Harrison stared at me for a long moment, his expression cycling through disbelief, anger, and something that might have been fear.
“Impossible,” he muttered, but his voice lacked conviction.
“I’d need to see your full financials to be certain,” I said, pouring myself a cup of coffee with hands that weren’t shaking anymore. “But if you want a professional opinion, I’ll be here tomorrow.”
He left without paying for his eggs Benedict.
The next morning came gray and drizzling—typical Chicago spring weather that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be depressing or just consistently annoying. I was opening Murphy’s at six when I heard the knock on the glass door. Harrison Blackwell stood outside in the rain, looking like he hadn’t slept in a week. His designer suit was wrinkled, his usually perfect hair disheveled, and he was clutching a manila folder like it contained the secrets of the universe.
I unlocked the door, noting that his Italian shoes were soaked through.
“We’re not open for another hour,” I said.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, voice rough. “About what you said yesterday.”
I stepped aside to let him in, flipped on the lights, and started the coffee machine out of habit. The diner felt different at this hour—quieter, more honest somehow, like secrets were easier to tell before the rest of the world woke up.
“Coffee?”
He nodded and slid into the same booth as yesterday. His hands trembled slightly as he opened the folder and spread papers across the table.
“I spent all night going through my books,” he said. “Had my accountant prepare summary reports, pulled records going back two years.”
I poured his coffee, noting the dark circles under his eyes.
“And you were right.”
The words came out like he was confessing to a crime.
“About the warning signs, the leverage problems—all of it. My accountant says we have maybe four months before the creditors start circling.”
I sat across from him, curious despite myself. In my old life, clients came to me before they reached the cliff edge, not after they’d already started falling.
“How did you see it so quickly?” he asked. “My own financial team didn’t catch what you spotted in twenty minutes.”
“Your financial team gets paid to tell you what you want to hear,” I said, sipping my coffee. “I don’t.”
Harrison gave a humorless laugh. “Brutal honesty from the woman I insulted in front of a room full of strangers. There’s some irony for you.”
