It’s March 1997, and I’m just a guy who drives a truck for Loomis Fargo. I follow rules. I clock in. I keep my head down. But then Steve Chambers slides into my life with a plan: walk into the vault, load the cash, walk out. Easy. $18.8 million. I say yes.

Now I’m in Mexico, hiding under the name Michael McKinney—the identity Steve gave me. I thought I was free. But Steve’s not sharing. He’s keeping most of the money. And when I call Kelly, his assistant and my secret connection, I hear fear in her voice.

Then the hitman shows up. Michael McKinney—same name, different man—tries to shoot me, but his gun backfires. Instead of killing me, he looks at my birth certificate and says, 'We’re the same person.' Now we’re friends.

I call Steve. I tell him I’ll turn myself in unless he sends $6 million. He laughs. Then he kidnaps Kelly.

At the airport, I see her name on McKinney’s hand. She’s the next target. But when I say she’s my girl, he hesitates. 'Can’t kill family,' he says. We switch tickets.

The Interpol agents rush us. We fight them off—by accident. Now I’m going back. Not to run. To finish this.

Steve’s throwing a party at his mansion. Loud music. Flashing lights. I sneak in through the back.

I find Kelly. We run. We steal his BMW. We crash through the gate.

He catches me. Punches me. But I see it—the FBI van. Disguised as a catering truck. They’re listening.

'So you’re the one who planned it all, Steve?' I say, grinning through blood.

He doesn’t realize. He brags. He confesses.

The doors open. Agents swarm out.

I go to prison. Seven years.

But I walk out with something Steve never will: peace.