Eight Hundred Thousand Dollars and a Missing Name on a Ledger

the restaurant on Grand Avenue.

Curren Price sat at a corner table beneath a large fiddle-leaf fig tree, his warm, booming voice carrying over the clinking of water glasses.

“Lydia, my friend, over here,” he said, raising a hand to wave me over.

He adjusted his gold silk tie as I pulled out my chair.

His chief of staff, Marcus, sat to continue reading …