Morrison's brother was exactly what Isla expected.
Danny Morrison. Mid-thirties. Twitchy. The desperate look of someone who'd gambled away everything and was running out of options.
They met him at a diner in Queens. Public. Neutral territory.
Killian slid into the booth across from him. Isla sat beside her husband, silent. Observing.
"Mr. Archer," Danny said nervously. "I got your message. About the debt."
"Fifty thousand dollars. Plus interest. You're three months behind on payments." Killian's voice was calm. Conversational. "My people are getting impatient."
"I know. I'm working on it. I just need more time—"
"I'm not here about the money." Killian slid a folder across the table. "I'm here to make you an offer."
Danny opened it. His face went pale. "This is—how did you get this?"
