Mr. Santiago stared into the mirror, but he didn’t recognize himself.
The expensive Italian suit was gone. In its place—filthy rags smelling of dampness and despair.
He was the king of Chicago’s restaurant empire. But tonight, he would become a nobody.
He had no heirs. Only vulture-like lawyers and an army of sycophants.
Who is worthy of my millions?
Inside the pocket of his tattered coat lay more than just lint. There was a high-resolution hidden camera.
Every word, every look from his employees tonight would be recorded.
He stepped out onto the freezing street, leaning heavily on a cane.
His target: his three flagship restaurants.
His heart pounded wildly. He knew business was cutthroat. But he wasn’t prepared for what he was about to see.
First stop: “Lure.”
He pushed against the heavy oak door.