“I’m sorry, Naomi, but we have to let you go.” The lips of the man in front of me curl up into a short-lived smile. I clench my dress and fight the need to dig my nails into my skin. Or his.

“The company can’t continue to do business without making cuts, and unfortunately, your position is no longer required, which is why we’ve come to this conclusion.”

“You can’t do this,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Well … I just told you we are,” he scoffs like my retaliation insulted him.

He shifts in his seat, his Adam’s apple moving up and down in his throat as he looks at the sheets of paper in front of him instead of at me. Damn fucker can’t even look me in the eye as he tells me I’m finished.

“I need this job,” I reiterate.

He sighs. “We know you do.”

We. It sounds like he doesn’t feel a thing while he says it. Like he’s not a real person behind this façade.

I wonder what it’s like to be in his position. To have the power to accept and dismiss on a whim without having to look out for yourself. I wonder if he goes home every night and kisses his wife without feeling remorse. If he sleeps well. If he’ll have nightmares of me screaming at him.

“But that’s not possible, unfortunately. I’m so very sorry.”

No, he’s not. He’s just saying that so I’ll have empathy for his situation. As if he’s the victim for having to tell me this horrible news. No.

“If you were sorry, you’d help me get a different job. With the company or somewhere else.”

He leans forward, holding a pen in his hand, which he swivels back and forth maniacally. He clears his throat and frowns. “I’m sorry, but we currently don’t provide such benefits. The only thing I can do is provide you with a letter of recommendation for your next employer.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yes. You’ll receive your final check within three days. I can try to speed it up, but I can’t promise anything.”

I stare at him in disbelief. “There’s got to be something …”

“No, sorry. The boss has already decided.”

The boss. Good excuse not to take any responsibility for the layoff himself, even though I doubt the company really needs his position either. He only barks at his employees, even when they’re doing their job correctly, so he can sit back and watch them sweat. He knows he has the power, and he loves it. I can see it in his eyes.

Sometimes, I wish I had the same power. I’d use it to screw with people like him and make them pay.

His fingers slide some papers my way, but I don’t even look at them as I snatch them off the desk. I get up and straighten my skirt, putting up a front. I’m not about to let this fucker notice my dismay. Not if I can help it. I’ll keep my dignity with grace.

So without looking at him, I turn around and walk out the door, hoping he breaks that pencil of his and shoves it up his ass.

* * *

Later that day

Mom grabs my hands and rubs them. “Your hands are so cold, honey. I just drank a cup of coffee, so mine are nice and warm.”

I smile, but the smile doesn’t stay. “Thanks.”

“You look so pale, Naomi. Are you still eating okay?”

“I’m fine, Mom.” I clear my throat, trying not to sound upset. “How’s Dad?”

“Oh, you know, the usual.”

“He’s not smoking anymore, right? Tell me you threw them away.”

“I did; don’t worry,” she says. “Besides, he’s not going anywhere. He can’t even get out of bed anymore, and he’s still coughing up his guts.”

The way she describes it makes me wince.

“Is he still taking the meds? You know you have to watch him take them.”

“Yeah. I hand him the glass of water myself every morning with them.”

“Good.” I nod. “If he won’t put in the effort, then at least you will.”

“Oh, honey … I know your dad can be a … complicated man, but he’s only trying to be less of a burden.”

“When is he going to understand that he’ll never be a burden?” I squeeze her hand.

“I don’t think he ever will.” She briefly chuckles, but it fades away too. “That’s just the way he is. Never accepting any help. Always stubborn.”

“Even when he’s dying …” I mutter.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing,” I add, smiling it away.

I don’t want to make her feel bad. I just want to know Dad’s okay. Even if he isn’t. Knowing he’s still fighting the cancer at least gives me hope.

“So how is everything going with you? Still working hard?”

The question makes me choke up a little, but I slowly manage to form a reply. “Uh … yeah, it’s fine.” I don’t want to tell her the truth. It would break her already fragile heart.

I pull away and look at the other people in the coffee shop, contemplating what I’m going to do. I can’t not do it. I just can’t. So I reach into my pocket and pull out an envelope. I slide it to her across the table. “This is for you.”

With furrowed brows, she grabs the envelope and sneaks a peek inside then immediately flattens it on the table. “Oh, Naomi …”

“Take it,” I say.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. It’s yours.”

“You don’t have to …”

“I want to,” I say, looking her directly in the eye, so she knows I’m serious.

“But you need it.”

“Not as much as you,” I say, and that’s the truth.

I may be a cold-hearted bitch on the work floor, but I love my fucking parents to death, and I would kill a son of a bitch for them if I had to. Just so I can see them be happy because, god … they deserve it after raising a girl like me.

“You’re my daughter …” Tears well up in her eyes. “I’m supposed to take care of you.”

“And you’re my parents. I have to look after you too. Just let me do this. I can do without it. You need it more than I do.”

She leans forward across the table and pulls me in for a hug. “Oh, Naomi … What did we do to deserve a daughter like you?”

I smile while petting her back, wondering the exact same thing.

And to think I wasn’t even sure whether I should do this, considering the fact that it’s the last bit of money I have.

I wouldn’t do this for just anyone. Family is my number one priority. Anyone else can go fuck themselves. But I’d kill for family.

And after seeing how grateful she is, I know I did the right thing. Dad needs more medicine to cope with his illness. It was the only choice I could make.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“Don’t,” I whisper back. “Just take care of Dad, okay?”

Her warm hand touching my back gives me hope, even if only for a little while, as she says, “I will.”

* * *

Minutes later

I make my way home in my shoddy old car, trying to keep it from falling apart by braking and accelerating with ease, so it doesn’t jam. I wish it would’ve lasted longer, but I guess that happens when you buy a third-hand car. It’s not like I had any other choice, though.

And now, I probably won’t even be able to fill her up with gas either.

Sighing, I park my car and get out, slamming the door as I walk to the apartment block. It smells of gasoline and burned food, which makes me pull my nose up as I enter the building. I pass a few doors while breathing through my mouth because the stench from their drugs permeates out their door and through the hallway. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the girl upstairs almost always has her door open, ready for men to drop by whenever, and I have no choice but to walk past her home because the elevator is broken. I just look the other way as she’s hung up on a guy, her whole room smelling like booze and sex.

I try not to think about it as I go up to my apartment, but when I close my own door, I sink to my knees.

God, how am I supposed to last here one more day?

In this filthy building?

In this dirty neighborhood?

I’m nowhere.

Fucking nowhere.

My purse drops to the floor, pens and lip-gloss rolling out onto the floor. In a fit of rage, I pick it up and throw it at the wall as hard as I can. I scream and slam my hand on the floor.

“Fuck!”

I could scream all day, but that would only make my neighbors suspicious, and that’s the last thing I want right now.

I just want my fucking job.

No, screw that; I want a better one.

I am worth more than that. More than that fucking asshole sitting in that chair handing me those papers.

I will not let anyone treat me like that ever again.

I get up and grab a broom from the kitchen to sweep up all the glass shards from the lip-gloss. Without complaining and without making any noise, I clean it up, grabbing a cloth to rid the carpet of the pink stains. I rub in the water and wipe it off until it’s squeaky clean again. Until you can’t even see one speck … not one tiny crack.

The light bulb flickers, but I pay no attention to it. It’s been going on like this since forever, and I doubt it’ll get any better. If anything, my electricity will probably be shut off soon.

A drop of water falls from the ceiling onto my face. I gently wipe it off and gaze up at the chipped, moldy wood above me. Water is leaking from the pipes above. Again.

I sigh. I wish I could ignore it, but after so many failures, how is that even possible anymore?

My life is crumbling. My home is falling apart. And now, my job is gone too.

I get up and throw the cloth in the sink. Then I open the drawer next to my door and pull out the papers to check them. Because of the recent troubles with Mom and Dad, I’d completely forgotten about this … until now.

One week … That’s how much time I have to pay the rent I owe before I am evicted. I already have so much trouble paying them on time. I guess they finally had enough.

How am I supposed to pay the rent?

I’m way behind already. There’s no way I can make up for the loss of money without a job.

What now?

I can’t go to my parents. They have even less than I do. Besides, they need every penny for Dad’s lung cancer medicine. I can’t ask that of them. And I just gave them everything I had. There’s no way I’m ever going to ask for that back.

Biting my lip, I realize I have only three options.

Getting a loan is a small possibility, since I already have bad credit due to unpaid bills.

A new job within a week is also highly unlikely, but it’s an option.

Or I could just sell some cocaine like my neighbor does. Or sell my body to any random stranger. I bet that would make some decent cash too.

Balling my fist, I chuck the paper away and let it fall to the floor, rubbing my forehead. God, if only it wasn’t so fucking difficult.

Money.

That thing that makes the world go round.

I need it. I want it.

But every time I come close to earning my fair share, somebody takes it away.

It’s not fucking fair.

I walk to my bedroom and close the curtains, undressing in front of the mirror. I hate what I see. Not because I’m not beautiful—because I am—but because of how little I’ve accomplished. With my twenty-eight years, I should already be somewhere. Be someone. I should be an assistant to the CEO of some technology company or a manager at a bank. Instead, I’m wasting my time doing the shitty work for someone who doesn’t even want to keep me around.

Annoyed, I turn around and throw myself on the bed, swearing into the blankets.

But as I crawl up, I realize I can only do one thing.

Push forward. Never give up.

So I lie down on my pillow and close my eyes, promising myself that tomorrow’s going to be a good day.

* * *

The next day

I take a sip of my espresso and watch the customers fly through the bank. Only when a long-legged girl steps into the lobby do I take notice. Still holding my cup, I watch her stride across the tiles on her blue heels, her hips rocking and her long black hair swaying from side to side.

I lick my lips at the sight of her, wondering who she’s here to meet. It can’t be me; I don’t have an appointment scheduled right now, and I’m on a much-needed break. Still, I can’t stop looking at her.

She’s wearing a tight, red skirt, and an ironed black top. Golden bracelets dangle from her wrist, which makes me think she’s dressing to be seen. I wonder if she’s going to meet someone high up. It isn’t me, that’s for sure. I should know, because I own this freaking bank.

I should find out more, but my body refuses to stand as my gaze fixates on her ass. Something about her captures my attention. Maybe it’s her straightforward pace or the cold look in her eyes as she passed through the doors.

From a distance, I watch her stand in line, her hands briefly skittering through her hair, and for a moment, I wish it were my hand she felt. I take another sip of my coffee and wait until it’s her turn. The color on her tanned face seems to disappear slowly as she talks with the woman behind the glass, her brows drawing together. She pats her hand on the woman’s desk and leans forward. They engage in a heated discussion, which only stops when she turns around and parades off toward the door again.

The closer she comes, the more I can see the determination in her eyes—even though she was just scolded and told off. I watch her walk toward me, my eyes unable to look away. The power she radiates draws me like nothing else. She’s magnificent.

Exactly what I’m looking for.

I’ve been waiting so long for this moment.

This excitement. This feeling of electricity running through my veins.

She’s the one.

* * *

When I come home, I throw my purse on the table and rub my forehead, sighing out loud. I don’t know what to do at this point because even my own bank won’t give me a loan. Of course not since I’m indebted to them too. But I thought if I told them my situation, they might help me out. Guess not.

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and twist the cap off, chugging it down like there’s no tomorrow. After a show like that, I need to cool myself down. My body always heats up when I’m in an argument. It’s like it instantly goes into fight or flight mode. And I don’t ever flee from a fight if I can prevent it.

God, the humiliation. It was just too much.

The way that woman across the counter looked at me as if I was beneath her … I just wanted to pull her underneath the glass and shove my nails into her eye.

How dare she question my ability to pay back this money? Did she think she was better than I was? No one has the right to make me feel like a lesser human. I’m too fucking proud for that shit.

I put my half-empty bottle down on the table and pull the stack of mail from my purse.

I quickly sift through the envelopes to see if it’s anything important, other than the looming bills I still need to pay. Usually, I chuck them all into the drawer and forget about them, but the moment my eyes see a peculiar red envelope, my fingers stop moving.

I throw all mail aside except for this one envelope. Strangely, it’s addressed with only my first name, and it does not have a return address. I tear it open and pull out the paper inside. At the bottom of the note, it has a signature and the name “Max” engraved. Below that is his address. I wonder who this guy is and how he knows where I live … but I figure maybe his letter will give me a clue, so I start to read.

Naomi,

I know you are going through some money troubles.

How do I know, you may ask?

Well, I might answer that question … after you’ve come to see me.

Now, I know this might seem odd. To you, I’m a stranger inviting you to come see me out of the blue, but trust me, it is not.

I have what you need.

Money. Lots and lots of it. And I am willing to give it all to you.

You must have many questions—if I am joking, if this is real, and if so, how much, and what the price is. I could answer all of them, but that would make this very boring, and I don’t like to play boring games.

Instead, I’d like to invite you to meet me, and I will tell you all that you need to know.

The real question you should be asking yourself is this, though … How far are you willing to go to get what you want?

If you know the answer to that question, come and see me.