Chapter 4 - The Iron Gates of Center City
Ten o'clock that night found Sadie standing outside a monolithic, non-descript limestone building in Center City. There was no sign above the heavy double oak doors, only a discreet brass plaque bearing three letters: V.C.E.
The private club was legendary among the city’s underworld elite—a fortress where politicians, real estate tycoons, and crime lords negotiated terms over single-malt scotch and Cuban cigars.
Sadie wore her one interview pantsuit—faded at the cuffs, slightly tight across the shoulders—and carried a battered leather purse. Inside that purse was every dollar she had managed to scrape together from her emergency jar, a loan from a sympathetic coworker, and a pawnshop advance on her mother’s silver locket.
It totaled four thousand, two hundred dollars.
It wasn't ten thousand. It wasn't even close.
When she pushed open the heavy oak doors, the contrast was staggering. The interior smelled of expensive leather, polished mahogany, and burning cedar. A towering security guard in a tailored tuxedo stepped into her path before she could take two steps past the velvet foyer drapery.
“Private club, miss. Membership required.”
“I’m here to see Gabriel Rossi,” Sadie said, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to keep it steady.
The guard raised an eyebrow, looking down at her budget suit with undisguised contempt. “Mr. Rossi doesn't take unannounced visitors. Especially not lost college kids looking for the bar.”
“Tell him the nurse from the alley is here,” Sadie shot back, stepping forward with a fierce, defiant glare. “Tell him I’ve come to collect on our consultation fee.”
The guard’s expression shifted subtly. He pressed a small earpiece against his ear, muttered a few coded words into the receiver, and listened intently for a long, agonizing minute.
May you like
Finally, he stepped aside, gesturing toward a set of double walnut doors at the end of the long, art-lined hallway.
“Third door on the left. Knock once.”
