It started with a knock on the bathroom stall.
Not loud. Just two soft, deliberate taps against the metal door. Logan paused mid-pee, eyes flicking toward the bottom of the stall. A shadow stood still just outside. He finished, zipped, and blinked down at the screen of his phone.
No signal. Of course.
He sighed. Five minutes into hiding in this café's bathroom—low-grade espresso bar in the Financial District, weird smell near the milk fridge—and now he had company.
Another knock. Slower this time.
"Yeah?" Logan said, voice casual, hand on his phone.
"You Logan Vance?"
The voice was male. Calm. Measured. Like he was ordering room service, not hunting someone down in a toilet.
"Why?" Logan asked, still not unlocking the stall.
A pause. Then a thin, crisp sheet of paper slid under the door.
Logan stared down at it for a full five seconds before stooping to pick it up. No logo. No watermark. Just one sentence in clean serif font, centered on the page:
Would you like a job that pays seven figures, and ends with someone else's career buried instead of yours?
He blinked. Read it again.
Seven figures.
Some kind of scam? Crypto pyramid scheme? Cult?
He flushed the toilet—not because he was done, but because the silence had become oppressive—and opened the stall door.
The man waiting wasn't a cultist. Nor was he some startup bro or sleazy recruiter.
Mid-forties. Salt-and-pepper hair. Perfect gray suit, slim tie, matte black watch. The kind of face you forget immediately. He stood with his hands folded in front of him like a butler in a Bond movie—except Logan was pretty sure this guy had a gun tucked somewhere under that jacket.
"Hello, Mr. Vance," the man said, calm as still water. "Apologies for the unusual venue."
"I've had worse," Logan said automatically. "You the toilet fairy?"
A faint smile. "I represent a party interested in your potential."
"My potential to pee in peace?"
The man didn't bite. "We've reviewed your background. Your work history. Your debt profile. Your brief, regrettable enrollment at Buckley Business Institute."
"Jesus," Logan muttered. "You dug up Buckley?"
"It showed… certain qualities. You were expelled for bypassing the internal grading system, reprogramming your course progress to simulate a completed semester."
"That was a prank."
"Sure," the man said, like it didn't matter. "You've been quiet since then. Three jobs in the last year. Two under the table. Currently living in a rent-capped studio above a vape shop. You're good enough to get hired, not stable enough to keep. But you're intelligent. Adaptive. Just green enough to be underestimated. Just desperate enough to take a risk."
Logan narrowed his eyes. "You always open with flattery?"
"No," the man said. "Only when it's true."
He handed Logan a thin envelope.
Inside: a fabricated résumé, a name tag reading Lucas Vaughn, a company-branded welcome letter from Althrex Corporation, and an employee badge that hadn't been activated yet.
The offer was real.
Althrex. The skyscraper that ate city blocks. The company everyone had heard of, but no one seemed to understand. Officially, they were a "multifunctional logistical solutions network." Which meant absolutely nothing.
"You want me to work for Althrex," Logan said slowly.
"Yes. As of Monday, you'll begin at the bottom—mailroom."
Logan raised a brow. "Seven figures to deliver envelopes?"
The man's eyes glinted. "The pay is long-term. Performance-based. The base salary is... modest. But if you complete the task, the bonus is quite real."
"What's the task?"
The man didn't blink. "Climb the ladder. Infiltrate the company. Befriend the right people. Undermine the rest. And when the time comes, you will dismantle the CEO's position—quietly, from within. Career dismemberment. No blood. No lawsuits. Just isolation, scandal, and reputation collapse."
Logan blinked once.
"You want me to kill his LinkedIn page."
"In essence," the man said. "We're offering you a ladder. You climb it. We knock it down behind you."
"Who's 'we'?"
"A client. You won't meet them. You won't know them. But they'll watch your progress."
"Why me?"
The man looked almost amused. "Because you're not perfect. You're not polished. You're invisible. That's valuable. Also, you need the money."
Logan leaned against the sink, weighing the situation. "What if I say no?"
The man shrugged. "You walk away. We erase your data. You go back to bouncing between gigs and living above a vape shop that just got a third health code violation."
"And if I say yes?"
"You get a new name. A clean record. And access. The kind most people never see."
Logan looked down at the badge again. Lucas Vaughn. It was even a decent photo.
"And the catch?"
"There is no catch," the man said. Then he paused. "But there is a cost. You will lose things. Friends. Memories. Pieces of yourself. That's the nature of corporate ascent."
"I've delivered pizzas to drug dealers," Logan said. "I'm not scared of offices."
"This isn't an office," the man replied. "It's a kingdom. And every floor is a warzone."
They stood in silence for a moment, the hum of the overhead lights buzzing in the silence.
Logan glanced at the offer letter again. His hands didn't shake. He'd been too broke for too long to be afraid of new problems.
"You'll be watched," the man added. "Every message. Every meeting. They'll test you without warning. The culture is weaponized. The rules are unwritten. Most people crack within three months."
"And if I crack?"
"You vanish," the man said simply.
Logan folded the papers and slipped them into his jacket. He didn't ask where to report, or what his first task would be. He already knew. Orientation would start like it always did—deceptively simple. But he wasn't looking for easy.
He was looking for a way in.
"And the CEO?" Logan asked, as the man turned to leave. "What'd he do to deserve this?"
The man stopped in the doorway, halfway into the dim hallway.
"Nothing," he said. "That's what's dangerous."
He walked out.
Logan stood in the bathroom another two minutes, just listening. To the buzz of the lights. The distant chatter of the café beyond. The flick of the sink dripping once, then twice.
Then he walked out, flagged down the same barista who'd asked if he was going to order anything, and finally bought a coffee.
He left a twenty on the counter and told them to keep the change.