Nate Bell did not sleep that night.
He tried. God knows he did. He lay on a four-poster bed in one of Vincent LaRoux's penthouses overlooking the French Quarter, under Egyptian cotton sheets more expensive than his entire apartment's rent. But his brain kept looping.
Twelve billion dollars. An opera house. A burner phone tracking "influence." Syndicates. A dead man's riddle.
At 4:12 a.m., he got out of bed, made black coffee in a gold-rimmed French press, and sat on the balcony in nothing but boxers and a silk robe that still had a dry cleaner's tag from Milan.
The city looked different from this high up.
No, he looked at it differently now.
---
By 9:45 a.m., Nate stood in front of the Delacroix Opera House, a crumbling, ivy-covered behemoth tucked between an old bank and a wine bar. Its boarded-up windows bore the scars of Hurricane Katrina. Paint peeled like dead skin off its once-grand columns. But the bones of glory still lingered — carved cherubs, Greco-Roman flourishes, a cracked marble lion standing guard on the steps.
"Not bad for a first mission," Nate muttered to himself. "Save the opera, stop the mob, get rich. Easy."
A black Cadillac Escalade rolled up across the street.
A man stepped out — tall, fit, balding, but wearing an expensive Italian suit and wraparound sunglasses. Two bodyguards flanked him, one holding a laptop bag, the other a bulge under his coat that screamed "firearm."
Nate squinted as the man walked past him without even a glance.
The burner phone buzzed in Nate's pocket.
> Target: Louis "Louie" DuChamp.
Known front for LeClerc Syndicate. Under investigation by DEA, IRS, and Interpol. Suspected money laundering via auction proxies.
Warning: Dangerous. Maintain deniability.
Nate sucked in a breath. "Yeah, great. Definitely what a sax player should be dealing with."
He slipped into the crowd gathering on the front steps — maybe fifty people in total, ranging from real estate developers to a woman in yoga pants who smelled like palo santo and privilege.
A bored-looking auctioneer stood under the decaying marquee with a megaphone.
"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Delacroix Opera House liquidation sale! Bidding begins at ten sharp. Serious offers only. Winning bid assumes full liability for restoration, taxes, and liens."
Someone behind Nate snorted. "So basically you're paying to inherit a money pit."
The woman next to him said, "It's haunted, you know. They say LaRoux used to host secret ceremonies here."
Nate blinked. "Wait, really?"
"Google it," she whispered.
---
Inside, the opera house smelled like mildew and forgotten grandeur. Dust motes swirled in shafts of light that broke through cracks in the ceiling. A pigeon watched from a chandelier. The stage curtain was moth-eaten, but still somehow regal.
Nate felt the weight of the place, and for the first time that day, he wanted to save it.
Not because of the money. Not even for the mission.
But because this place deserved to sing again.
He opened the burner phone.
> Objective Reminder: Outbid DuChamp.
Alternative: Expose financial link to syndicate and invalidate bid.
"Right," Nate muttered. "Let's bankrupt a gangster with zero business experience and a saxophone degree."
The auctioneer stepped up on the edge of the stage. "Opening bid: One point two million."
Louie DuChamp raised a finger.
"Two million," someone shouted.
"Two point five," Louie replied, without emotion.
"Three!" the yoga woman called out.
"Three point five," Louie said.
The room went quiet.
Nate took a step forward.
The burner buzzed again.
> Activate emergency reserve for use in this transaction?
Available: $5M. Use: One-time transfer. Confirm?
Nate hesitated. Then tapped YES.
"Five million!" he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.
Louie turned his head slowly. His sunglasses tilted just enough for Nate to see his eyes — sharp, predatory, snake-like.
The room buzzed.
"Going once!" the auctioneer called.
Louie didn't flinch.
"Going twice!"
Still no response.
"Sold! To the gentleman in the... is that a vintage denim jacket?"
Nate let out a long breath. He was sweating through his shirt.
As the crowd began to murmur and disperse, Louie DuChamp approached.
Nate froze.
Louie's cologne hit first — spicy, oily, with something metallic underneath.
"You're not from around here," Louie said, voice smooth as bourbon. "You don't buy dead buildings unless you're stupid… or playing a game."
Nate swallowed. "I like opera."
Louie smiled with his mouth, not his eyes. "Enjoy the ghosts."
Then he turned and walked out.
---
One hour later, Nate stood in the dusty main office on the second floor, now technically his. A faded oil painting of a soprano hung crooked on the wall.
He flipped through a leather briefcase one of LaRoux's aides had couriered over. Inside were documents: building permits, bribes to inspectors, deferred tax liens. All of it tied up in red tape.
And a USB drive.
He plugged it into the laptop.
A video file popped up.
LaRoux again.
> "If you're watching this, you've reclaimed the first piece. Good. I'm proud of you, Bell. But this was never about an opera house. It's about what's underneath it."
"Check the boiler room. You'll find a vault. Old, hidden, and full of things I couldn't legally move before I died."
The screen went black.
Nate grabbed a flashlight and headed to the basement.
---
The air turned colder as he descended, the wood creaking under his boots. He passed broken seats, rusted rigging equipment, and walls that wept with age.
Finally, at the far end of the boiler room, he saw it: a steel hatch half-buried behind an old boiler. No lock. Just a dial with five digits.
He sighed. "Really? A puzzle?"
He turned to leave — but then noticed something etched into the wall in fading chalk:
> JULIE.
Nate whispered, "His daughter."
He remembered reading about her in one of the documents. Died young. Plane crash. LaRoux had never spoken of her publicly again.
He turned the dial.
J - U - L - I - E.
Click.
The vault door groaned open.
Inside: a row of safety deposit boxes, a crate marked ARTIFACTS, two dusty ledgers, and a stack of manila folders with red tabs.
He opened the top one.
Photos. Louie DuChamp. A map. Offshore bank records.
Blackmail.
"Oh hell," Nate muttered. "You really were Batman, weren't you?"
The burner phone buzzed again.
> Bonus Objective Complete. Evidence uploaded. Syndicate bid invalidated.
New Net Worth: $30.2M
Influence Index: 2.4%
Nate stared at the screen, half-expecting it to say "Achievement Unlocked."
Then the final line popped up:
> Next Objective: The Riverside Development Project. Someone is poisoning the zoning committee.
He closed the vault and leaned against the wall, breathing heavily.
He wasn't sure if he was building an empire or digging a grave.
But for the first time in years, he felt alive.
---