Chapter 3 - The Scatters of Green
The crisp hundred-dollar bills danced on the pavement, swirling in the sudden gust of wind that swept down the concrete canyon of the park. Passersby slowed their pace, necks craning to look at the unexpected green windfall scattered around the old vendor’s dirty boots. Julian stared in disbelief, his brain struggling to reconcile the impoverished, struggling street vendor he had known for five years with a man receiving a multi-thousand-dollar payoff from a corporate executive in a designer suit.
Arthur dropped to his knees, ignoring the protesting ache in his joints, and began frantically snatching the bills off the ground, his hands moving with desperate, frantic energy.
"Get up, you old fool," Julian muttered, dropping to one knee to help gather the spilled cash. As Julian scooped up a thick stack, his thumb brushed the crisp, authentic watermark of a hundred-dollar bill. This wasn't counterfeit. This was real, hard, untraceable cash. He looked up at the woman in the blue suit, his mind racing. "Who are you to him? What did he do to deserve this?"
The woman didn't look down at Julian. Her gaze remained fixed on Arthur, who was clutching a handful of bills to his chest like a drowning man holding a life preserver.
"He knows what he did," the woman replied, her tone chillingly calm. She smoothed down the lapel of her immaculate blue jacket. "And this is merely the first installment. The interest has been compounding for a very long time, Arthur. You didn't really think you could hide behind a pretzel cart forever, did you?"
Arthur looked up, tears finally spilling over his wrinkled cheeks, carving tracks through the flour dust on his face. "I gave you everything I had back then! I protected you!"
"You protected yourself," the woman corrected sharply, her voice cutting through the ambient city noise with surgical precision. She stepped back, putting distance between herself and the frantic old man. "And now, the debt is being collected. Every single cent, and every single second of pain."
Julian rose to his feet, holding out the handful of cash he had collected. He thrust it toward Arthur, but the old man slapped Julian's hand away with surprising force, scrambling backward until his spine hit the wooden legs of his food cart.
"Keep away from me!" Arthur shrieked, his voice cracking with hysteria. He pointed a shaking, dirt-stained finger at Julian's chest. "You think you're just an innocent bystander running a hot dog cart, Julian? You think you just happened to end up in this exact park, on this exact street, next to me?"
Julian froze, the cash clutched tightly in his fist. A cold drop of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. "What are you talking about?"
"Ask her," Arthur wheezed, gasping for air as he pointed a trembling hand at the woman in the blue suit. "Ask her who really bought this park last week. Ask her whose name is on the deed to your cart."
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Julian slowly turned his head to face the elegant woman. She was smiling now—a slow, predatory smile that made his blood run cold. She reached into her leather briefcase once more, pulling out a folded piece of official legal parchment, holding it up for Julian to see.
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