At 8:45, you return to DT Precision Auto, deliberately parking the BMW a block away. Your interface maps optimal positioning for what's about to unfold:
[SPATIAL ANALYSIS: COMPLETED]
[OPTIMAL OBSERVATION POINT: REAR WORKBENCH]
[AUDIO CAPTURE: CONFIGURED]
[CREW BIOMETRIC BASELINES: ESTABLISHING]
You enter through the side door, nodding respectfully to Dom who stands examining engine schematics. His acknowledgment is minimal—mind already focused on the confrontation to come. You position yourself at the rear workbench, organizing tools with casual precision, becoming part of the garage's background rhythm.
By 8:55, the family arrives in stages. Letty first, her knowing glance at Dom communicating without words. Then Leon and Jesse, arguing about turbo configurations. Vince last, suspicious eyes flickering toward you before focusing on Dom's unusually tense posture.
"What's going on?" Letty asks, sensing the charged atmosphere.
Dom's voice stays measured, controlled. "Need to discuss something as a family. When everyone's here."
Gisele arrives precisely at 9:00, catching your eye briefly before taking a position near the door—tactical awareness evident in her stance. Vince notices the exchange, suspicion deepening, but says nothing.
At 9:10, Mia enters carrying coffee for everyone. Her smile fades as she reads the room, instinctively moving closer to Dom. "What's happening?"
"Waiting for Brian," Dom says simply.
The next twenty minutes stretch into an eternity of mechanical small talk and mounting tension. Your interface monitors each crew member:
[LETTY: DEFENSIVE POSTURE, PROTECTIVE OF DOM]
[VINCE: AGGRESSION INDICATORS RISING]
[JESSE: ANXIETY MANIFESTING THROUGH EXCESSIVE MOVEMENT]
[LEON: WATCHFUL, STRATEGICALLY POSITIONED]
[MIA: GROWING CONCERN, INCREASED HEART RATE]
At 9:32, Brian's Mitsubishi rolls into the lot. Through the open garage door, you watch him approach—confident stride betraying no awareness of what awaits. Your position at the workbench keeps you perfectly peripheral, a background presence rather than a participant.
"Morning," Brian calls, scanning the unusually assembled crew. His trained investigative instincts register the abnormality instantly. "What's the occasion?"
Dom steps forward, tablet in hand—the same one containing your evidence. The garage falls into absolute silence.
"Family meeting," Dom says, voice deceptively casual. "About trust."
Brian's micro-expressions tell a story only your interface can fully capture:
[SUBJECT: BRIAN O'CONNER]
[ALERT LEVEL: ELEVATED]
[FIGHT/FLIGHT INDICATORS: PRESENT BUT CONTROLLED]
[DECEPTION PATTERNS: ACTIVATING]
"Sounds serious," Brian responds, maintaining his cover but eyes already calculating exits.
Dom holds up the tablet. "Special Agent Brian O'Conner." He turns the screen toward Brian, displaying his FBI credentials. "Badge number 34752. Graduated Quantico two years ago. Assigned specifically to infiltrate my family."
The garage erupts. Vince lunges forward, barely restrained by Leon. "I fucking knew it!" he snarls. "Told you he was a cop!"
Letty's hand moves to the wrench on her belt. Jesse steps backward, overwhelmed. But it's Mia's reaction that truly matters—her coffee cup shattering on the concrete floor, betrayal crystalizing in her eyes.
"Brian?" she whispers, the single word carrying a universe of questions.
Throughout it all, you remain still, watchful. This is family business—your intervention would undermine the natural process unfolding. Your interface captures everything: stress patterns, loyalty indicators, potential fracture points in the crew dynamic.
Brian's training abandons him in the face of Mia's devastation. "I can explain—" he starts.
"Explain this," Dom interrupts, swiping to footage of Bilkins at the port last night. "Your handler. Your team. Responding to information only you could have provided."
Brian's eyes find yours briefly—recognizing the architect behind his exposure. You maintain a neutral expression, offering neither hostility nor alliance.
"How long?" Mia demands, voice cracking. "Was any of it real?"
The question cuts through Brian's professional facade. Something genuine breaks through—a glimpse of the man beneath the agent.
"Not at first," he admits. "But now... it's complicated."
Dom steps into Brian's space—physical dominance established without violence. "Uncomplicate it. Right now."
The crew forms a loose circle, leaving Brian nowhere to retreat. Your position at the workbench provides perfect sightlines to every face, every reaction. Gisele catches your eye across the room—a silent communication passing between you about the unfolding dynamic.
Brian straightens, decision made. "I was assigned to identify the crew hitting the trucks. That was my job." His eyes move deliberately to Mia. "Getting close to the family wasn't supposed to matter."
"But it did," Dom states rather than asks.
Brian nods once, the gesture costing him visibly. "It did."
The admission creates a subtle shift in the garage's atmosphere—not forgiveness, but a hairline crack in the wall of hostility. Your interface notes the change:
[CREW DYNAMICS: RECALIBRATING]
[DOM: LEADERSHIP ASSESSMENT MODE]
[MIA: CONFLICT BETWEEN EMOTION AND SELF-PROTECTION]
[OPPORTUNITY WINDOW: EMERGING]
Dom circles Brian slowly, the predator assessing a cornered prey. "You have two choices," he says finally. "Walk out that door, report to your bosses, and prepare to testify against my family."
He pauses, allowing the first option to hang in the air.
"Or?" Brian prompts, voice tight.
"Or prove your loyalty isn't to a badge anymore." Dom gestures toward you without looking. "Our friend has a proposition. Job of a lifetime. We need someone with your... particular connections."
The strategic brilliance of Dom's approach impresses you. Rather than simply exiling Brian, he's offering a path that would irrevocably bind the agent to the family—making him burn his bridges with the FBI through direct criminal participation.
Brian's eyes find yours again, longer this time, recognition dawning. "You planned this."
You remain silent, letting Dom maintain control of the moment. This is his family, his terms.
"Decision time, O'Conner," Dom presses. "Badge or family. Can't have both."
Brian's gaze moves from Dom to Mia, lingering on her tear-streaked face. Something resolves behind his eyes.
"Tell me about the job," he says quietly.
The first foundation stone of your heist crew slides into place.
Shadow Advisor: Guiding From Behind The Throne
Prompt: : [B: Strategic deferral - Continue allowing Dom to lead publicly while you guide decisions through private conversations, preserving his authority with the crew.]
The garage transforms over the next two hours, evolving from confrontation ground to war room. Dom directs Jesse to clear the central workbench while Leon fetches a whiteboard from the office. The rhythm of preparation replaces the tension of revelation—a family reorienting around a new purpose.
You maintain your position at the periphery, cleaning automotive parts with methodical precision. The activity keeps your hands busy while your mind calculates, interface analyzing each crew member's capabilities against the Union Depository's challenges:
[CREW ASSESSMENT]
[DOM: LEADERSHIP/HEAVY VEHICLE OPERATION - EXCEPTIONAL]
[LETTY: PRECISION DRIVING/MECHANICAL ADAPTATION - HIGH]
[VINCE: COMBAT CAPABILITY/INTIMIDATION - SIGNIFICANT]
[JESSE: TECHNICAL SYSTEMS/DIGITAL ARCHITECTURE - VALUABLE]
[LEON: SURVEILLANCE/BACKUP EXECUTION - MODERATE]
[BRIAN: LAW ENFORCEMENT KNOWLEDGE/TACTICAL INSIGHT - ESSENTIAL]
[MIA: LOGISTICS/MONITORING - POTENTIAL]
[GISELE: INFILTRATION/WEAPONS PROFICIENCY - EXCEPTIONAL]
[SKILLS DEFICIT: EXPLOSIVE ENGINEERING, ADVANCED ELECTRONICS]
Dom positions himself at the head of the cleared workbench, command natural in his bearing. "Alright," he begins, voice drawing everyone's attention. "Let's talk about the Union Depository."
The name alone electrifies the room. Jesse whistles low. "That's federal, Dom. Maximum security."
"Which is why we need to be smart," Dom replies, eyes briefly finding yours across the garage. "Smarter than we've ever been."
Vince snorts, hostility still radiating from his posture. "And we're supposed to trust the cop and the stranger for that?"
Dom's response is measured but final. "My garage, my rules, Vince. Brian's made his choice. Our new friend has the plan. We listen, then decide."
Your interface flags the perfect moment to begin your shadow influence:
[STRATEGIC WINDOW: OPTIMAL]
[APPROACH: SUGGESTION NOT DIRECTION]
[TARGET: SKILL ACKNOWLEDGMENT]
You set down the carburetor you've been cleaning and step slightly forward—not enough to challenge Dom's position but enough to enter the conversation. "The Union Depository has five layers of security," you offer. "Each one requires specific skills. Some we have, some we need."
Dom nods, accepting your input without surrendering control. "Jesse, I want you researching everything about their security systems. Leon, surveillance routines of the guards, shift changes, response protocols."
You catch Gisele's eye, a subtle nod passing between you. She steps forward. "I can get inside information on their schedule. Transport days, high-value movement patterns."
"Good," Dom agrees. "Letty, we'll need vehicles. Specific ones. Fast enough to outrun pursuit but modified to carry weight."
The rhythm establishes naturally—Dom issuing directives that align perfectly with the strategy you're subtly feeding. You move to the coffeemaker in the corner, creating an opportunity for a private word with him as he follows.
"We need someone who understands explosives," you murmur, pouring two cups. "Not to blow the vault—too messy, too much heat. But for diversions, access points."
Dom considers this while accepting the coffee. "I know someone. Tej Parker. Engineering genius. Worked with him in Miami."
You nod, allowing Dom to own the solution you've guided him toward. Your interface updates:
[TEJ PARKER: SKILL ASSESSMENT - VERIFICATION NEEDED]
[CREW COMPOSITION: 75% COMPLETE]
[MISSING: ELECTRONIC SYSTEMS SPECIALIST]
As the planning continues, you maintain this pattern—observing group dynamics, identifying strategic needs, then privately suggesting directions to Dom that he presents as his own decisions. The crew responds to his authority while your architecture shapes every aspect of the plan.
Brian remains quiet through most of the discussion, his position still precarious. During a natural break, you approach him at the water cooler, interface scanning for surveillance before you speak.
"The FBI has the architectural plans for the depository," you say without preamble. "Security protocols too. Can you get them?"
Brian studies you, professional assessment in his gaze. "You set me up last night. The port."
You neither confirm nor deny, simply waiting.
"I can get them," he finally answers. "But it burns my cover completely."
"Your cover was already ash," you remind him. "Now you're choosing what rises from it."
Something shifts in his expression—resignation transforming into resolve. "I'll need twenty-four hours."
You nod once, returning to your peripheral position as Dom calls the group back together. The planning continues until early afternoon, rough shape of the heist emerging through collective expertise. Throughout, you guide without commanding, suggest without demanding.
When Dom finally calls a break, the whiteboard is covered with timelines, security rotations, and equipment needs. The crew disperses to begin their assigned tasks, energy high despite the morning's confrontation.
Gisele lingers, waiting until the garage empties before approaching you. "Interesting strategy," she observes. "Letting Dom lead."
"He needs to lead," you correct her. "They follow him, not me. Loyalty can't be transferred, only earned."
Her smile suggests she sees more than you're saying. "And your interface? When do you reveal that particular advantage?"
"When necessary, not before." You check that you're truly alone before adding, "I need you to handle something specific. Braga has connections to the Union Depository's transport security contractor."
Her eyebrow arches. "You know that for certain?"
"I know many things I shouldn't," you reply. "Can you access that information without compromising your position?"
"Possibly." She steps closer, the scent of her perfume momentarily disrupting your calculated focus. "But Braga is becoming suspicious of my divided attention."
Your interface presents options:
[ELIMINATE BRAGA: 31% POSITIVE OUTCOME]
[ACCELERATE GISELE'S EXTRACTION: 62% POSITIVE OUTCOME]
[LEVERAGE BRAGA AS UNWITTING ASSET: 78% POSITIVE OUTCOME]
"Then perhaps it's time Braga learned about a valuable shipment coming through Los Angeles," you suggest. "One that might distract him from your activities."
Gisele's smile turns predatory. "Feeding my employer false information? Risky."
"Calculated risk," you correct her. "Like everything else."
The sound of approaching footsteps ends your conversation. Dom returns, his massive frame filling the doorway. His eyes take in your proximity to Gisele, something unreadable crossing his features.
"We need to talk," he says simply. "Alone."
Gisele excuses herself with practiced ease, leaving you and Dom in the empty garage. The silence stretches between you, weighted with unspoken questions.
"This plan," Dom finally says. "It's good. Too good. The kind that comes from experience." His eyes lock with yours. "Who are you really? And what happens after we pull this off?"
The moment of truth arrives sooner than expected, demanding a response that balances honesty with necessity.