Chapter 2 - The Shadow of the Penthouse
The bright, ordinary bell above the door of Maize rang once more, but this time, the sound was cut short as the door was kicked open.
Three men stepped inside. The leader was Marcus Vance, a sleek, vicious predator in a tailored silver suit who ran the predatory lending syndicates on the north side of the river. He was the man who had been trying to buy up the entire Lamar Street corridor for a massive luxury high-rise development—starting with the very unit Maize was currently renting.
"Well, well," Marcus sneered, looking around the small, four-table restaurant with pure condescension. "I was told the great Knox Sheridan was turning down a million-dollar contract meeting to have lunch. I didn't realize you were slumming it in a greasy spoon."
Perry shifted his weight, his hand casually disappearing beneath his suit jacket. The harbor workers at the window table quickly grabbed their coats and slipped out the back door, sensing the sudden change in air pressure.
"This is a private establishment, Marcus," Knox said, not turning around. He took another bite of the corn cake, chewing slowly. "Get out."
"Private?" Marcus laughed, a cold, rattling sound. "Not for long. The landlord of this pathetic little block signed the foreclosure papers this morning. Unit Seven belongs to Vance Holdings now. In forty-eight hours, this building is being leveled."
Jolene gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "What? No! I have a lease! I paid the deposit!"
"A lease with the old owner, sweetheart," Marcus said, stepping closer to the counter, his eyes scanning Jolene with a disgusting, predatory appreciation. "New owner, new rules. You and your little brat have until Friday to pack up your pots and pans and get out of my neighborhood."
Mabel shrank back behind Jolene’s legs, her big eyes wide with fear. "Mommy, is the mean man going to break our castle?"
Knox set his plate down. The soft clink of the ceramic against the wooden table sounded like a gunshot in the silent room.
He turned slowly.
"You have a lot of businesses, Marcus," Knox said, his voice dangerously smooth. "But you don't own Lamar Street. Not yet."
"I own the debt, Sheridan," Marcus hissed, his cocky grin faltering slightly under Knox's intense gaze. "Even you can't stop a legal foreclosure. This place is dead. Why do you even care? It's a trash heap."
"Because," Knox said, walking toward Marcus until he was towering over him, his physical presence suffocating the room, "the woman who wrote the recipes on that wall fed me when I had nothing. And the woman standing behind that counter is her daughter."
Knox leaned down, his eyes mere inches from Marcus’s face. "If you touch a single brick of this building, Marcus, I will personally dismantle every holding company, every offshore account, and every dirty casino you own on the river. I will make you beg for a plate of this 'trash' before I'm done with you."
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Marcus swallowed hard, his face turning a sickly shade of gray. He took a step back, gesturing to his two heavily armed guards. "You're threatening me over some cornbread, Knox? The board won't like this. You have a merger to sign."
"The merger can wait," Knox said. "You have twenty-four hours to sell the Lamar Street debt to me. Or we find out how well your silver suit handles a prison cell."
