into the chaos.
He had learned one thing—there was no such thing as a last job. But this time, he was making sure he was the one pulling the strings.
And as he walked through Heathrow Airport, a new passport in hand, he smiled to himself.
London had taken enough from him. Now, it was his turn to take something back.
