Money. The root of all evil, or what makes the world go round? Maybe the answer was a little bit of both, or maybe it was nothing at all. In an overall broad sense, money was still new to him. The currency he was accustomed to was nothing short of scrap metal here now. What this meant for him was his vast fortune that had been collected was meaningless, and money was needed now.

Thrawn cracked open the first of a stack of books he had obtained from the local library, a set of true crime novels that detailed some of the greatest heists in history. Next to these books he had blueprints for every casino, maps of the streets for each one dotted along the Strip, photographs of the inside of each casino. Everything had a fault, and he would find the fault for each of these. Whichever location had the biggest flaw, he would exploit it, and then his team would act.

A few hours later, the books and papers scattered about in a neat fashion, he had everything figured out. Behind him, he had multiple pieces of paper taped together, on the large painting behind him, drawings and schematics, an x's and o's of precise movements and plans. Yes, he was quite sure that in this instance nothing could go wrong. After giving it one last cursory glance, and scribbling a few more lines here and there, he was finally satisfied.

Clasping his hands on his desk, he tapped a small bell in the corner three times, signaling for the young boy that stood by his door to enter.

"I need you to bring me AlanaBurke. Just tell her it's time, she'll know what it means."

The young boy didn't hesitate, turning on his heels and sprinting from the room to complete his task. Thrawn then sat perfectly still at his desk, scanning over the blueprints, just to make sure nothing was missed.