He popped the latches, revealing a curated collection of high-stakes gear:
The neon sign for "Artie’s Antique Radios" flickered, casting a sickly green glow over Elias as he checked his watch. It was 2:00 AM. He wasn’t here for a radio; he was here for the . spy stuff to buy
Elias ran a finger over the smooth carbon fiber of the wallet. In his line of work, the difference between being a ghost and being a prisoner was often just a few hundred dollars' worth of tech. He tapped his credit card—encrypted, of course—against the terminal and snapped the briefcase shut. He popped the latches, revealing a curated collection