The park cafe was a magnet for the city’s elite, tucked between rows of manicured trees and the hum of a nearby fountain. It was midday and the cafe buzzed with life. Waiters in crisp uniforms weaved gracefully between tables, balancing trays of artisan dishes and freshly brewed coffee. The air smelled of warm bread and the faint sweetness of blooming flowers. But for one man none of this seemed remarkable.

At a prime table in the center sat Bernard Green, a name synonymous with power and wealth. He had built his empire from scratch, starting with real estate in his twenties and expanding into ventures that few could dream of. At seventy-two, he carried himself with the confidence of someone who owned not just his world but perhaps the worlds of everyone around him.

His sharp suit and gold-rimmed glasses reflected a life of opulence. Yet, as he glanced at the menu, his movements were slow, almost hesitant. Opposite him sat Marissa, his much younger wife, a woman who seemed plucked straight out of a magazine cover.

Her jet-black hair framed a face that was impossibly polished, her bright red lipstick carefully applied. Every inch of her screamed elegance, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She twirled a diamond bracelet on her wrist, absent-mindedly, her attention fixed not on her husband but on her phone screen.

Nearby, a boy lingered just beyond the patio fence. He was small for his age, his oversized hoodie hanging loosely on his thin frame. His dark eyes darted from table to table, scanning plates and pockets, looking for an opportunity.

His name was Malik. Though no one in the café knew him, his face was familiar on this street, a kid with nowhere to go, always on the outskirts of conversations and the edges of concern. Bernard glanced at his watch.

You’re distracted again, he said, his voice calm but pointed. Marissa looked up and smiled, though there was no warmth in it. I’m right here, she replied sweetly, reaching across the table to place her hand on his.

You know how much I enjoy these lunches. Malik’s stomach growled. He moved closer, his footsteps almost silent as he leaned against the patio railing.

His eyes landed on Bernard’s table. It was the kind of meal he hadn’t seen up close in months, a pristine white bowl of soup flanked by fresh bread and a glass of sparkling water. But then, something unusual happened.

As Bernard adjusted his glasses and picked up his phone, Marissa’s hand slipped into her designer handbag. Malik saw her fingers close around a small vial. She twisted it open with a casual flick, tilting her hand ever so slightly over the steaming bowl.