The West-side Café buzzed with morning activity, providing the perfect disguise of ambient noise as James arrived precisely at nine o'clock. Maya was already seated at a corner table, two coffee cups before her. Anyone watching would see two recently dismissed colleagues commiserating over their professional setback.
What they wouldn't see was the handwritten note Maya passed to James under the table, containing the address of her musician friend's studio and instructions to meet there at noon. Nor would they detect the subtle ASL signs exchanged between casual gestures, confirming their independently formed escape plans.
"So that's it then?" James said loudly enough for nearby tables to hear, playing the part of the disgruntled ex-consultant. "Years of service and we're discarded over a
