Two days later, Owen and the others returned to the United States. Since there were no exit records, they entered the same way they'd left—through illegal channels. But with Sam's connections, that was no issue.
Once back in the U.S., the team went their separate ways. With more than eight million dollars sitting in their accounts, each of them carried a burning energy inside. As they'd discussed earlier, everyone had personal plans—and now, with money in hand, it was the perfect time to act.
"Owen, something feels off..."
The call from the sweet and naive Becky came out of nowhere.
"What do you mean, off?"
"With the situation in Mexico, Jack should've canceled your leave by now and put Omega on full alert. But right now… nothing. Not a single word from him."
Owen found her reasoning strange. He thought about calling Jack directly but hesitated, then decided against it.
"Has he shown any suspicion before this?"
Becky thought for a moment. "Only when things first got chaotic—he asked me where you all were. I told him the tracker showed you were all in Hawaii. He didn't seem suspicious at the time."
"Forget it for now. Did you check your account?"
"Of course. Thank you, Owen..."
"You earned it."
Owen couldn't quite figure out what was happening on Jack's end. The President and Cabinet had expressed discontent over Omega's actions in Mexico, effectively suspending them under the label of "paid leave." Jack Bauer's personal stance on the matter was unclear. In the past, Omega had always been the President's sharpest tool, and there'd never been serious disagreements. But Owen didn't care much now—he had eight million in the bank. If the President really wanted to punish Omega, worst case, they'd dissolve it.
He'd already discussed it with the others. Sudden wealth changes people's outlook. They'd once risked their lives for money, but with money secured, continuing such dangerous work might not appeal to everyone.
Ghost and Swager had made it clear their futures depended on Owen. Ghost had no family and didn't care about money—Omega gave him purpose. Swager was even more direct—he'd joined for Owen, not the U.S. government or some vague "world peace." If Owen quit, so would he.
Heartbeat, Bayev, and Fred didn't mind either way. They already had enough money to stop risking their lives. The only thing holding them was the bond between brothers—they'd either quit together or keep fighting together.
Owen hadn't decided yet, but he shelved the thought for now. There was something more important on his mind.
He scrolled through his phone, found a number, and dialed.
"Owen? What a surprise. Do you have any idea how long it's been since you called me?"
The woman's voice carried genuine surprise.
"Beth, I need your help with something..."
"What is it?"
…
One day later, at Le Grand Nez French Restaurant.
This was one of the most famous French restaurants in Los Angeles, known for its escargots and foie gras. From the window seats, you could see the legendary Hollywood Walk of Fame. Several famous romance films had been shot here, and many Hollywood celebrities favored it for quiet dinners with friends or lovers.
At exactly 7:00 PM, a luxurious Rolls-Royce pulled up. A valet opened the door, and two women stepped out.
Inside, a few tables were already occupied, but the atmosphere remained calm and intimate. Unlike typical French or Italian restaurants, Le Grand Nez spaced its tables far apart to ensure privacy—ideal for the high-profile guests it often hosted.
The host greeted the women politely, asking if they had a reservation. At a place this popular, you couldn't get in without one unless you were someone truly important.
"We have Table One..." Beth said softly. The host's eyes flickered with respect. Table One, the prime window seat with the best nighttime view of the Walk of Fame, was iconic—and not easily booked.
The women were seated. Beth began ordering. Monica, saying she didn't mind, let Beth handle it. Once the server left, Monica asked, "Beth, what brings you to L.A. all of a sudden? Something important?"
"Nothing much. I just wanted to see you. How's my godson doing—has he been giving you trouble?"
Beth had told Monica and Owen long ago that she wanted to be godmother to their child once it was born. They'd readily agreed—Beth was a close friend, refined, and wealthy. Her influence could only benefit the child's future.
"Godson? We don't even know if it's a boy or a girl yet. It's too early to tell. But honestly, I'm being driven crazy by the pregnancy symptoms—no appetite, everything tastes off, and I'm constantly nauseous..."
Monica's brow furrowed as she spoke.
"It'll get better. And… don't you love this restaurant? Order whatever you like."
Monica smiled bitterly. "Beth, you know this place is famous. I've always wanted to come. Owen and I promised to celebrate my birthday here. And today is my birthday... but..."
"Oh, today's your birthday? I came at the perfect time. Too bad I forgot a gift. You must be really mad at Owen, huh?"
Beth's expression held a hint of mischief, though she kept up the act.
"Him? He's probably on a mission. Yesterday he called from Jamaica. I guess… he forgot."
Monica's smile dimmed. Beth couldn't hold it anymore—she burst out laughing. "Not necessarily..."
"What do you mean?"
Before Monica could finish, the restaurant lights dimmed. A violin began to play, and a man's voice started singing Happy Birthday.
Monica froze for a second, then recognized the voice—it was Owen. She turned to see him, grinning, pushing a cake cart toward her while singing.
Surprise.
______
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