Chapter 5: The Baker's Secret
Back across the city, the luxury bakery was quiet in the early hours before opening. The baker, whose name was Marcus, wiped down the glass display case with a damp cloth, his movements mechanical and distracted. The encounter with the little girl and the elegant man in the grey suit had unsettled him deeply. Marcus prided himself on running an establishment of high standards, free from the squalor of the streets, but an uneasy conscience gnawed at his gut.
A sharp rap on the heavy delivery door at the rear of the bakery startled him. Marcus dropped his rag and walked cautiously down the narrow hallway, unlocking the deadbolt. Two men in dark, nondescript overcoats pushed past him into the preparation room without invitation. They did not look like customers; their eyes were cold, calculating, and entirely devoid of warmth.
"You had a visitor last night, Marcus," the taller of the two men said, his voice flat and menacing. He pulled a silver cigarette case from his pocket, tapping a cigarette against it without lighting it.
Marcus swallowed hard, wiping his flour-dusted hands on his black apron. "It was just a beggar girl. I turned her away, exactly as protocol dictates."
"We aren't interested in the girl," the second man interrupted, stepping closer and invading Marcus’s personal space. "We are interested in the man who intervened. Julian Vance. What did he say to her? What did she give him?"
"She didn't give him anything!" Marcus insisted, his voice rising defensively. "She had a baby wrapped in a blanket. Vance gave her some soup, bought her a carriage ride, and took her away. That was all. I swear to you, I didn't get involved."
The taller man studied Marcus for a long, agonizing moment, searching for any sign of deception. Satisfied that the baker was telling the truth, he offered a chilling, humorless smile. "Keep your eyes and ears open, Marcus. Vance is digging into things that don't concern him. If he or that girl returns, you will contact us immediately. Is that understood?"
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Marcus nodded slowly, a cold sweat beading on his forehead. "Understood."
As the men slipped back out into the morning fog, Marcus stared at the heavy metal door. He realized with a jolt of panic that his pristine bakery, his livelihood, had been dragged into a conspiracy far larger than he could ever have imagined. The golden lights of the crystal chandeliers suddenly felt less like a symbol of success and more like a cage.
