The Homeless Man Was Gone
Silas was waiting.
But he wasn’t homeless.
No parka.
No crate.
He wore a tactical vest.
Held a tablet.
Four men in dark suits stood beside him—silent, official, dangerous.
“Who are you?” I whispered.
He stepped forward.
“My name is Silas Vance. I’m a private security consultant.”
My head spun.
“You were hired… by your father’s estate.”
“My father died ten years ago,” I said.
Silas shook his head.
“No. He was a whistleblower.”
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