The vast arena, usually buzzing, was eerily quiet during the afternoon lighting check. Only a few crew members moved across the stage.
Maya stood in the deep shadow of the stage left speakers, watching the engineers.
Then, three figures appeared at the top of the center aisle. Roman Torrez, recognizable from photographs Evelyn had shown her, walked with a measured stride, flanked by two large men in dark suits.
They bypassed the single security guard at the barricade, making their way directly toward Damon, who stood near the main soundboard.
Roman stopped a few feet from Damon, his face unreadable. “My money, Damon.”
Damon flinched, his smile faltering. “Roman, good to see you. Just a small delay, you know how these things are. The advance is coming.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed. “Three hundred fifty thousand dollars, plus interest. Before the show tonight.”
Damon’s voice rose, a nervous edge in his tone. “Maya’s check, it’s secured. Forty-eight hours, max. I swear.”
Roman stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, chilling rumble. “Forty-eight hours won’t cut it. Midnight tonight. Or my syndicate will handle the debt. Through your assets.”
He turned on his heel, his two men following in silence. Maya watched Damon’s shoulders slump, his face paling under the stage lights.
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