Chapter 2 - The OfferAt 2:00 AM, Scarlett unlocked the front door of her cramped frame house on Elm Street. The hinge creaked loudly in the quiet night air.
"Scarlett? That you, sweetie?" her mother’s raspy voice called out from the small bedroom off the living room.
"It's me, Mom," Scarlett said softly, kicking off her worn work shoes at the door and wincing as relief washed over her swollen arches. She walked into the dim bedroom.
Her mother, Eleanor, was sitting propped up against two thin pillows, an oxygen line running into her nose. At fifty-eight, Eleanor looked seventy. Years of working double shifts at a textile mill before her lungs gave out had left her fragile, her skin pale and paper-thin.
"How was the shift?" Eleanor asked, offering a faint, tired smile.
"Busy. Danny called out again," Scarlett said, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking her mother's thin, cool hand in hers. "But I made extra tips tonight." She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out the hundred-dollar bill Anthony Vance had left on the table, along with sixty dollars in crumpled ones and fives.
Eleanor looked at the hundred-dollar bill with wide, worried eyes. "Scarlett... where did you get this? Customers at the Cornerstone don't leave hundreds."
"Just a guy in a suit who felt generous," Scarlett lied gently, tucking the money into the drawer where they kept the pill money. "Don't worry about it. Tomorrow I'm picking up your full dose of the respiratory medicine. No more cutting pills in half."
Eleanor sighed, tracing the line of Scarlett's jaw with a trembling thumb. "You work too hard, baby. Look at you. You're running yourself into the ground for me."
"I'm fine, Mom. I'm strong," Scarlett said firmly, kissing her mother's forehead. "Get some sleep."
After her mother fell back asleep, Scarlett sat on the edge of her small bed in the adjoining room. She pulled Anthony Vance's black card out of her pocket. The heavy paper felt cool against her skin. Bring better coffee. What did that mean? Was it a threat? A bizarre joke from a man who had more money than sense?
She set the card on her nightstand, turned off the light, and tried to sleep. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw those black, hollow eyes looking at her across table six—and the strange, haunting flicker of human pain that had flashed behind them when she spoke those six words.
The next afternoon at 4:00 PM, a black Lincoln Town Car pulled up to the curb outside the Monroe house.
Scarlett was on the front porch, hanging damp laundry on the line, when the rear door opened. Leo—the larger of the two bodyguards from the diner—stepped out onto the cracked sidewalk. He wore the same dark suit, his hands folded neatly in front of his belt.
"Miss Monroe?" Leo asked. His voice was surprisingly polite, though his massive frame dominated the suburban street.
Scarlett held a wet pillowcase, her posture instantly stiffening. "If this is about last night, I already told Patty I'd pay for the coffee."
"Mr. Vance doesn't care about the coffee," Leo said calmly. "He requested your presence for a meeting. Twenty minutes."
"I have a shift at five," Scarlett said flatly. "And I don't get into cars with strangers."
Leo reached into his coat pocket. Scarlett flinched, stepping back toward her front door—but Leo merely pulled out a sealed Manila envelope and held it out to her.
"Mr. Vance figured you'd say that. He told me to give you this first."
Scarlett hesitated, then stepped down off the porch and took the envelope. She unsealed the flap and looked inside.
Inside was a cashier's check made out to Scarlett Monroe in the amount of ten thousand dollars. Tucked behind it was a medical voucher stamped with the logo of the Saint Jude Medical Center—the best private respiratory clinic in New Jersey—offering full, covered care for Eleanor Monroe.
Scarlett’s breath hitched. "What is this? Is this a bribe? What does he want from me?"
"He wants to talk," Leo said quietly. "No guns. No threats. Just twenty minutes of your time at his office in Newark. If you decide you want to leave after twenty minutes, I will drive you right back to this porch, and you keep the check regardless."
Scarlett looked back at the house. Through the living room window, she could see her mother coughing softly in her armchair. Ten thousand dollars was fifteen months of medication. The clinic voucher meant her mother might actually live to see sixty.
May you like
She looked at Leo. "If you're lying to me, my boss knows who you work for."
Leo gave a short, rare nod of respect. "Fair enough, Miss Monroe. Car's open."
