Raven watched the last delivery van disappear from the warehouse parking lot, her arms crossed as the wind tugged at her coat. With tens of thousands of hot meals and a celebrity weddings worth of liquor now sealed away in her system, she knew it was time for the next step.
Medicine.
She returned to the warehouse, stored the Ironhowl into her system, and swapped it for a full-sized cargo semi imprinted with Salvatore Procurement LLC logo on the doors. It wasn't subtle, but it didn't need to be. Sometimes, bold worked better than invisible. Especially when your father owned the the supply chain and still thought you were his quiet, obedient errand girl that was destroying his empire one robbery at a time.
By 3:00 PM on January 4th, the branded semi truck pulled into the side lot of PrepRx—the largest 24-hour pharmacy in the tri-state area. Fluorescent signage flickered against the snow-dusted pavement.
Raven shut the door with a loud metallic thud and crossed the parking lot, boots crunching on the frost. The automated doors whooshed open.
Inside, the fluorescent lighting buzzed low and constant. A few scattered employees stocked shelves or tapped through registers with the apathy unique to shift workers.
A heavyset woman in her mid-fifties stepped out from behind the pharmacy counter, clipboard in hand. She caught sight of the semi through the window, then raised an eyebrow as Raven approached.
"You must be from Salvatore Procurement?"
Raven stopped a few feet from the counter, her expression unreadable.
"Yep. Raven Salvatore. William's daughter."
The woman's brow furrowed.
"William Salvatore sends his daughter to do pharmaceutical pickups?"
"He says it builds character," Raven deadpanned. "He's got an apocalypse prep contract. Bunkers, shelters, panic rooms. You know the type. Half our clients think Yellowstone's going to blow. The other half think a zombie plague's around the corner."
The woman rolled her eyes.
"Conspiracy nuts. We sell to a lot of them lately."
Raven's lips twitched.
"Oh, absolutely. I mean, it's not like a zombie apocalypse could happen out of nowhere, right?"
They both laughed. Raven's eyes remained flat.
Darlene Wexler. That was the name on the badge.
She seemed like the kind of woman who'd stayed employed through four CEO turnovers, three inventory systems, and a dozen flu seasons without blinking. And Raven could already tell she knew how to play the game.
"So what can I help you with today?" Darlene asked.
"I need everything," Raven said.
Darlene blinked. "Everything?"
"Everything on the shelves. Everything in the warehouse. Everything behind the controlled substance counter. If it's in this building, I want it in my truck."
Darlene set the clipboard down.
"You do realize this is the largest pharmacy in the tri-state area, right? We've got morphine, field surgical kits, burn gel, oxygen regulators. Stuff that requires federal licensing just to inventory. This isn't an aisle six cough drop sweep."
Raven pulled the black credit card from her coat and set it on the counter.
"You and I both know that rules are flexible. And this card has no limit."
Darlene glanced over Raven's shoulder, noting her staff. One teenage clerk, nose-deep in his phone. Another scanning barcodes with earbuds in. No cameras over the counter. No questions.
"That could be arranged," she said.
Raven smiled faintly. "I appreciate people who understand how the real world works."
Darlene retrieved her phone and pulled a slim card reader from her pocket.
"Swipe it here."
Raven handed her the card.
"I admire your hustle. This is an off-the-books transaction, isn't it?"
Darlene didn't even blink.
"We've got a cleaning crew coming in tomorrow. Store's going to be empty. Our security system's conveniently offline this afternoon. By the time corporate asks questions, I'll have an insurance claim filed for looting. COVID chaos, you know how it is."
The reader beeped.
$10,000,000.00 approved.
Darlene exhaled like she'd just finished a yoga class.
"Would you like me to have the team load your truck?"
Raven leaned an elbow on the counter.
"Of course. I'm not doing manual labor."
Darlene smiled. "That'll be extra."
Raven waved a hand. "Take what you want. I just bought your silence and your inventory."
The loading process took nearly two hours. Raven didn't lift a finger. She watched as employees brought out pallet after pallet of goods: IV bags, adrenaline shots, trauma kits, blood-stop foam, sterile field dressings, stimulants, surgical scalpels, and more.
Controlled substances she couldn't legally name were rolled out casually in unmarked boxes. Bulk morphine. Antibiotics from war zones. Oxycodone in hundred-count bottles. Surgical glue, bone saws, mobile defibrillators.
Everything disappeared into her system storage as it was stacked into the semi.
By the time they finished, the store shelves were picked clean. The warehouse had been swept bare. Every last vial, bandage, and dropper was gone.
Raven stood near the exit doors, watching the final box roll into place.
She had just pulled off a ten-million-dollar heist with her father's own card.
Darlene walked up beside her, wiping her hands on a clipboard.
"You know," she said, "I could get used to doing business like this."
"You're smart," Raven replied. "In six days, the world ends. You just earned yourself an early warning."
Darlene raised an eyebrow. "Sure. And the dead will rise dressed like clowns, right?"
Raven didn't respond.
She just watched the lights flicker overhead.
Another piece of the puzzle complete.
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