Adrian dropped his expensive briefcase. Tears welled in the billionaire’s eyes. “Julian? But… the boat fire. I buried you.”
The homeless man’s pathetic, trembling hands suddenly went completely still.
The desperate exhaustion vanished from his eyes, replaced by absolute, chilling ice. He wiped a smudge of fake bruising from his cheek.
“You buried an empty casket, little brother,” Julian replied, his voice no longer weak. “You made sure I couldn’t swim. You forgot I could float.”
Adrian’s face drained of color. He stepped forward for a fake embrace, leaning in to whisper so the crowded room couldn’t hear. “I should have tied weights to your legs.”
Julian smiled. “I knew you’d say that.”
Suddenly, the aggressive manager released Julian’s coat. He didn’t kick him out. Instead, he calmly pulled the heavy steel deadbolt across the café’s glass doors. *Click.*
The timid young waitress reached under her green apron—and pulled out a suppressed Glock, aiming it squarely at Adrian’s chest.
Adrian froze, his wealthy facade cracking. “My staff… what is this?”
“Your staff went home early,” Julian said, peeling off his tattered jacket. “These are my kids. The ones you left fatherless.”
Adrian panicked. “Someone call the police!” he shouted to the wealthy diners.
Nobody moved. The soft jazz kept playing.
Adrian looked closer at the nearest table. The man sipping expensive wine was wearing a tactical earpiece. The woman cutting her steak had a federal badge clipped to her belt.
They weren’t customers. Every single person in the room was an undercover agent. The aggressive fight, the shattered plate, the scene—it was all a staged trap to get a recorded confession.
“You stole my life twenty-five years ago,” Julian said, taking a seat at the smashed table. “Sit down, Adrian. Your last supper is getting cold.”