He looked rich.
“You’re Jeremy, right? A friend of mine mentioned you. Said you could use some extra income.”
“Who’s your friend?”
“Doesn’t matter. What matters is I have a problem, and I think you can solve it.”
I should have stood up and left. Instead, I took another sip of coffee.
“My mother is in a nursing home,” the man said. “Her name is Rosie. She has dementia. On her good days, she tells everyone within earshot that her son never comes to see her.”
“So, go see her.”
For a brief moment, his gaze slipped toward the window.
“I can’t watch her like that,” he replied. “Business obligations. Relatives are asking questions. Friends of the family. It’s becoming a situation.”
He pushed a folded stack of cash halfway across the table.
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