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Real money. Not cam tokens. Not extra-shift money.

Real fuckin’ money.

Then Kev ruins it.

“But liquidation is a long shot.”

“Of course it is.”

“Paul’s side doesn’t want to sell. At all. Their whole posture is preserving a legacy and protecting tenants, staff, and operations. All very noble-sounding. Not to mention useful if they’re trying to make you look like the guy killing jobs.”

“Killing jobs? I make pizza for a living.”

“I know.”

“He’s the one with the properties.”

“I know.”

“Then why do I feel like I’m the asshole in this?”

The food arrives, saving him from answering.

Kev eats. I move noodles around and take two bites because my stomach has turned into a hot fist.

“There may be another route,” he says.

I look up.

“A negotiated payout.”

“Meaning?”

“Lump sum. Paul buys peace. You cash a hefty check.”

“A discounted check.”

Kev hesitates.

“Probably more than you’ll see in five years at the restaurant.”

I laugh once. It is not a good sound.

“He won’t even talk to me. He throws lawyers at me. Throws parties at me. He looks me in the eye for five minutes, says something nice enough to make me feel crazy, then hides behind letterhead.”

“He may be following counsel’s advice.”

“Then his counsel is chicken shit.”

Kev almost smiles. “Legally, I cannot confirm that.”

“Personally?”

“Many attorneys use expensive avoidance as a primary strategy.”

I stab at the noodles with my fork. “I don’t want to be managed.”

“I get that.”