The coffee shop on Alder Street occupies a narrow space between a used bookstore and a vintage clothing boutique, its exposed brick walls and mismatched furniture creating the deliberately bohemian atmosphere that downtown professionals pretend to find charming. I arrive fifteen minutes early, selecting a corner table that offers clear sightlines to both entrances while keeping my back to a wall—instincts that have served me well in both boardrooms and wilder territories. The morning rush has settled into a steady stream of caffeine seekers, their conversations providing the perfect cover for a meeting that requires absolute discretion.
Lila appears in the doorway precisely at our scheduled time, but the woman who enters bears little resemblance to the eager paralegal who left my office y
