The clock on the nearby bank tower read seven forty seven when a sharp sound broke the rain. A briefcase hit the pavement. Papers scattered across the wet ground. A man in a dark tailored suit stumbled forward, gripping his chest as if something inside him had turned against him. His expensive leather shoes slipped on the slick sidewalk, and he collapsed hard, breath escaping in a strained gasp.
Allison froze. The street was nearly empty. A few cars passed without slowing. No one stepped out. No one called for help.
She rushed to him, dropping her brush and bucket.
“Sir,” she called. “Can you hear me.”
The man did not respond. His face was pale, his breathing shallow, his hand still clutching his chest. A silver watch glimmered on his wrist, the kind she had only seen in jewelry store windows. His open briefcase lay beside him, soaked papers revealing company documents stamped with the name Stanton Global Holdings.