Marcus pushed the coffee toward Lynn.
A faint brown ring clung to the rim of the unwashed mug.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Marcus sat down, his chair legs scraping harshly against the floor tiles.
“I’m not a lawyer, and I’m not a cop.
If you’re looking for someone to play hero for you, you’ve got the wrong guy.” Lynn didn’t touch the coffee.
“I know.” Marcus looked to be in his early nineties-tinged fifties, unshaven, with the cuffs of his jacket worn white.
The index finger of his left hand bore a small calloused ridge, the mark of a long-time smoker or a long-time paper-poker.
He wasn’t the private detective type from the movies—no trench coat, no fedora, no air of mystery.
Just a middle-aged man who looked like he was behind on rent.
Their meeting spot was a twenty-four-hour diner in Brooklyn.
Lynn had arrived fifteen minutes early and picked a booth against the wall.
His back wasn’t to the window.
The exit was to his right.
He had a clear view of the restroom door and a slice of the kitchen back exit.
He knew he was being overly paranoid.
Ever since Friday night’s alley encounter, sitting any other way gave him a knot in his stomach.
Marcus pulled a pair of reading glasses from his pocket, didn’t put them on, but stared at Lynn for two seconds first.
“You said on the phone: acquaintance fraud, guaranteed debt, gray-market collection.” “More or less.” “‘More or less’ is the absolute worst,” Marcus put on his glasses.
“Either you give me a clear legal violation, or you give me a name worth digging into.” Lynn retrieved a manila envelope from his bag.
He didn’t hand it over directly.
Holding the envelope down with two fingers, he slid it to the middle of the table.
Marcus looked down.
“What’s in it?” “Scans of the guarantee agreement, collection emails, Daniel’s text messages, location data from Friday’s meeting, and a name.” “Audio recordings?” Lynn paused slightly.
“One segment.” Marcus glanced up.
“You recorded him?” “Yeah.” “Single-party consent in New York, it’s admissible,” Marcus pulled the envelope over, in no rush to open it.
“But admissible doesn’t mean useful.
If the guy just dropped a few tough words, the police won’t care.” “I don’t intend to involve the police first.” Marcus offered a brief laugh.
It wasn’t a pleasant one.
“Then what are you hiring me for?” Lynn unlocked his phone and tapped open a screenshot.
It was a blurry image captured from the reflective glare of a supermarket entrance security camera.
Daniel and Bruce.
Marcus took the phone, zoomed in, and examined the heavy silver chain around the heavy-set man’s neck.
“This guy?” “Daniel calls him Bruce.
Related to the debt.” Marcus’s finger lingered on the screen.
“Bruce Hall?” Lynn stayed silent.
He didn’t know the full name.
Marcus handed the phone back to him.
“If it’s Bruce Hall, he’s no friend.
He used to hang around a few payday loan sharks, doing ‘repayment consultations.’ If the talks went south, he showed up at doors.” Lynn pressed his fingers against the wall of his cup.
The coffee was no longer hot.
“Does he use violence?” “Depends on the money involved, and depends on how easily scared the target is.” Marcus took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“How much do you owe?” “Two hundred seventeen thousand.” Marcus froze mid-motion.
“You sure know how to pick friends.” Lynn didn’t respond to that.
Marcus opened the envelope and flipped through a few pages, his brow furrowing tighter with every sheet.
“This guarantee is filthy.
The paperwork looks real, the process looks fake.
The witness initials are unreadable.
The lending company looks like a shell, too.” “Can it be investigated?” “I can dig up a bit,” Marcus put the papers back.
“But I charge.” Lynn pulled another envelope from his bag.
Much thinner.
Inside was five hundred dollars in cash.
He set it on the table.
Marcus looked at the envelope and smirked.
“You’re not hiring me for an investigation, you’re asking for charity.” “There’s follow-up work,” Lynn said.
“Where’s the follow-up?” “If I’m not the only victim in this scheme, you stand to gain a lot more.” Marcus leaned back against his chair.
“You suspect Daniel uses the exact same setup to screw over other people?” “It’s not a suspicion.” Lynn pushed another screenshot across.
It was the comment section beneath an old promotional page for one of Daniel’s former companies.
A few comments had been deleted, but fragments remained in the Google cache.
*Pay me back.* *Stop tricking people into signing guarantees.* *Do you have any idea what my mom is going through right now?* Marcus finished reading, the amusement fading from his face.
“How did you find this?” “Searching.” “Just searching?” “And a bit of luck.” Marcus grunted.
He didn’t buy that it was just luck.
Lynn didn’t elaborate either.
Finding those details had taken him half the night.
Web caches, old recruitment listings, corporate registration filings, social media likes—piecing together broken fragments.
Midway through, his eyes had burned and his hands had trembled.
It wasn’t detective talent.
It was sheer desperation.
Marcus tucked the five hundred dollars into his inner pocket.
“I’ll look into three things.
First, who’s really behind the loan company.
Second, whether Bruce is actively involved in the collection.
Third, whether Daniel has other victims.” “How long?” “I’ll give you a first round in three days.” “I need it in writing.” Marcus looked up.
“Are all you people in Archives like this?” Lynn met his gaze.
Marcus chuckled softly.
“Fine, in writing.
But I won’t write it too detailed, lest you go throwing it around recklessly.” “I won’t throw it around.” “Everyone who says they won’t throw it around ends up throwing it around.” Marcus stowed the envelope securely, then asked, “You work at Vought?” Lynn didn’t deny it.
“Archives.” “Then you’d better be even more careful.
With Vought people, ordinary trouble turns into massive trouble real quick.” “I didn’t use Vought resources.” “Keep it that way.” Marcus picked up his coffee, took a sip, and winced.
“This stuff tastes awful.” Lynn finally picked up his own cup and took a drink.
It really was awful.
Sour, bitter, with a metallic aftertaste.
He set the cup down.
“What if Bruce confronts me?” “Don’t meet privately.
Don’t get in a car.
Don’t go to parking lots.
Don’t accept cash.
If they approach, record everything.” Marcus paused.
“If he brings people to corner you, survive first, then worry about evidence.” He said it casually.
Yet Lynn’s fingers tightened slightly.
“Understood.” Marcus stood up.
“One more thing.” “What?” “If Daniel starts saying ‘let me make sure we don’t blow this out of proportion,’ it means it’s not you he’s afraid of.” Marcus slid his chair under the table.
“He’s afraid someone will find out he doesn’t actually have any money.” Lynn stared at him.
Marcus picked up the bill, glanced at it, and tossed it back on the table.
“Your treat.” With that, he walked out.
The wind chime above the door jingled softly.
Lynn remained in his seat.
After a few seconds, he reached for the bill.
Two coffees, six dollars and eighty cents.
He left cash.
Before leaving the diner, he glanced out the window.
No Daniel across the street.
No Bruce.
Only a delivery rider leaning against his scooter, smoking a cigarette with a raincoat draped half over his shoulders.
Lynn pulled his bag strap tight and stepped outside.
As the wind hit him, the bitter taste of coffee in his stomach grew stronger.
He felt a slight urge to vomit.
He held it down.
*** The next morning at Vought, Lynn had just sat down and hadn’t even fully booted up his computer when Kevin popped his head over the divider.
“Did you check your email today?” “Not yet.” “Take a look.
Legal sent out an all-team memo.” Kevin’s expression was strange—not his usual annoyance at wanting to pass the buck, but more like someone who had spotted something dangerous yet couldn’t resist spectating.
Lynn opened his inbox.
At the very top was a flagged red notification.
[LEGAL HOLD NOTICE｜A-Train Performance Related Materials] Recipients included Archives, Legal, Media Relations, PR Crisis Team, and Sports Performance Management.
The message was short.
It demanded an immediate freeze on all of A-Train’s recent training records, event files, medical cross-references, attendance logs, and accident response templates; nothing was to be deleted, moved, or renamed without explicit authorization from Legal.