Chapter 8: The Shadow at the Diner
Three weeks after his ruin, Julian Kane was living out of a budget motel on the outskirts of Poughkeepsie. His tailored suits were replaced with a worn fleece jacket and cheap jeans bought from a department store clearance rack.
He was surviving on coffee and day-old pastries, walking four miles a day to interview for low-level auditing jobs where hiring managers looked at his resume with thinly veiled disdain.
On a cold Tuesday morning, he sat at the counter of a humble roadside diner off Route 9. He was counting his remaining dollar bills to see if he could afford a side of bacon when the bell above the door chimed.
Kane kept his head down, staring into the black surface of his diner mug.
"Excuse me, mister."
The voice was light, clear, and utterly unmistakable.
Kane froze. He turned his head slowly.
Standing beside the vinyl swivel stool was Leo. He was wearing his same grey hoodie, carrying a clean brown paper bag. Standing twenty feet away near the diner entrance, dressed casually in an olive field jacket, was Marcus Vance, watching with quiet vigilance.
Kane felt a hot wave of shame rush up his neck. "What are you doing here, kid? Come to see the guy who ran you off the road get his lunch out of a tip jar?"
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Leo didn't flinch. He placed the brown paper bag gently on the laminate counter next to Kane’s coffee.
"My dad said you used to understand how numbers work," Leo said softly.
