13 juillet 2026

The Wrong Table, the Right Man

Marcus stood before he gave himself time to reconsider.

The vinyl seat creaked behind him, loud enough that the nearest waitress glanced over. His coffee sat untouched, steam fading. For a second, he felt the weight of everything he didn’t have—money, influence, protection.

Then he felt the weight of something else.

His son’s hand in his that morning.

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