Digital Dominon

David checked the cracked screen of his cheap burner phone and stared at the balance left in his hidden debit account—$1,482.19. The number irritated him. It was pathetic, not even enough to keep his operation breathing for another month. Between the safehouse rent sitting at $570, the medical supplies at nearly $300, the burner phones that climbed past $350, and the constant courier fees that hovered around $400, he was already bleeding out financially. And this didn’t even touch the IDs, tools, and chemicals he still needed for the next phase. He calculated the gap precisely: he was short by $407.29.

He whispered to the empty room, “I need seven million. Minimum.”

His eyes drifted to the encrypted forum glowing on his laptop, buried under layers of rerouted traffic and phantom IPs. One wallet stood out—Wallet 1Hx9-23fk-77ZE-989q—holding 114.778 BTC. At tonight’s Bitcoin price of $63,227.49 per coin, the wallet was worth $7,253,342.92. He repeated the figure in his head. Seven million, two hundred fifty‑three thousand, three hundred forty‑two dollars and ninety‑two cents. The precision calmed him.

He examined the account history again. The owner was wealthy, sloppy, and shockingly careless: a reused two-factor seed phrase, an unencrypted file, and the worst offense—a cloud backup syncing every four minutes. Whoever this man was, he didn’t deserve his money.

At 01:34 AM, David began the breach. His custom script, BastionBreak_v3.7, hummed to life as code spilled downward like a waterfall. Numbers rolled across the screen faster than his eyes could track, though his mind processed every detail. The first firewall layer crumbled in 17.4 seconds, the second in 6.1, and by 01:35 AM, he was tunneling through 38 proxy nodes scatter‑shot across twelve countries. He tried 52 hash attempts before the seed phrase decrypted fully.

At 02:12:44 AM, the screen flashed green.

Access granted.

He copied the twelve-word key, wiped the system memory by hand, neutralized the backup sync, scrubbed the clipboard, then leaned back for a breath. Everything was clean. His pulse never rose above 72 BPM.

By 02:17 AM, he was moving the money. He sent the first batch—15.200 BTC, roughly $961,066.89—into four burner wallets, letting the transfers drip in chunks that mirrored typical offshore exchanges. The next chunk—40 BTC—he dissolved into micro‑transactions of 0.025 BTC, each transfer spaced exactly six seconds apart, vanishing into the flood of global trading noise. Finally, he drained the remaining 59.578 BTC into seven international shells scattered between Cyprus, Singapore, and Seychelles. The entire extraction took eight minutes and thirteen seconds, and when it was over, $7.25 million dollars had slipped from one man’s possession into his own web of accounts.

David stared at the total on the screen, breathed calmly, and whispered, “Eight minutes. Thirteen seconds. Clean.”

From there, he washed the money through three laundering channels, letting the numbers melt and reform. The first wave blurred behind a large mixer—over four million dollars swallowed horizontally into thousands of distributed outputs. Another two million poured into foreign real‑estate placeholders, never to be traced back. The remaining million seeped into prepaid cards, crypto‑to‑cash converters, and anonymous debit lines, all tied to names and faces that didn’t exist.

By 03:21 AM, David’s operational funds sat comfortably at $7,003,144, already split into twelve safe locations.

For the first time since waking in that hospital bed, he allowed himself to close his eyes. Not to rest, but to think. The Parker family was burned, his brother’s social circle was collapsing into a graveyard of accidents, and the next wave of targets—the ones who truly orchestrated his death—would fall much harder.

He opened his eyes, steady and cold.

More money meant more reach.
More reach meant cleaner kills.
Cleaner kills meant no trail.

And now that he had seven million dollars floating in the shadows of the internet, nothing in Manhattan could protect the people who tried to bury him.