The rotor blades of Evan's private helicopter kicked up a swirl of dust as it descended onto the wide landing pad near the Sentry Mining site. The Yukon sky stretched endlessly above him, clear and crisp, with the scent of pine and freshly turned earth mixing in the air. Below, the camp buzzed with controlled chaos machines roared, trucks rumbled, and dozens of workers in reflective vests moved with purpose across the mine.
As the chopper door swung open, Carter, the site's rugged chief engineer, stood waiting with a tablet in one hand and a half-crushed energy drink in the other. His hard hat was tilted slightly to one side, and his face was smeared with a layer of honest grime.
"Boss," Carter called with a grin, "you're just in time for the weigh-in."
Evan returned the grin and stepped onto the packed earth. His boots crunched gravel as he made his way toward the central processing tent, flanked by two mobile security drones and a hovering camera drone that he used for documentation. The system hummed quietly in his ear, feeding him updated production metrics, geological scans, and personnel data.
Inside the tent, the air was thick with tension and anticipation. A steel table bore a mountain of gold concentrate, already passed through sluices, trommels, and wash plants. One of the technicians carefully poured the fine gold dust into a digital scale, while others recorded the weights and packaged the bars.
Carter leaned in. "We're averaging 35 kilograms a day now. That's nearly 1.1 million dollars in daily recovery at current spot prices."
Evan's eyes flickered to the screen. "And the market price?"
The system responded instantly. "Gold currently trades at $62.45 per gram. Predictive model shows upward trend potential for $80+ per gram within the next 8–12 months based on macroeconomic pressures and inflationary signals."
"Perfect," Evan murmured.
He turned to Carter. "We're not selling a single gram. Not yet."
Carter arched a brow. "Holding the reserves?"
Evan nodded. "The price is going to jump. Everyone's too distracted watching crypto or tech stocks. But when the currencies weaken and recession fears settle in… gold will explode. And we'll be sitting on our own Fort Knox."
Carter gave a short chuckle. "Well, let's just hope our vaults are thick enough."
Later, in the administrative cabin, Evan sat at a long wooden table across from Carter. Maps of the region were spread out in front of them, detailing existing claims, equipment zones, and future expansion plans.
"We've got the equipment and the system to find more veins," Evan said, tapping a red-marked area near their southern boundary. "This entire ridge shows high auriferous deposits. I want a full-scale push before the frost sets in."
"You're talking aggressive expansion," Carter said, narrowing his eyes. "New excavation fields, more processing stations, more manpower. Can we ramp up this fast?"
"We don't have a choice. Winter up here doesn't play nice," Evan replied. "I want triple shifts, more dormitories brought in, and another two wash plants shipped up. The logistics are tight, but if we're smart about fuel and manpower, we can triple our daily output for six weeks before snowfall."
Carter nodded, scratching his chin. "And the crew?"
"I'll pay double hazard wages and bring in a few more crews from Whitehorse and Dawson. The system's flagged some skilled candidates who've just finished summer mining elsewhere."
Evan pulled out a sleek black ledger and scrawled a series of approvals. Payroll, equipment procurement, fuel logistics, food rations it was all accounted for. This wasn't a wild gamble. It was strategic, calculated pressure to turn momentum into gold.
By the end of the day, workers gathered at the camp's central eating area, a prefab mess hall with long tables and warm, industrial lighting. The scent of roasted meats, potatoes, and warm bread filled the air as Evan walked among them. Some of the men and women cheered, others offered tired but genuine nods. These were his people now miners, mechanics, cooks, medics, engineers. And Evan knew every one of them was betting their livelihood on the future of Sentry Mining.
After dinner, he gathered with Carter near the campfire, a habit they'd fallen into whenever Evan was on site.
"You're not like most suits," Carter said, sipping hot coffee from a battered thermos.
"I'm not a suit," Evan answered, cracking a smile. "I'm a mechanic who learned how to rig the entire game."
They both laughed, the firelight reflecting off their faces.
"How much gold do we have sitting in vaults now?" Carter asked, kicking at the gravel.
"Just shy of 600 kilograms, give or take," Evan replied. "That's roughly $37 million at current rates. But if it hits $80 a gram like the system predicts, we're looking at almost $48 million. And we're just getting started."
Carter let out a low whistle. "Damn. That's not just wealth. That's power."
Evan gazed into the flames. "Power I'm going to use to build something lasting."
By the end of the week, the mine had doubled its output. New crews arrived by truck and helicopter, equipment was hauled in at great expense, and dorms expanded to hold nearly two hundred workers. Evan's influence over the region was growing fast.
He wasn't just a gold baron anymore.
He was becoming a Yukon legend.