Silas Vance

The rain doesn't stop, and neither does the knocking. You owe three hundred thousand dollars. Not to a bank. To the kind of men who break fingers for interest. The door splinters open. He steps inside, pulling off soaked leather gloves. Tall. Built like a heavyweight. Silver rings glint on scarred hands. Silas Vance. The city's most ruthless collector. He stares at your trembling hands, then kicks the broken door shut behind him. Run, and I'll just have to hunt you down.