Hollywood Taxes: A Tycoon in TV Land

Chapter 28: The End of Fast & Furious

Just as Sheldon had hoped, he successfully became the king of the comic book store—or as Ron put it, the "King of the Nerds."

But all of that had little to do with Ron now. At this moment, he was on his way to Max's place, intending to do something good for his physical and mental well-being. After all, he'd eaten quite a bit of "special" food last night. If he didn't properly let the effects wear off, it might cause… issues.

So, he opted to head to Max's place and meet up with Caroline—for a rather intimate rendezvous. It was Caroline's idea, too, since Max had a part-time job that morning, babysitting for a rich family in Beverly Hills.

Ron had to admit: lying in one woman's bed, talking life and dreams with her best friend, was quite the thrill.

"Ron, is my dad doing okay?" Caroline asked, utterly spent as she collapsed against his chest, tracing lazy patterns across it with her finger.

"Of course. He's doing just fine," Ron said gently, tapping her lightly on the head. "You might not know this, but the prison he's in has a golf course. I even heard he won first place in a tournament they held inside."

Honestly, if it weren't for the whole lack-of-freedom thing, Ron might've wanted to be in there himself. That prison sounded like a resort—complete with a golf course, a bar, a gym, and all the amenities. Sometimes, he wondered if after giving some "strategic advice" to his con-artist father, the old man had just given up the hustle and chosen early retirement—in style. He'd even managed to leave Caroline a fairly generous startup fund.

Hiding out in a government-protected prison to enjoy his twilight years? Pretty damn clever.

"Well, my dad has always been great at golf. That really was his thing," Caroline said, visibly relieved by the update.

Ron hesitated for a moment, but ultimately decided not to tell her about the money her father had left behind—not because he wanted to keep it, but because once Andy escaped, the current warden would be ousted and the whole "secure prison" system could face major restructuring. Chances were, her father might need the money more than she did.

He gave Caroline's firm rear a playful smack. "I think I've rested enough. Ready for round two, my lovely?"

"Ron, you really are a tireless beast."

"But before that, can you grab me something to drink?" Ron nodded toward the fridge. "A Dr. Pepper would be great."

That single request, however, stirred something in Caroline's intuition—because when it came to women's sixth sense, it's almost scary how accurate it can be.

"How did you know there's Dr. Pepper in the fridge?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "And now that I think about it, Ron—you seem really familiar with this place."

Ron's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't come up with a good excuse yet when suddenly, his phone rang—rescuing him from the awkward moment.

"It's Toretto. Let me take this real quick."

Inwardly, Ron was singing Toretto's praises.

"Ron, can you come over? I need you to pick up Andy," came Toretto's voice, serious and heavy.

"Toretto? What happened? You don't sound too good." Ron's earlier sense of relief vanished the moment he heard that grim tone.

When Toretto spoke, it was through clenched teeth—barely restraining the rage boiling beneath his voice.

Ron instantly sensed something had gone terribly wrong. And sure enough…

"Jesse's dead!" Toretto roared through the phone. "That Harvard prodigy! We were just about to tune a car when a gunman jumped out and sprayed us with a damn SMG. Jesse died right there on the spot. Ron, I'm going to kill that Korean bastard!"

Ron's eyes widened. That was in the original movie—but if he remembered right, Jesse had first broken a racing agreement with the Korean gang before they retaliated. But that hadn't even happened yet. Was the story changing?

Wait a second. That morning, the Korean gang's handler had paid off the taxes and even gifted Ron a new car. So…

Was all of this his fault? Was the gang trying to tie up loose ends?

"Toretto, listen to me—calm down," Ron said firmly. "Right now, the most important thing you can do is protect the ones who are still alive. Take Mia and Letty and get somewhere safe. I'm on my way."

He hung up and quickly threw on his clothes.

"Sorry, Caroline. Something happened. I need to go."

"Be careful." Caroline bit her lip, clearly worried. She didn't press for details. Instead, she helped him strap his gun back on. Ron pulled her into a tight embrace and kissed her deeply.

"Relax. No one's ever managed to take me down outside the bedroom," he said with a grin before walking out the door. He jumped into Leonard's car and sped off toward Toretto's place.

Five minutes later.

As Ron pulled up, he saw Toretto in his old, heavily modified Dodge Challenger, face grim as stone.

"Hold up, Toretto—you're not going without me." Ron parked in front of the garage and jumped into the passenger seat.

Between them sat a loaded Remington shotgun.

"Toretto, leave the killing to me. I'm a government agent—I have the authority. But if you fire that gun, you'll be a fugitive, hunted for the rest of your life. Is that really what you want?"

Toretto didn't respond. He simply slammed the gas pedal. The front of the car lifted like a launching rocket, tires screeching as they tore down the street.

"Family's revenge… belongs to family."

"…Fine. Do you know where the shooter went?" Ron asked as the cityscape began flying past in a blur.

"Hector's guys saw them heading east. Judging by the speed, they haven't left the city yet. We'll catch them. In L.A., I am the king."

Toretto's voice dripped with arrogance—but also certainty.

And he was right. With perfect knowledge of the city's roads, he blazed a nearly straight path to the highway exit leading out of Los Angeles, reaching it in less than twenty minutes.

In the distance, two motorcyclists rode side by side, flaunting their defiance. Toretto's eyes lit up with fury—but just ahead, warning bells started clanging.

"Clang-clang!"

A train horn blared in the distance.

"Dom! Stop the car! There's a train coming! We can wait!" Ron shouted in panic.

But Toretto didn't even flinch. Instead, he floored the accelerator.

"You crazy son of a—" Ron swore, but he didn't touch the wheel. At over 200 kph, one wrong move would mean instant death. The speedometer couldn't even display their actual velocity anymore.

All Ron could do was trust Toretto—and pray.

"Dear God, I don't believe in you, but my mom does. So for her sake, if you get me through this, I swear I'll offer you a whole roasted pig!"

The train conductor noticed them too and began slamming on the brakes—but a train doesn't stop like a car. He blasted the horn again and again.

"WOOO-WOOO-WOOO!"

Still no use. Toretto's car just kept accelerating. Ron could feel the entire frame shaking from the engine's monstrous power, as if the car was about to fall apart.

CRASH!

The car smashed through the first railroad barrier. Ron turned and saw the train looming larger and larger—it was so close he could make out a piece of lettuce stuck to the conductor's teeth.

CRASH!

The second barrier shattered. The train's nose was nearly at their flank.

THUD!

The car slammed down after a brief airborne moment, barely scraping past the front of the train.

"Hooo—" Ron exhaled in disbelief. "I swear, if I ever ride in your car again, I'll eat my own crap upside down!"

But there was no time to relax. Toretto eased off the gas just enough, barked "Hold the wheel!" and, without even looking, yanked the shotgun from the backseat and leaned half his body out the window.

Ron grabbed the wheel and stretched one foot over to press the gas, maintaining control of the car.

That lunatic! Ron thought. He set this up on purpose just to avenge Jesse himself. Now I can't even fire!

Toretto, braced against the console with one foot hooked under the seat, steadied his aim at the two fleeing bikers.

The gunmen heard the commotion and turned around, drawing UZIs and spraying bullets behind them. Toretto didn't flinch. Not one bullet touched him—as if the slugs themselves knew better.

Click-click!

The shooters ran out of ammo. With no time to reload on their bikes, they tossed the empty guns and throttled forward at max speed.

By now, Ron had expertly closed the gap to just under ten meters—well within the Remington M870's lethal range.

BOOM!

Toretto pulled the trigger. One biker was hit square in the back—the force blasted him off the motorcycle, his body flying through the air.

"Beautiful!" Ron shouted, genuinely impressed. Even he couldn't shoot that cleanly from a moving car. He focused on keeping the vehicle smooth, giving Toretto a stable platform.

Ch-chk!

Toretto pumped another shell into the chamber, aimed again—this time at the remaining biker's head.

BOOM!

A direct hit. The helmet exploded, and the rider's lifeless body slumped forward, still clinging to the bike as it continued ghost-riding into the distance.