“What did you say?” Marcus blinked several times, not believing what he heard.

“How can I help you?” Marcus looked down at the man. His clothes were well-worn, dirty, and greasy in spots from motor oil or some other substance. The shoes on his feet had a hole in one of the toes, and the other had ratty laces, barely keeping it on his foot. He was sitting on the sidewalk’s edge, holding a sign reading, “I can help.”

Marcus towered over the man, his wool overcoat preventing the wind from whipping through him. His wingtip shoes glittered in the winter sunshine. This homeless man wanted to help him? Marcus, a successful attorney with Lewis, Ratteson, and Clark, was on his way to the office when the man asked him if he could help.

Marcus smirked before he answered the man. “Yes. I’d love your help. Tell me, do you know anything about property tax laws?”

Standing up, the man was at eye level with Marcus. Marcus stepped back just enough to not act like he was afraid. “Sure do. As a matter of fact, I worked there,” he pointed to a large building, now occupied by a corporate banking firm. “I founded that organization. Built it from the ground up.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Marcus sneered.

“Suit yourself. But I imagine you need a well-educated paralegal who can understand the ins and outs of property tax law, right? You, Marcus, don’t have enough time in your day to work on our other cases while prepping for this one, right?”

“How do you know my name?” Marcus spat. “Are you stalking me?” He took a few more steps backward.

“Your name, Marcus? That’s easy. I pay attention. Watch the news. Read the paper. You’re in all of them, including Barron’s and the Wall Street Journal. Me? I know you. I’ve known you for a long time. But you? You forgot all about me. You failed to see me, even when I was in your presence. But you know something? This? This meeting? Right now? It’s totally worth it JUST TO SEE YOUR FACE.”

“Bring me your files. I can have everything together in three hours. All I want, in return, is a hot bath, a two-night stay at the Marriot, a new Armani suit, tie, shirt, socks, wing tips like yours, and a pair of Ray-Ban wayfarers. It’s not a bad deal if I do say so myself. Three hours, Marcus. What do you have to lose? Four thousand dollars, roughly? Or millions of dollars in lost revenue because you couldn’t get the brief written?”

“How do I know you aren’t trying to scam me?”

“You don’t. But,” the man held out his hand, “if you give me your phone, I can change all that with one call.” Hesitantly, Marcus handed him his phone. “Thank you, Marcus.” In a blur the man managed to make a call. “Hello, Mags. I need to speak to him. Thanks.” Holding up one finger, he mouthed the words, ‘One second.’ “Michael. Hi. Yes. No, I’m fine. Mhmm. I’ll let her know that the next time I see her. It’s been a bit cold so I’m guessing she’s at Fifth Street Estate. Yes. Same dress. I know! She’ll be buried in it! Listen, I’m talking to my new friend, Marcus, and he wants credentials. Sure. One second.” He handed the phone to Marcus.

“Hello?”

“Marcus Decker? Michael Endelani.” Marcus knew Endelani was the Chief Executive Officer of the corporate holdings company that owned the building Marcus was about to enter. “I understand that my friend needs some credentials. I put my faith in that man and trusted him with everything I had, which is why I’m on the phone with you. If you get help from Doc Peters, you are one fortunate man!”

“You know him?”

“Know him, Marcus? I worked side-by-side with this man for more than ten years. I watched him build me into the person you are familiar with today. I wouldn’t be sitting here if it wasn’t for him.”  

“So you trust him?”

“With more than a million dollars in corporate holdings? You should trust him, too. I have to run, but Marcus? If you have any more questions, please call me at this number. Let Mags know that I’m happy to answer any more of your questions. I’m guessing you’re feeling pretty small right now, so I’ll let you decide. I know you have a meeting to attend and need to get Doc whatever he’s asked for. Take care, Marcus. Bye.”

Marcus held his phone, staring straight ahead. For five years, he had been trying to get the attention of Michael Endelani’s firm. Each gatekeeper kept him from reaching the man. Not even his personal assistant could get through. And she was savvy enough to keep trying, even after five years of frustrating phone calls, emails, and text messages. And now? Now he had the man’s personal number straight to him, in his cell phone. Doc didn’t delete the number before returning the phone.

“So? Do we have a deal, Marcus?”