Chapter 2 - The Investigation Begins: Uncovering The Waitress Behind The Uniform
The heavy oak doors of the penthouse restaurant’s private back office slammed shut with a muffled thud, cutting off the faint sounds of the jazz trio playing in the main dining room below.
Viktor Vance sat behind the manager’s mahogany desk, his long legs crossed at the ankle, while the trembling restaurant general manager stood nervously wringing his hands before him.
Kaelen stood like a silent sentinel by the door, his massive frame blocking any possible exit, his arms folded across his broad chest as he stared down the terrified manager.
“I want a full dossier on Maya by midnight,” Viktor commanded quietly, his deep voice carrying an icy finality that brooked no argument or hesitation.
“Mr. Vance, please! Maya is just a college student working her way through night school! She didn’t mean any disrespect, she’s just under a lot of stress with her family—,” the manager stammered frantically, sweating profusely under Viktor’s laser-focused stare.
“Did I ask for your amateur psychological evaluation of my new favorite employee?” Viktor interrupted smoothly, his eyes narrowing into cold, calculating slits.
“N-no, sir. Of course not,” the manager swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing violently as he reached for a leather-bound personnel binder on the corner of the desk.
“Her full name is Maya Lin,” the manager recited quickly, reading from the open file. “Nineteen years old, attends Columbia University on a partial academic scholarship, works three jobs to support her younger brother and her ailing mother.”
Viktor took the file from the manager’s shaking hands, his calloused fingers flipping open the crisp paper pages to reveal a passport-style photo of Maya staring defiantly back at him.
“Parents?” Viktor asked, his gaze tracing the neat handwritten notes on her employment application form.
“Father passed away three years ago under… complicated financial circumstances, sir. Left the family drowning in massive medical debts and predatory loans from local syndicates,” the manager explained cautiously.
Viktor’s fingers stopped moving over the page as a sudden spark of recognition flickered in his dark eyes, connecting dots in his mind that most people would never notice.
“Which syndicate?” Viktor asked, his voice dropping an octave into a dangerous, gravelly register that made the manager visibly shudder.
“The Iron Crest Group, Mr. Vance. Run by Marcus Thorne,” the manager whispered, glancing nervously toward the door as if speaking the name alone would summon evil.
Viktor closed the personnel file with a sharp snap that echoed like a pistol shot in the small office, a dark, calculating shadow falling across his rugged features.
Marcus Thorne was a ruthless loan shark and rising criminal competitor who had been aggressively encroaching on Viktor’s downtown financial territories for the past six months.
And here, by pure coincidence or cosmic design, the daughter of one of Thorne’s victims was serving drinks on the eightieth floor while fighting tooth and nail to preserve her dignity.
“You didn’t hear this conversation, and you certainly didn’t give me this file,” Viktor instructed smoothly, standing up from the mahogany desk and adjusting his tailored suit jacket.
“Understood, Mr. Vance. Absolutely mum’s the word,” the manager nodded vigorously, backing away toward the door like a frightened animal.
Viktor motioned to Kaelen with a flick of his tattooed wrist, and the massive bodyguard instantly stepped aside to let his boss exit into the private service corridor.
“Get the car ready, Kaelen,” Viktor ordered as they walked toward the private elevator descending into the underground parking garage of the skyscraper.
“Where to, boss? Back to the downtown headquarters?” Kaelen asked, pressing the stainless steel button for the basement levels.
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“No,” Viktor replied, a slow, predatory smile returning to his lips as the elevator doors slid open to reveal his armored limousine waiting in the shadows.
“We’re going for a late-night drive to the Lower East Side. It’s time we paid a personal visit to Mr. Marcus Thorne and his little collection agency.”
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