Chapter 71 The Mayor's Mistress

• The diner reeked of burnt coffee and desperation. I slid into the cracked vinyl booth, my fingers brushing the grip of the pistol hidden under my jacket.
• Across from me, the mayor’s mistress nursed a lukewarm coffee, the yellowing bruise on her cheekbone a stark contrast to her pearl earrings. She didn’t look up as I sat down, just pushed a manila envelope across the table.
• “He’s laundering through the church,” she said, her voice sandpaper-rough. “The same one your mother visited.”