Chapter III: What Was Inside the Black Bag
The young man showed no sign of offense. Not a furrowed brow, not a dismissive wave. Instead, a slow, knowing smile spread across his face — the smile of someone keeping a secret they're about to share. He slid his sunglasses off and pointed a single finger down at the bag on the floor.
"Just open it first, sir. Please."
His voice was soft now. Warm, even. Something in that tone stopped Walter cold. It wasn't the voice of someone playing a prank. It wasn't condescension. It was something else entirely — something Walter hadn't heard directed at him in a very long time.
Curiosity wrestled with suspicion. Walter set his broom against a marble column, crossed to the bag, and crouched down beside it. His work gloves — thick rubber, worn at the fingertips — trembled slightly as he pulled the bag open.
And then Walter Hayes went completely, utterly still.
There was no trash inside. No discarded coffee cups, no fast-food wrappers, no castaway clutter. Instead, neatly arranged at the bottom of the bag, were thick banded stacks of hundred-dollar bills — crisp, orderly, real — and on top of them, a large cream-colored envelope sealed with a gold sticker.
The light caught the bills and seemed to fill Walter's vision. His heart hammered. He pulled the bag instinctively to his chest, looking up at the young man with an expression that was equal parts bewilderment and fear.
"Is this... is this meant for me?" His voice came out unsteady, barely above a whisper.
The young man's expression had shifted entirely. Gone was any trace of the careless, breezy confidence from moments before. His eyes were warm, his smile genuine — the kind that doesn't perform for an audience.
"You look like you could use a great day, sir. I hope it is one. Take care of yourself."
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Before Walter could find a single word — thank you, wait, who are you, any of it — the Range Rover's engine gave a quiet surge. The white SUV rolled forward, turned smoothly out of the drop-off lane, and disappeared into the flow of downtown traffic, leaving only a faint ripple in the morning air.
