Chapter 204: The Theft in Progress

“Not worth much?” The young man standing by the door pulled his gaze back from the street outside. He stepped up to the counter and shouted at the owner behind it, “How can that be? Do you even know what these are? They’re all silver! Don’t think we’re clueless!”

The antique shop owner smiled indifferently. “Do you know how much silver costs per ounce (28.34 grams) nowadays?”

His words stunned the two young men into silence. Seeing their dumbfounded faces, he casually said, “You can check with the market or the bank. Right now, silver is about two Sol and twenty to two Sol and thirty-five cents an ounce.”

“Gentlemen, note: that’s per ounce, but here…” He gestured to the silver items on the counter. “All together, it’s less than five pounds (2.2kg). Want to weigh them?”

The two exchanged a glance, already convinced by the owner’s certainty.

One nodded, and the owner brought out a scale. He tossed the silver pieces onto it, then turned it so they could see the dial beneath. “A bit over four and a half pounds, about seventy ounces (circa 2kgs). Even at the highest silver price, these are worth at most a hundred… sixty Sol.”

The owner quickly calculated the price. The two young men fell silent, not noticing a noticeable protrusion under the scale’s dial as the owner put it away.

They were still upset the price was so low—far less than they expected. They had thought the items would be worth at least three or five hundred Sol, maybe more.

One pointed at the ivory-looking comb. “What about this? How much is it worth?”

The owner didn’t even bother picking it up. “At most, fifteen bucks. No more.”

“Anyone willing and able to buy an ivory comb wouldn’t use a secondhand one. Look at the discoloration—it’s already yellowing and will only get worse. If it can’t be resold quickly, its value will keep dropping.”

The young man swallowed and traced a line over the items with his finger. “So all this adds up to one seventy-five?”

Though far below their expectation, the price was somewhat acceptable. After all, these were stolen goods. Selling less meant more trips. They knew the warehouse was full of all kinds of stuff. Even if prices were low, steady work would bring wealth.

The owner scoffed. “All together? I’ll give you a hundred bucks, tops.”

This made one young man snap. “You just said the silver was worth at least a hundred sixty!”

The owner nodded. “Sure, I could pay that price—but you’d have to bring the receipts from when you bought it, leave your real contact info, and sign a statement guaranteeing it was purchased legally and isn’t involved in any crime.”

“Otherwise, that’s all it’s worth. Check anywhere in town—if someone offers more than I do, I’ll beat the difference.”

It was nonsense, but in heated moments, people heard only what they wanted. It made the offer sound convincing.

If the young men had proper receipts, they could sell to the bank, which buys precious metals and gems at just 5-10% below market prices.

But they didn’t. These were stolen goods. That’s how the owner and others made money. They had ways to legitimize these items.

Top-tier fences take collected silver ore to partnered mines. After taxes and re-melting, the silver bars become legal property, which they sell to banks or jewelers.

Of course, this work is risky and not for everyone. To avoid risk, many antique dealers who fence goods become police informants.

Under federal law, informants involved in crimes aren’t held liable if they weren’t the instigators and provide key leads afterward.

Even murder charges can be negotiated—smuggling stolen goods is small potatoes.

The owner’s indifferent attitude left the young men uncertain. Worse, about ten seconds later, he helped pack their items back into the travel bag and pointed to the door, telling them to try other places.

He clearly didn’t care about their goods, almost seeming like he didn’t care about profit.

The two finally decided to sell the items. A hundred bucks was something, and visiting more places might lead to trouble.

The owner smiled, took the travel bag, put it in a cabinet, and handed over a hundred Sol in cash, watching them leave.

He expected to make at least 120 Sol from this deal—deservedly so. This line of work isn’t for everyone.

The two young men’s joy at the money soon replaced their disappointment over the low price. They decided to treat themselves.

Near their place, at a deli, they ordered two large portions of roasted beef ribs and some other treats they usually couldn’t afford, like smoked ham slices.

They belonged to a loose gang that mostly earned through financial companies.

Recently, the FBI and IRS dealt a heavy blow to many street-level financial firms, dragging many gangs down too.

Some survived; others are still in trouble. Their small, unknown gang was caught up too. Key members either fled or were arrested, and the two lost their source of meals.

If not for a friend—a guy in a blue vest who mentioned the mountain of goods in the warehouse—they might not have thought of quick cash.

“If you add what’s at our place, we’ve got about two hundred bucks, right?”

They ate and quietly discussed their haul. Their loot included items left at home—everyday useful things like barbecue grills. Unlike typical thieves, they weren’t only after resale value.

But this theft had shifted their mindset.

“We need to find more valuable, easier-to-carry stuff. Let’s try a different place. I don’t trust that old guy.”

After the meal, they found their blue-vested friend working in the warehouse district. They agreed to split the earnings once the fencing was done.

When the friend saw the thirty Sol they gave him, he froze.

He hadn’t taken part in the theft but knew they had gotten far more than ninety bucks’ worth.

After their explanation, he looked at them like they were idiots. “Are you nuts? If the price’s wrong, why sell to that guy? Why not go elsewhere?”

It was their first time doing this; embarrassed, they had no reply. The friend fell silent.

After a moment, he pocketed the money and muttered, “When’s round two? Next time, bring the stuff to me—I’ll sell it. You guys are too dumb.”

They bristled but answered immediately, “Tonight…”

They planned to steal more and see what the friend had to say.

At five in the evening, after work, the friend didn’t go straight home. Using a broken shower at his place as an excuse, he stayed at the warehouse workers’ rest area to shower before leaving.

By four, the warehouse was mostly empty. The district was far from the city, and public transit was nearly shut down after 5:30 p.m. Miss that last bus, and you had to find your own way home.

The young man stayed in the bathroom for a while. When the area outside was quiet, he finally stepped out.

He went to the back door reserved for blue-vest workers and quietly opened the side door, which was supposed to be locked after hours, for his two friends.

The three slipped silently into the warehouse district, unaware that a child hidden nearby in the darkness was watching their every move.

Their goal this time was clearer: the same warehouse as before, filled not only with piles of goods but many that were nearly new.

Unlike brand-new items that attract attention when sold, these varied goods were less conspicuous. They came fully prepared this time—with a cart.

The three stayed hidden in the blue-vest changing area. It wasn’t fully dark yet; summer nights took their time to fall. They waited until the sky was completely black before making a move.

Around eleven o’clock, the three left the room carrying their tools.

The blue-vest stayed in the shadows, ready to handle any warehouse security patrols, while the other two expertly pried open the newly repaired small door and slipped inside.