Bitcoin Billionaire: I Regressed to Invest in the First Bitcoin!-Chapter 189: Showdown

The sound of cars, night birds and the busy people in Mattress Street filled the air. To some of these people, it was just an ordinary night, nothing different from the usual.

To others, it was a future-defining night, where the life of a person and the survival of a company was on the line.

Through the somewhat busy road, an armored truck clawed its way through the street, honking and bumping. People glanced at it once but didn't give it a second thought. It appeared to be just another transport vehicle taking goods to some location.

Inside the armored beast however, the missing heir of Golden Hay was slumped against the cold, padded wall of the transport chamber.

Grant was breathing heavily. His wrists were chafed raw by steel cuffs, and around his ankle an ID tag was clamped like a dog's collar.

Today, he was cargo. Disposable. Doomed.

A low, electric hum vibrated through the vehicle— locks, cameras, and reinforced steel singing their hymn of captivity.

Grant could only wonder where he was being taken to. He had cried some minutes ago and couldn't muster up any tears at this point.

He missed his father.

Albert Hayes would never have let something like this happen to him.

At the driver's seat, Thorne, a former Marine turned Henderson's shadow, adjusted his earpiece with his eyes on the road.

Thorne's face wasn't in any database, and neither was his name on any list, which was what had made it so difficult for Marilyn to track him.

He was just a specter who delivered.

His fingers drummed the wheel, a metronome counting down to the city's edge. Beyond that border, Arligent Hills Estate waited.

Gillian has selected the secretive estate personally. It was where he kept many friends or accomplices who he didn't want people finding out about. At least for a while.

Thorne drove on for a while before coming to an abrupt stop.

"What the hell?"

Signs were raised in the distance, fists high in the air with clubs, sticks, and flags. People were yelling.

Thorne narrowed his eyes.

Through the dry glass, a mob surged into the street, a writhing wall of chaos. Screams pierced the air. Chants shook the ground. A car lay gutted, flipped like a carcass, flames licking its corpse. Makeshift signs bobbed in the crowd, absurd war cries scrawled in desperation:

Some yelled, "LEGALIZE MIDNIGHT PIZZA!"

Others yelled "BANK OF SHADOWS MUST FALL!"

and "CRYPTO IS OUR BLOOD!"

They seemed to be protesting against the policies the government had started to place against cryptocurrency.

"Fucking vermin," Thorne spat, his voice a low growl.

The bus lurched to a stop, pinned by the human tide. Sirens wailed, distant but useless, no cops dared wade into this madness yet. Thorne's hand snapped to his communicator.

"HQ, this is Courier-1. Mattress is a warzone. There's a protest

blocking the route. Holding position."

A crackle. Then: "Stay dark. No engagement. Clearance team's en route."

He slammed a fist on the dash, jaw tight, and leaned back, eyes burning into the chaos.

Meanwhile, two Blocks away, a black SUV was crouched in the shadows behind a derelict mechanic's garage, its engine purring like a predator.

Inside, Darren sat cloaked in blackout gear —turtleneck, windbreaker, cap pulled low over eyes that gleamed with feral focus.

An earpiece hugged his skull. Beside him, Marilyn Standard manipulated a map on the laptop screen, her gloved fingers dancing through live drone feeds of the riot's heart.

"They're ready," she said, voice sharp as a blade. "Your CryptoTracker lunatics brought drums. And Molotovs."

Darren's lips twitched, though he wasn't in the mood to smile considering what was on the line. "Well I told 'em I'd sign autographs and throw in VIP passes to the Trendteller relaunch."

Darren's fans truly had come clutch as he'd sent to one of the fan groups a secret link to help with this situation by gathering in the road and rioting for something random, causing traffic.

He made them promises. But it was worth it.

Marilyn's eyes flicked to him. "I never expected something so unprecedented from you."

"Then you haven't hung around me enough."

His earpiece crackled. An agent voice cut through: "I just got feedback. Distraction's live, sir. Our decoy cop's closing in. I think Thorne is still blind."

"Good. Let's keep it that way. Remember play your role but don't over play it."

Darren glanced at the clock: 11:56 PM. Four minutes until the bus crossed the point of no return.

"Move," he said, voice like steel.

Back at the core of the riot, Thorne's fingers twitched on the wheel as a lone patrol officer carved through the mob, his uniform glinting like a beacon.

The name tag read "Sgt. L. Mendez," but it was a lie. Mendez was actually Juno, Darren's hired ghost, a washed-out academy reject now playing cop for a fat payday. He strode to the bus, fearless, and rapped on the driver's window.

"Sir! You're blocking a fire lane. All unmarked vehicles reroute to Elbow Bridge. Now."

Thorne's lip curled, looking at him with disgust. "I'm high-clearance, kid. I don't detour for a damn riot."

"Then show me the papers," Juno shot back, flashing a forged badge with practiced ease.

Thorne's patience snapped. He kicked open the side door and loomed over the fake cop, his bulk a silent threat. Words dripped like venom, low and lethal.

"You gotta give me a good reason to show you my papers, isn't that so, cop? I'm not the one who started this damn riot."

Juno gulped. He didn't want to get hit today, but at least, he'd given Darren and the rest the opening they needed.

A second SUV slid behind the bus like a phantom, headlights dim, sirens dead.

Two shadows spilled out— Darren and Marilyn, moving with the precision of wolves. Marilyn's lock override tool kissed the rear panel.

After a while, a soft click

announced the unlocking of the door. Darren shoved the door open and slipped into the transport chamber.

The cabin was a tomb— cold, sterile, lit by the faint glow of security strips. Grant lay crumpled, barely alive, his breath shallow.

"Grant," Darren hissed, dropping to one knee. "It's me."

The boy stirred, eyes fluttering. "What? D—,

Darren…?"

"Yeah, kid. It's me."

"We gotta go," Marilyn pointed out.

Darren narrowed his eyes at Grant. "Come on, you're getting out."

Marilyn knelt down, her tools dismantling the ankle tag in seconds. "Two minutes," she snapped.

Grant's voice cracked, tears brimming. "I thought… I was done…"

"Not tonight," Darren growled, hoisting him like he weighed nothing. "Remember what I told you, kid? I feel responsible for you. And you're my ally. I'm never gonna let you fall."

Carefully, they melted back into the night, sliding into the waiting SUV. Marilyn talked to the driver over the comm: "We'll be going to Solaro Alley to rendezvous. Cops won't touch it for ten minutes."

"Hey! Hey! Hold on!" Juno's voice echoed. "I never asked you to check the trunk. I'm not done with you."

"You raising your voice at me?!"

"Ho! Ho! You don't want me to take you in for assaulting an officer, do you?"

Thorne grunted, knowing he couldn't afford bringing the cops' attention into this. "I'll get you my papers."

Just as soon as he turned, Darren pulled Grant inside his SUV. Marilyn relocked the truck's door and jumped down, entering the back seat.

"Move move!" The SUV peeled out, swallowed by smoke, screams, and the darkness of the night.

"You know what, sir? Never mind. You've been a respectable gentleman so I think I can let you go with a warning." Juno said.

Thorne, bending to retrieve the papers from a cabinet, turned around. "So I can leave?"

"Yeah. And I'll help make you a way through this crowd. What do you say?"

Thorne narrowed his eyes angrily, before merely replying, "Okay."

"Love to hear that!"

He climbed back into the driver's seat, flipping off the fake cop as the crowd began to fracture.

The Riot Police stormed in, gas clouds blooming, batons swinging at skulls. He eased the bus forward, tires crunching over debris, muttering curses.

Once he was away from the protest and leaving Mattress Street, he pulled out his comm and updated everyone at HQ.

"We're moving again," he said. "Now leaving the city."

"Copy. The guards at Arligent will be expecting you. No more hiccups, Thorne."

"Copy that."

Ten minutes of silence followed as Thorne drove farther and farther away from Los Alverez, the city's pulse fading behind him.

He hummed a note and chewed gum, but through his humming, he realized he was the only one making any kind of noise.

Usually at a point, he would have heard Grant cough or beg to be freed, or bang on the walls.

But it's been silent.

"Hey, Albert's kid. You good back there?" he asked.

There was no answer.

Something was certainly wrong.

He jerked the bus to the shoulder of Arligent Rise Road, heart pounding. His boots hit the ground hard as he walked to the back of the bus, unlocked it and stepped inside.

To his dismay, there was nothing.

The chamber gaped, empty as a grave.

Thorne froze, breath catching like a blade in his throat. He went back and checked the locks, they were untouched. There were no scratches, no dents, no trace it had been tampered with.

"No…" The word slipped out, a whisper of dread. "Fucking hell. No!"

His comm screamed: "Courier-1, status!"

Thorne hesitated. He couldn't speak. His pulse thundered, and he stepped backwards in the dark chamber.

Somehow, the asset, Grant Hayes, was gone.

Vanished.

And he hadn't seen a damn thing.

"Thorne! What's the status dammit!"