That evening, Detective Williams found Marcus sitting in the darkened diner, methodically wrapping his hands in canvas tape. She took one look at his face, then at the shattered frame in the trash can.

"Marcus," she said softly. "Don't do anything that forces me to arrest you."

"I'm just going to negotiate my lease, Alicia," Marcus replied, his voice terrifyingly calm.

She sighed, turning toward the door. "I'll be busy doing paperwork for the next two hours. Whatever happens on the south side of town... I won't be there to see it."

Derek Collins operated out of a sleek, glass-walled office above a high-end nightclub he owned downtown. At 9:00 PM, Marcus walked through the front doors of the club. He didn't run; he didn't sneak. He marched straight toward the VIP stairwell, wearing his canvas hand wraps and a faded zip-up jacket.

Four bouncers moved to intercept him. "Lost, grandpa?" one mocked.

Marcus didn't speak. He moved.

It wasn't a brawl; it was a dissection. Marcus dismantled the security team with ruthless economy. A palm strike to a jaw, a swept knee, a liver punch that dropped a three-hundred-pound man in an instant. Marcus moved through them like water around stones, his footwork flawless, wasting zero energy. Careers had ended on his punches twenty years ago; tonight, he was holding back just enough to keep them breathing.

He kicked open the heavy oak doors to Derek's office.

Derek jumped up from his mahogany desk, dropping his phone in shock. "You? How the hell did you get past my men?"

Marcus locked the door behind him and stepped into the room. "You destroyed my wife's picture, Derek. You threatened a single mother. You put your hands on a boy I consider a son."

Derek backed up against the floor-to-ceiling window, his arrogant sneer replaced by genuine, primal terror. He reached into his desk drawer, pulling out a sleek black handgun.

Before Derek could raise the barrel, Marcus bridged the gap. A blindingly fast parry redirected the gun upward as it fired harmlessly into the ceiling. In the same motion, Marcus drove a left hook into Derek's ribs. The crack of bone echoed in the office. Derek collapsed, the gun clattering away.