He chose his downtown branch, the one he opened first, where his mother used to help cook pies, As he crossed the street, he felt the buzz of cars and early-morning walkers, The smell of sizzling bacon drifted into the air, His heart beat faster, Inside the diner, the familiar red booths and checkered floor greeted him
Jordan Ellis stepped out of his black SUV on a cool Monday morning, dressed in a way no one in the city would ever expect. Jeans worn soft from age, a faded gray hoodie, and a knit cap pulled low over his forehead. Most days he looked like the millionaire he was—tailored suits, shining loafers,…
