Chapter 2 - The Weight of Gold
The check in Garrett’s pocket felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. It was a singular, heavy piece of cardstock that smelled faintly of expensive ink and cold, clean air—a stark contrast to the smell of burnt coffee and despair that still clung to his jacket.
He sat in the driver’s seat of his rusted 2008 pickup, staring at the Millerstown Diner. The sun had finally broken over the horizon, turning the drab gray sky into a bruised purple. He had walked out of there ten minutes ago, his head spinning.
He didn't go straight home. Instead, he drove to the local bank branch that was still opening its doors. When the teller stared at the amount on the check, her eyes widened, and she looked at Garrett—stained with oil and exhausted—with a sudden, jarring respect that made him feel like a fraud.
"Is there an issue?" he asked, his voice rough.
"No, sir," she whispered. "Everything is... perfectly in order."
By the time he pulled into his driveway, his house looked different. The peeling paint didn't look like failure anymore; it looked like a project. He walked inside to find Lily sitting at the kitchen table, her small, dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, staring at a bowl of dry cereal. She looked up, her eyes wide and fearful.
"Dad?"
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"We’re okay, Lil," he said, and for the first time in months, he meant it. He didn't tell her about the fight, or the woman, or the danger. He just told her that a business opportunity had come through. That the house was safe. He watched the tension drain from her shoulders, a sight that felt like a physical weight being lifted from his own chest.
But as he sat in the quiet of his shop later that night, the address on the back of the envelope burned a hole in his pocket. 1440 Crestview Heights. It wasn't just an address; it was an estate, a fortress nestled in the hills where the elite hid away from the world. He realized, with a sinking feeling, that his life as a quiet, broken shop owner was over. He had been recruited.
