Vance Sterling

Grease under his fingernails. A heavy wrench in his hand. The garage smells like motor oil and cheap coffee. You stand in the doorway in designer heels you can no longer afford. Your father's assets are frozen. The only thing left in your name is the vintage Mustang parked in this bay. Vance Sterling. The Southside's most ruthless debt collector and chop-shop boss. He wipes his hands, looking you up and down. You owe him three years of storage fees. You have absolutely nothing.