Chapter 2 - The First Domino FallsBy 9:00 AM, the morning rush was in full swing. The bell above the front door chimed continuously as regular customers—construction workers in neon vests, nurses in scrubs, and tired delivery drivers—piled into the red booths.
I stood behind the counter, wiping down the stainless steel with a damp rag, when the bell chimed again. A sharp gust of autumn wind swept in, carrying a man in an expensive charcoal-gray Brioni suit.
It was Marcus Vance.
He looked different in the daylight outside of his law firm, his silver hair neatly combed, his posture rigid. But his eyes were bloodshot, darting nervously around the diner. He spotted me behind the counter and hurried over, sliding into the front booth without waiting to be seated.
"Evelyn," Marcus muttered, keeping his voice low as he clutched a leather briefcase to his chest. "I shouldn't be here. You know how tight things are. If anyone from my firm sees me walking out of a diner on the South Side..."
I didn't smile. I walked over with a pot of coffee, topped off his mug, and leaned down so my face was inches from his.
"Shut up, Marcus, and drink your coffee," I whispered.
He flinched. "Evelyn, listen to me. I’m handling three major corporate mergers this week. I don't have time for—”
"You have time," I interrupted, pulling a folded, grease-stained paper placemat from my apron pocket and dropping it squarely in the middle of his saucer.
Marcus froze. His hand stopped halfway to his coffee mug. Slowly, with trembling fingers, he picked up the placemat and unfolded it. Scrawled across the paper in his own frantic handwriting was an itemized list of forty thousand dollars in missing client funds, complete with his signature and his driver's license number.
"Where... where did you get this?" he choked out, his face turning the color of skim milk.
"You left it under the sugar dispenser three years ago when the guys from Cicero came looking for you," I said smoothly, wiping the counter with my rag. "I kept it safe. Because I knew, sooner or later, I’d need a very expensive lawyer who works for free."
Marcus swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. "What do you want, Evelyn? Half my practice? A retainer?"
"Nothing that complicated," I replied, leaning closer. "Holloway Select Markets. Grant Holloway. I want every single corporate audit, tax evasion loophole, and offshore shell company tied to his family’s grocery chain dropped on my front counter by midnight tomorrow. If you miss the deadline, I mail this placemat to the Illinois State Bar Association and the U.S. Attorney’s Office."
Marcus stared at me in absolute terror. The formidable corporate shark was gone, replaced by a terrified man drowning in his own past mistakes.
"Grant... Grant Holloway is a client of our firm," Marcus stammered. "That’s a massive conflict of interest. If they find out—”
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"They won't find out unless you fail," I said, cutting him off. "And trust me, Marcus, losing your license is a lot more painful than losing a client. You have thirty-six hours."
I turned my back on him and walked toward the kitchen, leaving him sitting alone with his cold coffee and his impending ruin.
