Max Hartwell prowled the streets, the night air thick with the stench of the city—a blend of diesel, decay, and desperation. Harper's high-rise office loomed in the distance, a stark contrast to the crumbling facades around it. He could feel the weight of the note Violet had given him, a small piece of paper that carried the gravity of his next move.
The lobby was all polished marble and chrome, a testament to Harper's wealth and influence. Max's shoes clicked loudly on the floor as he approached the reception desk, drawing the eye of the bored attendant.
"I'm here to see Mr. Harper," he said, flashing a badge that might as well have been a toy for all the good it did.
"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist asked, her tone a practiced mix of disinterest and disdain.
"I'm sure he'll want to see me," Max replied, leaning in slightly. "Tell him it's about the ledger."
