A Union

Part I — A Union

By TheWillco

Julian entered Clement Tower just after sunrise.

He rode the elevator to the top floor, keycard in hand, and stepped into his office.

Mara, his assistant, was already there — coffee on his desk, folders stacked in neat piles.

“Morning, Director.”

“Morning.”

He sat, loosened his tie, and opened the top folder.

Loan approvals. Sign here. Initial there.

“Anything urgent?” he asked.

“Just the usual — one flagged transfer from the docks, a few overdue accounts.”

He nodded. “I’ll handle it.”

She hesitated. “Yes, sir.” Then left the room.

The office fell silent again except for the scratch of his pen. Numbers, signatures, routine.

Then the black phone rang.

He glanced at it once before answering.

“Clement Credit Union.”

“Weather’s changing,” said a low voice.

“Not for another week.”

“Then you’d better close the windows.”

Click.

Julian stood and walked to the window.

Across the street, a white van sat idling in front of Bank UC.

Four men got out and entered the bank.

He watched until the door closed behind them.

Then chaos erupted.

The doors of BankUC burst open.

A man in a black coat stepped in first, mask already up, shotgun tight against his chest.

Three more followed — fast, practiced, silent except for the sound of their boots.

“Everybody down!”

Screams echoed off the walls. Paper fluttered from counters.

One vaulted the desk, kicked a computer aside, and yanked the manager by the collar.

“Vault. Now!”

The others moved with clockwork precision — two sweeping the lobby, one clearing cameras.

As they backed out through shattered glass, a siren wailed somewhere too close.

The first man cursed. “Move!”

They piled into the white van — engine running, tires squealing as it lurched into traffic.

A squad car swung around the corner, lights exploding red and blue across the street.

The van slammed through a red light, horns blaring.

Two more cruisers joined the chase, cutting through morning commuters.

From his office across the street, Julian Reno watched the chase unfold.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak.

Mara rushed back in,“Sir — what’s happening?”

He kept his eyes on the van tearing down the avenue, police close behind.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe someone getting a lot richer.”

Part II — A Union

By TheWillco

The city glowed in blue and gold outside Clement Tower.

It was late — most of the offices were dark, the skyline reflected across the sea.

Julian Reno opened his wall safe, pulled out a banded stack of cash, and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

He locked the drawer, straightened his tie, and walked into the empty hallway.

The floor was silent except for the hum of the air vents. He stopped at a door marked Clement Water Taxi — Director’s Office, scanned his keycard, and stepped inside.

He turned on the lights and sat behind the desk. The computer blinked to life. He entered a password from memory, clicked through several windows, then shut down camera feeds on one of the ferries. The screens went black.

He opened a drawer, placed the cash inside, and closed it again. No note. No signature.

On his way out, he stopped by Mara’s desk.

“I’m heading out,” he said.

She looked up. “Okay, sir. See you in the morning.”

“Board review in the morning. Don’t be late.”

He left before she could answer.

Outside, the night was quiet but restless.

Julian slid into his aerocar; the cabin lights dimmed. The city stretched beneath him. He flew low at first, cutting between towers, then rose above the skyline, angling for the docks.

For a few minutes there was only the hum of the engines and the distant flicker of traffic lights. Then the phone buzzed — Boss I.

Julian let it ring once, twice, before answering.

“Reno.”

“Still chasing the skyline?” the old voice rasped, half-amused, half-tired.

Julian smiled. “You know me. Can’t sleep when things aren’t done.”

A small laugh, rough around the edges. “Same Julian. So, tell me — how’d our friends at Bank UC enjoy their morning?”

“It went smooth,” Julian said. “Quick in and out. Cops don’t have a clue who did it.”

“Glad to hear that.” The tone cooled. “So where’s the weight?”

Julian hesitated. “Vault was thin. Not what we expected.”

A low exhale crackled through the line. “Thin? You told me this was the one, Jules. You said we’d make a dent.”

“It should’ve been. Intel was solid, traffic reports matched. Someone must’ve moved the cash early.”

“Maybe.” Boss I’s voice softened. Another pause. “I’m not angry, Jules. Just tired of small paydays. This wasn’t for fun. This was supposed to count.”

“I’ll make it count,” Julian said quietly. “There’s something bigger coming. You’ll have your money.”

“I know you mean that,” Boss I said. “But I need more than promises. It’s too much risk on me, Julian.”

“I’ll handle it.”

A beat of silence, then the older man’s tone softened again. “I’m giving you one more play, friend — so don’t squander it.”

“I won’t.”

“Good,” Boss I said. “Then make the next one worth remembering.”

Click.

The call died. Julian banked his aerocar low over the docks and slid down toward a shadowed berth. A single ferry bobbed at the pier beneath an awning. He landed and climbed down. The night smelled of diesel.

“You cut the cams?” the tallest asked.

“Yeah,” Julian said. “We’re good.”

They didn’t speak then. One after another they unrolled cash — thick bundles. The envelopes were handed across a small table; Julian counted only with his eyes, sliding the stacks into an inner jacket pocket.

When the last bundle was tucked away, one of the men cracked a grin. “We’re rich, boss.”

Julian let the grin be small and private. “Rich enough,” he said. “But we need something bigger.”

They passed around a flask — cheap whiskey, shared in the dark like communion. Glass against glass. Warmth spread through the group, loosening shoulders that had been tight all morning.

“To clean hands,” the shortest said, lifting his cup.

“To better weather,” Julian echoed, and drank.

Julian leaned on the rail, the sea folding in soft ripples around the ferry’s hull.

The crew finished their drinks, laughter fading to quiet talk — names, routes, numbers.

The tall one capped the flask. “So what’s next, boss?”

Julian stared out toward the faint lights of the harbor. “We stop thinking small. One more job — something that can set us up for a while.”

“Maybe we try something new?” one finally asked.

Julian didn’t answer. He just smiled, slow and sure, and raised what was left in his cup.

“To something new.”

They drank.

The ferry cut across the dark water, engines low, heading back toward the city.