Concealed behind the water glass, I couldn’t help the distort adorning my mouth. Several chuckles traveled through the cracks formed between my lips. Transpired into the air, then left Evelyn and her Mr. Right bewildered by hesitation.

“Of course she is.” In the span of seconds, the three of us exchanged hundreds of looks. “How do you think I got my free ticket into the target house?"

Painful glares landed from Evelyn. Her knitted brows electrified in a cocktail of absurdity and anger.

But her fiancé's reaction ripped through the thin balance, sustaining the situation. My focus gravitated as he lowered his head, pecking at the edge of the coffee cup. Refusing to deliver hints of his opinion.

Despite the tangible discord, Evelyn nipped the orange juice, detached. The ton of inquiries behind those pursed lips swam back along with the swallowed liquid. Her eyelashes glided, peeling me off from her sight.

The disapproval soaked her mood, yet refused to add or deduct a judgment.

Hung under their heavy breath. Any excuse I will chew will just wrench further my image.

"You want me to find the actual people behind this accident."

My eyes tracked the voice source, swept to the other corner in relief, and escape. Oh, Mr. Right, neatly leaped over the subject…

Out of retaliation, all serious, I confronted him, controlling tone imprinted my speech: "Start investigating Mm. Marchetti's circle." If Evelyn wanted him in, then I shall burn him dead.

"However, there is something more urgent." I said as I glared at the waitress that passed us for the third time, "If you were able to get your hand on the investigation record, you could certainly accomplish this task."

Emery’s expression developed in an awful fashion. He didn’t appreciate the bossy attitude. Nevertheless, it motivated me to persist in the same rhythm. If he thought about impressing his girlfriend by stealing my hard work, he needed to have a second thought.

Evelyn smelled the arching smoke circling between us. Her long fingers soothed Mr. Right's shoulder, her red lips curved: "We should go now, dear," Her gaze winked discreet agreement towards me, "you two can discuss those things later."

Obviously, she didn’t wish for extra interaction with me, at least for the present time.

Emery side glanced at the waitress. He cupped Evelyn’s hand when he stood, whispering some flirty words I refused to hear. Honestly, I wondered who fell under the spell of who?

As he rolled away, I seized the chance for a private conversation. It came to me, late, that Evelyn had the exact idea.

"Just do me this favor." She pleaded, beating me to the punch.

My voice stagnated within my throat. I couldn’t comply and say yes, neither could I express my genuine feeling and say no.

Speechless, I scanned her face. Her fabricated cool humor fissured atop cheerless contents. When she became aware of my meticulous attention, she broke the momentum, “Kieran, be careful.” Her eyes looked up to whatever moved behind me. At that instant, the amount of the unsaid matters I grow conscious of flooded my senses.

“Do not forget to destroy the memory card.” Murmuring, her last pointer left me drowning.

The car skilfully took the road, its silhouette disappeared among the crowd.

From behind, a shadow towered over my head. Imposing. The waitress gleefully giggled, “How are you going to pay, sir?”

“What? Didn’t the man who sat here already paid the...?”

She placed the bill before my eyes, leaving me choking on the number of zero. Rage reached my ears without being visible.

All my pockets licked empty. I counted to the last coins I had not close enough….

What a scum trick. I shall reward him double for it.

“The owner said, if you couldn’t pay, you must work here till you repay all the debt.”

Owner? Keeping my startle in check, this man really had long arms.

My brain engines launched, new connections built inside my head.

Mr. Right’s business extended to this metropolis. Olvera’s business controlled around half of the legal dealings. Father keeping both parties close by. We are expanding. Precis updates were essential about this matter.

"Can I just sign a commitment?"

"Of course sir, but it will double the interest for each delayed day."

What a shady business. And if I don't pay, I will be sent to jail. No wonder he had a lot of acquaintances in the police.

I lifted my head, defeated: "Where is the kitchen?" Thank God I was a cleaning fanatic.

Following behind the waitress, we walked through an interesting architectural design. For a better description, a maze. If she left me, it won’t be simple, finding the way out.

At a certain moment, the doubts burned my indifference, ashes tinted my compulsion black. When we took the elevator up, my over skeptic nature won over, almost assured of the trap laying ahead.

Only one woman stood next to me. The elevator moved up. Alert, my gaze fixated on her back. Calculating eventual moves I will employ to neutralize the target.

Even if she possessed a gun. From this distance, I can handle her easily.

Aware she was of my attentive observation and abnormal bearing.

The waitress couldn't mask her tension from the persistent focus I showered her with.

In my head, I smirked. What an amateur they had used. Yet irritated, they succeeded in diminishing my preparedness.

Emery, head lowered, sipping the coffee. The scene dangled in front of my eyes. If he was a traitor, if he tricked Evelyn all along. I will dig up his heart and throw it at stray dogs.

The elevator door opened, however, no suspicious move had yet to be made.

I stepped into a luxurious corridor. Cleanliness oozed from the floor, the walls. The flowery smell relaxed the intensity in my muscles.

Noting from the consecutively numbered doors, we probably entered a hotel.

We stopped at the most elegant quarters. What awaited me beyond this door… I ceased feeling less pessimistic.

The timing was important. Should I make my move here and now? Should I hold longer for a confirming clue?

Retreating a few steps, I leaned into an angle that concealed my presence if someone opened the door. She didn’t object to my adjustment. Luckily, my escort, an incompetent one.

Like outside, like inside, the vast sitting room shone in an impeccable luxury. Albeit, no one waited within. My agility pumped harder. The waitress invited me to the couch, placed the folder that she carried all the way on a nice coffee table.

Hesitant, my eyes, my ears, my arms began the shutdown mode against my will.

"What is this?" Through a narrowed pair of eyes, I asked as I cautiously threw my weight on the comfortable couch.

"The working contract."

Restrained confusion, suppressed frustration, only frowns bombarded her strained face. Hell, what a contract? Is he trying to make me his slave for a bunch of dessert dishes eaten by his woman?

Upright, my body rose, "I am not signing any contract."

"Sir…"

"Several nights in jail are much better." My hand already cupped the door's handle.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"Sir, at least read before you decide."

It took me a fraction of a second to choose. My head swung back. Solemn gaze flickered toward the waitress and the coffee table, photographing them in one detailed picture. Finding more reasons to hate Emery was my choice.

Skimming over the lines, the furious tincture defiled my manners, dissipated. The tense colors paled. Bafflement replaced the anger.

I scanned the waitress, for like the hundred times: "You are sure that he wanted me to sign this contract?"

Lips tight sealed. She nodded, confirming. Way earnest.

Still skeptical, I sat down, inwardly, reciting each phrase, probing for discreet setbacks, secret cheats. Following this contract, I will pay my debt in three months.

Long, yes. Still, what he offered me turned off my reasoning further.

Besides the free lodging which I ought since the dormitory I stayed in is closing for maintenance, he is paying me for practically doing nothing, and taking 10% to cover the debt he imposed on me?

Maybe Mr. Cromwell wasn't that bad. Haughty, complacent, the first impression he radiated, but reliability, it was unexpected. Albeit the spiteful served method.

The tip of the pen floated above the predestined spot. Approaching...

No, no, no, I won't fall for it. This is too good to be true. Too much for helping the little brother of his woman.

The thing about desperate individuals, like a certain someone. They weren't stupid, - I suppose…-, just, they smell the oddity in the blowing pleasant breeze, yet they choose to ignore it in favor of their comfort, a period of instant gratification.

This night, I indulged the scars of my soul, the ache of my tired body on a big, comfy bed. Although the new, clean, and arranged home, it failed to soothe the lingering heaviness of the past days of my life.

Nightmares accompanied my sleep, each episode stretched on the side. If I turned left, I reminisce over Olvera's dinner party. When I turned right, I tasted the rain of that night at Marchetti's house. On my back, the ceiling spiraled, morphed, as dark as the blindness. It swallowed me deep within an unfavorable stop of the past.

"Noah…" The voice of my grandmother from that day, "Why are you not eating?" I could never forget that look. The disapproval claimed her face, lips pursed in displeasure.

"This is not the end of the world." She scolded.

Granting her an inky image, the mourning clothes hugged her aged figure. At that instant, my grandmother seemed tough, looked resilient, and much, much wiser.

I am sorry, grandmother, yes; it wasn't the end of the world; it was my resurrection.

***

After the confirmed statement of my innocence, the funeral of Anna's little brother was held, the next three days.

Gravely compassionate, I stepped into the burial ceremony, alone. Per usual, head up front, registering the surroundings. Assessing the attendants' grief scale. It felt like a party-themed around black clothes.

My poor Liam, your death welcomed cheerfully compared to your life. You were the deleted obstacle that prevailed Mm. Marchetti's quest, subduing her husband's wealth.

Unconvinced by my innocence, Mm. Marchetti swarmed by a hysterical storm upon discerning my face among the alleged mourners.

The slap landed on my cheek, the continuous hits I sustained. Her acting transcended mediocrity, at least in my eyes. The sole honest tears I stumbled upon that morning came from a face that I found torn between avoiding me and collapsing into my embrace.

In the end, Anna refused to give more than those glimpses. The hug of her childhood friend surrounded her.

As sympathetic as I was, as pragmatic as I could be.

This opportunity, I exploited to retrieve the planted spy bug transmitters from the locations my hands could attain. Sadly, luck ditched my side in those last days. I could only leave the house empty-handed.

Therefore, my last trip to Marchetti's house slandered me into massive disappointment.

Mm. Marchetti's frenzied act glued most of the unwanted attention to my back. I didn't remember hating a woman as much as I hated her.

The days strode forward. The shreds of my mind huddled as the routine swept my life further. Immersed between the lectures of the final term, the distress of preparing my thesis, to the bloody fight of paralegals in the Clangor law group for a permanent position. Furthermore, the new part-time job bestowed by my benefactor, Mr. Cromwell, proven delightful as much as its payment.

My free time for overthinking diminished.

Free I became from the self-inflicted reproach, the remorse that caged my conscience for days. The overall picture in my head cleaned fresh.

My current position. What happened and what I am going to do next? They were all a matter of careful, logical planning.

Though, on occasions, the margin thread of memories reminded me of the remark of the unknown mysterious interrogator. His remark, annotating the decline in my resistance as well as adaptability, echoed subtly at the back of my head.

Far from formalities and denials. Regardless of the extent of his knowledge concerning my person, he spoke right. Those last years, I became a tattered puppet of my former identity, fractured, in parts, chopped, not just intellectually…

I feared my father and brothers' censure if they witnessed my crappy handling of the pressure. My literal breakdown at nights, and my succumbing to the glittering fortune of Mr. Cromwell. For he was, to me, an unknown person with unknown motives.

Evelyn’s fiancé?... Humm, Wasn’t I Anna’s ideal boyfriend...

Despite Mr. Marchetti's hospitalization, my position as his assistant was unaffected. Now, all his cases have reached the freezing point, the time-devouring assignments squashed to dust. Aside from small errands here and there, my work at the firm sunk inside a peaceful train.

The ongoing fight for an official post didn’t interest me. The raining offers, showering my egotism for a new position, merely served an appetizer. My goals strove above them. Actually, I pitied the rivals. Excluding unseen surprises, the upcoming months, the Clangor law group future shrouded behind nameless hands.

Amidst those and that, my quest to appease Anna's grief had its own spot. I bet it would be much easier if she picked up her phone.

After the hundred tries, I grew convinced that she may truly break up with me. What swept the little doubt and hope for reconciliation, the high and mighty attitude of my very, very dear friend, Travis.

In the scarce chances orchestrating our encounters - by half-coincidences - Considering I made it unfailing to distance myself from the duo that called themselves my friends. Travis's nose held tall, while his mouth drew the curves of a victorious smile. He spoke to me from a tower high among the clouds.

Altogether, I returned his smiles, I sincerely returned them. Fainting the oblivion world, radiating extra heartbreak, waves worked like a charm that stabbed his glorifying pride. The sympathy he threw at me, I made full use of it.

Evelyn’s memory card, ever buried under the center stone of my grandfather’s ring. I had yet to watch the file records. Different kinds of fears generated the stall, combined with a bit of laziness and tight schedules.

First, I wasn’t in the right mindset to judge things and form an impartial opinion. Second, I dreaded that my laptop, my restored phone were bugged by…, Mmm, the police? The ones who set me up?. Better be safe than sorry. Let Travis finish reprogramming the laptop before any intimate usage.

I forgot to mention my diligent prayers each morning and every night that the investigator won't find the spy bugs I hid in the Marchetti’s house. Or my innocence counter will flatten to zero.

Well, it seemed that my prayers were heard. The first time I visited the house to meet Anna, face to face, the signboard mentioned it was for sale. The second time, the house was sold.

At last another chance to exploit.

It will cost me only another favor I required to ask Emery for; arrange me a place with the company responsible for the operation and find Anna’s new address.

Now, the only point left beyond my brilliant arrangement, my destined reunion with my dear Jacob. Not exactly certain on the method to summon him without the interference of Evelyn, in particular, and my family in a broad sense. But I am assured that our communication problem, after the upcoming meeting, will grow worse.

“This is your lucky day Mr. McCarthy.”

My upper body shook from the hit on my back. My fingers slipped on the keyboard and ruined the report. Nevertheless, the loss of working flow. My head lifted upward, tilted, the smile I forced concealed the culminating displeasure.

Mr. Harrison's timing was always bad, his awareness worse. His hand didn't stop at one strike. The second slap shook my left shoulder, wrecking my report further.

I pulled the chair then stood, for two reasons; saving the remaining shreds of my ruined composure, showing respect to a senior partner of the firm.

Defamation stayed external to my field of expertise. My judgment of Mr. Harrison, I prefer keeping it to myself. However, it's an open secret everyone here knew about. The success of the Clangor law group blasted off of the abilities of this man.

How he survived the harsh competition was something I will discover soon.

What he said finally reached my nervous circuit. I tossed indifference and heedlessness out and concentrated.

What he exactly meant by lucky.

This word was ever tricky…

"Yes, yes, he is here. Should I take him to the second meeting room or the office?"

It took me several seconds to figure out that he was talking on his phone.

My heart palpitated. In the past days, all my worries culminated around the spy bugs in Marchetti's house. Till I achieved my plan, with each unforeseen derivation of my schedule, I automatically linked it to the police, calling me for an explanation.

My main second plan, feign ignorance and deny everything until my last breath.

My ultimate third plan, if they detected any fingerprint or DNA traces and wanted to take a simple comparison…

Pray that I was careful enough to not leave sufficient marks.

What a degradation. I should have set that house on fire after the funeral.

Anxious, I walked behind Mr. Harrison, leaving some distance. My heart stopped when he turned to wait for my approaching.

"Not feeling good today, you are awfully slow." Only half of my mouth smiled.

When our foot arrayed in a horizontal line, I asked: "Can I ask why I am lucky and where you are taking me?"

Side by side, we moved forward. Mr. Harrison's idea for suspense tore me to extreme irritation.

Before the locked gate for the secondary meeting room, he paused. One hand on the door, the other signaled to hush me: "This is not official yet, so keep it a secret."

The door oscillated inward then outward, barely allowing me enough angle to view who occupied the room. I narrowed my eyes, the access deliberately locked. It kept me out after Mr. Harrison got in.

The integral asked for files staged on the desk, parallels: "Those are all the frozen cases of Mr. Marchetti, arranged by the time of the last hearing.

"Ready and flawless as always," He approached to whisper in my ear, "Remember that it was me who recommended you."

I still didn't understand why we made the trip to the meeting room than to Mr. Marchetti’s office, much to understand this off-topic chatter. Hence, I insinuated: "Are you the one who is going to resume Mr. Marchetti's frozen cases?"

The pitiful clients, they are going to say goodbye to their miserable life. Mr. Harrison only excels at divorce cases. Was there more damage that can be done to the firm's reputation?

His index crossed his mouth again to hash me: "I told you it's not official yet." His voice was created from threads of whispers.

Made of glass, Mr. Marchetti's office had two entrances. My back faced both of them. Nothing but the breeze I felt when one door opened, carrying a nostalgic fragrance.

Like a brainless fan, Mr. Harrison hobbled toward the person who joined us: "Mr. Macias, I have arranged all the frozen cases by order of the last hearing."

Oh…

Nevertheless, Mr. Harrison acting beneath his standing, or shamefully attributing my work to himself.

Me, me the forgotten third wheel, halted next to the desk. Detached like a moon in a starless night, Calm like a sea in windless day. My eruption burst into words, like the lava of a dormant volcano. Direct, rigid, and apathetic:

"The files contain personal information of our clients. No one has the right to access them without the explicit consent of each respective client."

The golden strings of the glasses swayed with curves of a smug smile.