Just as Max was seriously debating whether he was worth more dead than alive, a sudden knock on the door nearly made him jump out of his skin.


Who would be looking for him this late?


Unless...


Max gulped. "Who is it?"


"Mister? It's Lily."


"Oh. Phew." Max let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and unlocked the door. Lily was standing there, holding a warm casserole dish with both hands.


"Mister, this is a meeting gift from us." Lily smiled, lifting the dish toward him.


"This..." Max scratched the back of his head, feeling his face heat up. "I haven't even prepared anything for you guys yet."


Seriously, shown up by a six-year-old? He was practically disgracing the Mason family name.


"It's okay! This is a thank-you gift for earlier, too."


"Well... alright then. I won't say no to food."


Max stopped trying to be polite and took the dish. He leaned in and sniffed. Whoa. It smelled amazing.


"It's just home cooking," Lily said modestly. "I hope you don't mind."


"Mind? I haven't eaten all day. You're a lifesaver, Lily! By the way, where's that - that woman? " Max craned his neck to look toward the apartment next door.


"Hazel fell asleep. She's super busy usually, and she has to go to work in a bit, so she's grabbing a nap."


Max froze. Going to work? At this hour?


"What does Hazel do?" he asked.


"She's a lawyer," Lily beamed, her chest puffing out with pride. "A high-powered attorney!"


A high-powered attorney? Living here, in the projects? And working the graveyard shift? Was the job market really that brutal these days? Max couldn't quite reconcile the image of a hotshot lawyer with their run-down apartment building.


But then, a realization hit him like a bolt of lightning.


A lawyer. Lily's guardian was a lawyer.


What does a lawyer actually do? They're the people you ignore when life is good, but when things go south, they're the only rope keeping you from drowning. But that rope can snap.


Being a lawyer wasn't like in the movies. In the real world, lawsuits were messy. They involved money, freedom, and sometimes life and death. And when the stakes were that high, people got desperate.


If a lawyer was too good and won a big case, the losing side hated them. If a lawyer was bad—like some knock-off Saul Goodman who turned a winning case into a twenty-year prison sentence—the client might want to kill them.


Basically, it was a profession designed to make enemies.


Max had been racking his brain trying to figure out a motive. Why would anyone want to hurt a six-year-old like Lily? Was it random? A crime of opportunity? Or was it revenge? But who has a vendetta against a first grader?


No. The target wasn't Lily. Not really. The target was Hazel.


The best way to destroy a person isn't to kill them, Max thought, remembering a line from a movie. It's to take away what they love.


"Hey, is Hazel... actually, never mind, let her sleep. But can you ask her to contact me tomorrow when she's free?" Max asked.


"Hmm? You need Hazel?"


"Yeah, just... ran into some legal trouble. Need a pro's advice."


It was a flimsy excuse, but Max sold it. He fished a business card out of his pocket and handed it to the girl.


"Here. My number's on there. Tell her to call me whenever."


"Okay! I'll tell her for sure." Lily waved. "Bye, Mister! Enjoy the food!"


Back in his room, Max popped the lid off the casserole dish.


It was glorious. Buttery mashed potatoes, steaming mac and cheese, and some glazed vegetables glistening under the ceiling light. There was even a dinner roll.


Simple comfort food, but Max's stomach roared in appreciation. He grabbed a fork, took a bite of the mac and cheese, and his eyes lit up.


Max scraped the casserole dish clean, swallowing the last grain of rice before collapsing onto his bed. He patted his stomach, utterly satisfied.


"She's obedient, sensible, and cooks like a pro," he muttered to the ceiling. "What kind of goddess is she? I seriously need someone like that..."


Lily's sweet smile drifted into his mind again. A little angel like her didn't deserve the dark fate waiting for her.


Max's expression hardened. He'd made his decision. He rolled off the bed, scrambled for his phone, and launched Amazon. If he wanted to pull off this plan, he needed gear.


He typed in the search bar, hit enter, and—


404 Error.


A notification popped up: SORRY! The state strictly prohibits the illegal manufacturing and sale of controlled instruments!


"Ugh..." Max groaned.


Sometimes, living in such a safe, peaceful country was a real pain in the neck.


Fine. He'd hit the physical black markets tomorrow.


He switched apps. This time, he wasn't shopping; he was downloading. He went on a rampage, installing every payday loan app he could find—all the top-ranking predatory lenders in the country.


Ding-dong! "Your account received $30,000."


Ding-dong! "Your account received $20,000."


Ding-dong! "Your account received $10,000."


The notifications didn't stop.


By the time Max woke up the next morning, eyes red and puffy from lack of sleep, his first instinct was to check his balance.


$568,000.


Max stared at the screen, his eyelid twitching violently. He exhaled a breath he felt like he'd been holding for hours.


"You never know how rich you are until you ruin your credit score," he sighed.


He had maxed out nine credit cards, withdrawing a total of $280,000 in cash advances. As for the online loan sharks? He'd lost count of how many agreements he'd signed. He had fought the financial battle until 2:00 AM, successfully saddling himself with a mountain of debt.


The cost was his financial soul, sold for cash at an 18% interest rate. Even the Oracle of Omaha would call him a lunatic for leveraging capital like this.


Disclaimer: Do not try this at home. Unless, of course, you also possess a "Journal" that predicts the future.


Max tried to stretch, but a sharp pain shot through his neck. "Ouch!"


Great. He'd slept wrong. Stiff neck.


"The primitive accumulation of capital always comes with suffering," he grumbled, rubbing his sore muscles.


After a brief moment of humble-bragging to an empty room, he checked the time. 8:30 AM. He pulled a business card from his wallet and dialed the number.


"Hey! Is this Tony?"