On a crisp October evening, downtown Chicago glittered in the twilight. At Marlowe’s—the city’s riverside Michelin-starred gem—Richard Evans dined alone. A man of stature and silence, he was known in real estate circles for his ruthless deals and ironclad composure. His salt-and-pepper hair was perfectly groomed, his Rolex shimmered beneath the table lamp, and his ribeye—aged to perfection—awaited its first bite.
