File: Coffee.noir.business.detective.game.zip — ...

"Depends on who's asking, and what kind of roast they’re buying," I said, signaling the barista for a black pour-over. No sugar. No cream. Life was bitter enough.

"This is deep water, Mrs. Gable," I muttered, taking my first sip. The acidity hit the back of my throat—notes of blueberry and betrayal. "If the Syndicate is involved, your husband didn't just disappear. He was filtered out." File: Coffee.Noir.Business.Detective.Game.zip ...

The neon sign above the door flickered, casting a bruised purple light over the rain-slicked pavement. It hummed with a low, electric anxiety that mirrored my own. I pushed inside, the scent of burnt beans and old secrets hitting me harder than a sucker punch. "Depends on who's asking, and what kind of

Welcome to , the only place in this city where the coffee is darker than the motives. Life was bitter enough

I opened the envelope. Inside was a single photograph of a shipping container with a symbol I hadn't seen in years: the . They weren't just into beans; they were into the kind of "business" that ended with people wearing cement overshoes in the harbor.

The dame sitting at the corner booth was draped in a trench coat that had seen better decades. She didn’t look up when I slid into the seat across from her. She just stared into her cup like it held the blueprints to a heist.