The doorway was empty.
In the commotion and the sudden rush of medical staff, the quiet boy in the torn sneakers had slipped away, leaving the thick black wallet resting neatly on the edge of a stainless-steel counter.
Three days later, the rain poured over the run-down shack near the train tracks. Leo sat on a wooden crate, helping his grandfather Henry mend a tear in their plastic tarp. The old man noticed the boy was quieter than usual, but he didn’t press. He knew Leo had a deep mind that processed the world at its own pace…
The sound of heavy tires crunching on gravel broke the rhythm of the rain. A sleek, black luxury vehicle pulled up to the edge of the dirt path. The door opened, and Richard Coleman stepped out, holding a large umbrella. He wore a plain jacket instead of his usual bespoke suit, but his presence was undeniable.
