Chapter 2 - The Invitation to the Lion's DenGrace’s stomach plummeted. For a second, the linoleum floor seemed to tilt beneath her sneakers. She stared at Ruben as if he were speaking a foreign language.
"For me?" she breathed. "Who... who is it?"
"He didn't give a name," Ruben said, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. "Just said if you don't pick up within three rings, the next call won't be to a landline. It'll be to your landlord."
Dana whimpered and clutched her apron, backing away toward the kitchen door. The remaining customers in the diner had already gathered their coats in absolute silence, sliding out of their booths and hurrying toward the exit without asking for change or looking back. Within thirty seconds, the Riverside Diner was empty except for Grace, Ruben, and Dana.
Grace walked slowly behind the counter, her legs feeling like lead weights. She reached out, her fingers trembling as they closed around the black plastic receiver of the wall-mounted phone. She lifted it to her ear.
"Hello?" she said, her voice sounding much smaller than it had when she yelled at Dominic Rourke twenty minutes ago.
"You have a very sharp tongue, Ms. Mercer," a deep, controlled voice replied on the other end. It wasn't Dominic himself—it sounded younger, sharper, clipped with the precision of a corporate executive who moonlighted as an executioner. "And a very short memory for consequences."
"Who is this?" Grace demanded, trying to force steel back into her spine. "If this is some kind of sick joke—"
"It's not a joke," the voice interrupted smoothly. "Mr. Rourke does not indulge in jokes. He appreciates honesty, however, and he is fascinated by things that do not flinch when he looks at them. You are invited to a private meeting at the Rourke Industries building on River Street. Tonight. Midnight."
Grace let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. "Midnight? Are you insane? I'm working. I have a life. Tell your boss to go find someone else to terrorize."
"Ms. Mercer," the voice said, and the sudden drop in temperature in the caller's tone made Grace's breath catch. "Your mother is currently resting in Room 312 of St. Jude’s Hospital and Rehabilitation Center. Her oxygen tank is due for a refill tomorrow morning at eight o'clock. A refill that your current insurance claim will not cover. Furthermore, your lease on Apartment 4B expires in two weeks, and your landlord has already accepted a deposit from a commercial developer to gut your floor. Mr. Rourke can fix all of those things with a stroke of a pen. Or he can let the universe take its natural course. The choice is yours. A black sedan will be waiting outside the diner in ten minutes. Don't keep him waiting again."
Click.
The dial tone buzzed in her ear—a flat, electronic drone that signaled the end of her old life.
Grace lowered the phone slowly onto its cradle. Her hands were ice cold.
"Grace?" Ruben asked, stepping closer, his eyes filled with fierce concern. "What did they say? Who was on the phone?"
"They know everything, Ruben," Grace whispered, staring blankly at the wall. "My mom, the apartment, the bills... everything."
"We're going to the police," Dana blurted out, her eyes wide with panic. "We have to call the precinct right now!"
"And tell them what?" Grace let out a bitter, hollow laugh. "That the man who owns half the judges, the chief of police, and the city council wants to chat with me over midnight coffee? The police are Dominic Rourke, Dana. Calling them is like running straight into a burning building."
"You can't go down there, Grace," Ruben said firmly, stepping between her and the exit. "It's a trap. Or worse. I’ve lived in Bellhaven forty years. Men like Rourke don't summon waitresses to their offices for a chat. They chew people up and spit them out when they're bored."
"And if I don't go?" Grace looked up, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "My mom loses her oxygen. We get thrown out onto the street before the snow starts falling. Ruben, I don't have a choice. I never had a choice."
She unclipped her stained apron, letting it drop to the floor in a heap. She grabbed her heavy woolen coat from the hook by the kitchen door, pulling it tightly around her shoulders.
"Grace, wait—" Ruben started.
May you like
"Lock the doors, Ruben," she said, her voice surprisingly steady now that the decision had been made. "And if I'm not back by morning... don't look for me. Just tell my mom I love her."
Before Ruben could stop her, Grace pushed open the diner door and stepped out into the biting November wind.
