Scene 2: The Packages. THE ENFORCER'S BRIEFCASE His case is busted. Hinges bent. Corner chewed up where someone, maybe him tried to bite it open. The leather is scuffed down to the bone, black embroidery worn away by big hands that never knew their own strength. The gold clasp is stuck half-open. It never really closes. He doesn't carry it. He drags it. Inside, no order. No empire. No system. Gold bars dumped sideways, some still wrapped in bloody newspaper from his lifetime. Jewels loose, rolling around like teeth knocked out in a fight. A few coins melted together from a fire he started and forgot about. A pocket watch, stopped at 3:13 AM. That's when he died. He keeps it not for sentiment, he just liked how it sounded when it ticked. And at the very bottom, underneath it all, something that doesn't belong. A small, smooth, ordinary stone. River stone, Grey, Worthless. He picked it up as a kid, before any of this. Before suits, before Boss, before his ribs got blown open. He kept it in his pocket for luck. Then he forgot why. Now when he opens his case, everything spills a little. Gold clatters. Jewels scatter across the table. The Banker flinches. The Boss just watches. The Enforcer doesn't count it. He never counted. He just looks through the gap in his ribs at the mess he made, and the stone sitting in the middle of it. It's the only thing in any of the three briefcases that was ever really his. It doesn't close right. It never did. And tonight, that's how you know it's his.