"Remember. You have two days."
Once I was sure he was gone, I stuffed every last bill into my bag.
A few minutes later, the club manager strolled in looking confused.
"Tristan Henson, what's going on? You're wrapping up early tonight?"
I gave Landon the short version. He slapped me on the back so hard I stumbled forward.
"What?! A million dollars? You lucky bastard!"
I smiled, but there was no humor in it. "Landon, you call that lucky? She's somebody's wife!"
He waved me off like I'd just complained about free beer. "So what if she's somebody's wife? You think a man at that level is short on women?"
Then he caught himself and jabbed a finger at my chest. "But let me warn you right now. Don't go digging around where you shouldn't. You'll get burned."
I nodded mechanically, then made up an excuse about feeling sick and asked for the rest of the night off.
Back at my apartment, I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the photograph. The woman looked about my age. I couldn't stop turning it over in my mind.