Angela Whitmore pushed through the sliding glass doors, her designer trench coat speckled with rain. The bald manager’s jaw went slack. The blood completely drained from his face.
“Mrs. Whitmore,” he stammered, frantically stepping away from the register. “I—we had no idea this vagrant was—”
“Vagrant?” Daniel interrupted.
The trembling, desperate father vanished in an instant. Daniel straightened his spine, squaring his shoulders as he slipped the high-end smartphone back into his pocket. He didn’t look like a broken man anymore; he looked like a corporate shark.
Casually wiping a streak of fake grime from his jaw, his voice dropped into a razor-sharp, commanding baritone. “You’ve got a terrible eye for character, Marcus. And an even worse one for undercover operations.”
Marcus choked on a gasp. “Undercover?”
Angela stepped beside her husband,Angela burst through the automatic sliding doors, her designer coat dripping with rain.
The manager practically threw himself at her feet, stammering frantic apologies. “Mrs. Whitmore! I—I swear I didn’t know he was your husband! We have protocols, I was just trying to—”
Angela froze. She didn’t look at the groveling manager. She stared dead at Daniel. The blood instantly drained from her elegant face, replaced by absolute, paralyzing terror.
“Husband?” she whispered, taking a slow step back. “I’ve never seen this man in my life.”
Daniel sighed. In a split second, his hunched, defeated posture evaporated. He stood up tall, his shoulders squaring with ruthless precision. The pathetic, trembling beggar routine he’d used moments ago was gone, replaced by a crisp, icy authority that commanded the room.
“Good evening, Angela,” Daniel said smoothly, his voice echoing in the dead silent store. “I told you we’d find the ledger.”
The manager gaped in horror as Daniel casually twisted the cap off the plastic milk jug. With a sharp crack, the false top broke away, revealing a hollow waterproof compartment packed with encrypted USB drives.
“You really thought using a 24-hour grocery chain’s inventory system as a dead drop for your offshore embezzlement was foolproof?” Daniel smirked. He reached into his wet jacket, pulling out the same wallet he supposedly couldn’t pay from. He flipped it open, revealing a shining FBI badge.
“Agent Vance, Financial Crimes,” he announced as heavy police cruisers suddenly swarmed the parking lot, painting the rain-slicked windows in flashing red and blue. “You’re under arrest.”
The manager let out a high-pitched squeak and fainted backward into a candy display.
Daniel turned to Emily, the young cashier whose jaw had hit the floor. He pulled a crisp hundred-dollar bill from his pocket and laid it on the scanner.
“Thanks for having my back, kid,” he winked. “Keep the change.”