Next to him was a driver in a dark suit.
When he saw me, he came up.
“Are you Michael Carter?” He asked.
I blinked.
“Yes… that’s me.”
He poked out politely and opened the back door of the limousine.
“Mr. Whitmore wants to talk to you.”
I frowned.
“Whitmore?”
“Charles Whitmore.”
The name didn’t tell me anything.
But I walked up and looked in the car.
And my heart almost stopped.
Sitting in the back seat was the old man from the alley.
Except he didn’t look the same person anymore.
His clothes were now a perfectly fitted suit. His shoes were plustered. Her hair combed in care.
It seemed… powerful.
For illustrative purposes only
When he saw my face, he smiled warmly.
“Good morning, Mike.”
I stared at him.
“You… were not homeless people.”
He laughed softly.
“No.”
“So what were you doing yesterday?”
