Chapter 2

By dinner, the next wave of Summit orders was arriving.

Mike, one of our veteran drivers, had just delivered to floor twenty-one when another order came in for thirty-five. Seven minutes later, Ray stopped him at the back entrance.

"Sign in."

"I already did."

"That was your last delivery. This is a new one."

Mike checked his phone. "I've got four minutes before this is late. Can I fill it out when I come back? I've got two more orders after this."

"Not my problem."

Mike wrote as fast as he could. Ray shoved the log back at him.

"Were you taught to write? I can't read that. Try again."

By the time Ray accepted his handwriting, the delivery was late. Then Mike still had to climb thirty-five floors, dropping the first bag on twenty-one and hauling the rest up another fourteen.

A voice message arrived in our crew chat, full of ragged breathing.

"Evan, my legs are killing me. I can handle a run like this once, maybe twice. But three or four in a night? Come on."

At seven, Mike dragged himself into the hub and collapsed onto a plastic chair.

"Four orders. All late. It's not food delivery. It's boot camp."

I recorded the penalties and lost tips.

"I'll cover today's losses."

"Boss, I wasn't asking you to pay."

"I know. Take a break. I'll deal with it."

When I reached Summit, a young man was walking through the front entrance with lunch from an expensive steakhouse. Ray held the door open for him.

"Food for Mr. Mercer? Go right up."

The man stepped into the passenger elevator without signing a thing.

"He doesn't have to register?" I asked.

Ray shrugged. "That's an order for building management."

"So when the food is for your boss, it's food. When it's for everybody else, suddenly we're dirty?"

Several drivers looked over. Ray's face darkened.

"Are you trying to start trouble?"

"I'm asking how your policy works."

He gave up pretending. "Different people use different entrances. You need someone to explain that?"

I clenched my hands. "So it's the uniform you don't like."

He didn't bother denying it.

In Mercer's office, I made two requests.

"One registration per driver per day. And access to the service elevator during lunch and dinner rushes. That's all."

James rubbed his temples.

"We've already provided a delivery entrance. We can't design the entire building around your company."

"Who called me three years ago because nobody would accept these orders?"

"You helped us then," he conceded. "But your operation has earned plenty of money here since. This is a business relationship, not a lifetime debt."

"I invested in this area when no one else wanted to."

"And that was your customer-acquisition cost."

I stared at him. "So you won't change the policy?"

"Correct. How you fulfill your deliveries is your business."

I walked out and sent a message to my dispatch team.

*Starting tomorrow, Summit orders will be handed off at a clearly marked ground-floor pickup point. Let customers know before arrival.*

Replies came immediately.

*Understood.*

*About time.*