From the outside, it looks like any other renovated warehouse in this part of the city.It has a brick exterior, minimal signage, nothing flashy to draw attention.But I know better.I've been watching long enough to know who goes in and who comes out.
Speaking of which, a sleek black SUV pulls up to the front.The driver exits first and then moves around to open the passenger door.A well-dressed man in an expensive suit steps out, glances around casually before heading inside.Even from this distance, I recognize Carter Morgan, the owner of the club.I've memorized his face from the limited photographs available.The man is notoriously private, has barely any digital footprint, which makes him all the more suspicious in my book.
Minutes later, another car arrives, Hunter Crespin, the co-owner.These two are always careful, always watching.Ex-military, both of them, which explains their security consciousness.They run a tight operation.I'll give them that.
Shifting uncomfortably in my seat, I check my watch.I can't stay parked here much longer.Their security has become increasingly vigilant over the past few weeks.I suspect they know they're being watched, though they haven't pinpointed me yet.
Just as I think this, a man in plainclothes exits the club and starts walking the perimeter.Casual to the untrained eye, but I recognize a security sweep when I see one.
The regulars come and go, some stepping out of sleek black cars, others arriving in Ubers, dressed to blend into the shadows.A few wear masks, likely high-profile clients who can't afford to be seen here.I recognize some of the faces: businessmen from the city, but not the others.They're ghosts.No names, no identities, just whispers in the dark.
I jot down two names.These are the only ones I've managed to pin down so far.Both local entrepreneurs, men who deal in money and power.They have clean records, or at least ones scrubbed well enough that nothing sticks.But their presence here?That's a thread worth pulling.
My fingers drum against the steering wheel as I check the time.Fifteen minutes.I need to move before I draw attention.I take one last glance at the entrance.A black SUV pulls up.The windows are as dark as mine, and the figure that steps out is masked, wearing a tailored suit.He walks as if he owns the place.
Interesting.
After making a note, I drive off, blending into traffic.I can't afford to be reckless.Not now.
I need more than just famous people entering a sex club to build a case.I need evidence of illegal activity, coercion, blackmail, something concrete.The Virgin Auction photos that leaked to the press are the first real break I've had in years.If they're actually running auctions in there...
The next morning, I get a call.
"Boss wants you in his office.Now," one of my co-workers says.
Great.
I take the stairs instead of the elevator, needing a second to clear my head.By the time I push open the door to his office, he's already waiting, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"Tell me you have something."
I toss the notepad onto his desk."Two names.Local businessmen.Both regulars at Club Red."
He picks it up, flipping through my notes."And security?"
"Tighter than I've ever seen.More guards are at the entrance, and more eyes are inside.Someone's spooked.Though I think it's more from the press coverage than any idea of us."
He leans back, studying me."And you?"
I keep my expression neutral."I'm careful."
"Be more than careful."He closes the notebook and fixes me with a hard stare."If you get caught, you're on your own.We won't back you up."
I don't flinch.I knew this going in."Understood."
"Keep watching.Report anything unusual.But don't get sloppy.You know what happens if they figure out what you're doing."
I nod once, then turn and walk out, my mind already racing.
That night, I take a different approach.I swap cars with a buddy of mine and sit in a different spot further down the street.From here, I can watch without being too obvious, but I don't have as great of a view.
Minutes pass.More masked figures slip inside Club Red.A group of women arrives together, laughing, blending into the crowd like they belong.Some do.Some don't.I focus on the ones who hesitate before stepping inside, the ones who check their surroundings like they're afraid of being seen.
One man catches my attention.Tall, built like someone who knows how to fight.He doesn't wear a mask, but there's something about him.He's not here for pleasure; he's watching.Just like me.
My instincts hum to life.
I snap a discreet photo with my phone and send it through an encrypted channel to my contact.A few seconds later, my phone vibrates with a response.
