Jackson's sleek car purred through the city streets, its glossy black exterior reflecting the neon lights of downtown. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard: 7:55 PM. Perfect timing.
He pulled up to the valet stand. The valet's eyes widened at the sight of Jackson's car, probably wondering if he should ask for a tip or an autograph.
"Easy on the clutch, kid," Jackson said, tossing the keys. "She bites."
The valet nodded, a mix of awe and nervousness on his face as he slid into the driver's seat. Jackson straightened his tie and strode into the restaurant, the scent of money and power hanging thick in the air.
The maître d' approached, all smiles and obsequiousness. "Good evening, sir. Do you have a reservation?"
"Jackson. Table for two."
Recognition flashed in the man's eyes. "Ah,
