Chapter 1 - The Twenty-Dollar Plate
Mason had washed dishes at the Aurora Crown for eleven months, which was long enough to learn three things.
First, rich people left half their food untouched.
Second, managers could smell weakness better than sharks smelled blood.
Third, Blake Mercer enjoyed firing people almost as much as he enjoyed saying his own last name.
The plate slipped because a server shoved a rack into Mason's elbow.
It hit the tile.
Crack.
Blake appeared thirty seconds later like humiliation had summoned him.
"That's coming out of your check."
Mason stared at the broken plate. "You already docked my last check for a missing chef's knife I never touched."
"Then consider this consistency."
Tasha Gomez, a food runner and Mason's only real friend at the casino, stepped forward. "I saw what happened."
Blake smiled. "And I saw an employee with four write-ups."
"Three of those were because he ate staff fries."
"Theft is theft."
Mason looked at Tasha. "Please don't get fired over fries."
Blake held out his hand for Mason's badge.
Ten minutes later, Mason was outside with a trash bag containing two hoodies, one paperback, and a cracked phone charger.
His phone buzzed.
Rent due tomorrow.
$31.42 available.
He laughed once.
"Great."
Then he heard a man coughing in the alley.
The old stranger pressed a black token into Mason's palm and whispered, "Don't let the House keep it."
The man vanished.
Blue letters appeared.
[FORTUNE LEDGER INITIALIZED.]
[WELCOME, NEW DEBTOR.]
Mason stared at the empty alley.
"I preferred unemployment."
---
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