Grand Theft Auto V -

Inside the vault, as alarms blared, Trevor held the reel up to the fluorescent light. "You know what this is, Mikey? It's not a movie. It's a confession. Solomon's old partner—he was the one who tipped off the FIB about the North Yankton job. All these years…"

"Old man, you look like shit. Get in. We got company."

Michael snatched it from him. "It's leverage. And leverage is the only currency that matters."

His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

Michael looked at the reel. Then at the setting sun. Then at his two friends—a psychopath and a thief, the only honest people he knew.

Trevor stared. Then he howled with laughter—a raw, genuine sound. "You magnificent bastard."

"No more favors. Just the quiet life."

Michael tossed the bourbon into a trash can and climbed in. As Franklin peeled away, tires smoking, Michael checked his backseat. Trevor Phillips was already there, barefoot, reeking of ozone and cheap whiskey, holding a rocket launcher like a security blanket.

Franklin flew low, skimming the rooftops, heading toward the hills. "Where to, M?"