"Ms. Daniels, I’m calling to tell you that we won't be able to ship your last order to you."

"What?" Trina's eyes widened and her mouth fell open. "Hold on a second." She dropped a set of keys and handbag on the counter and took shallow breaths in an attempt to calm her escalating pulse. She pressed the cell phone to her ear to make sure she was hearing correctly. "Did you just say that you're not shipping my order?"

"That's correct. We weren't able to ship your order."

"There's a large convention in town all next week. I need those supplies on time to run my business."

The sound of the representative typing rapidly on the keyboard came through loud and clear. "We tried to process your credit card for payment three times between yesterday and this afternoon. Your bank declined all three transactions. Do you have another form of payment?"

Trina's heart dropped to her stomach. "You're kidding, right?"

There was money in her checking account. She'd just deposited the business earnings last week. How could the bank decline her purchase?

"I'm sorry, Ms. Daniels. Maybe there's a misunderstanding. You should call your bank. We can hold your order for an additional three business days so you can get this straightened out. I've notated on your account that you need the supplies as soon as possible. Just call us back when you have a valid form of payment and we'll expedite the shipping for you free of charge."

"Thanks," she grumbled.

Trina sighed in resignation and disconnected the call. Her laptop was in the back of the store and she rushed through the swinging panel doors to get to it. Her dad's old operating system couldn't power up quick enough and she drummed her fingers on the desk in the little back office as the CPU hummed to life.

This was ridiculous.

Last month she'd sat down with her accountant and they'd forecasted every single expense for the upcoming month. She'd gone completely broke before due to lack of budgeting and she promised herself that it would never happen again. But here she was…again.

Yet, once Trina was logged onto her bank account she realized her mistake. Her bank balance was lower than it was supposed to be. How could she have forgotten that she'd purchased emergency medication for her dad two days ago?

Money was tight these days and Trina and her father had been living from paycheck to paycheck for the last few months. As soon as earnings from the dry cleaning business rolled in, they rolled right out. Up until now, she'd succeeded in staying out of the red. It hadn't always been this way.

Her dad's untimely car accident had changed everything for them last year. The terrible crash had resulted in both of his legs being amputated. Without adequate health insurance or savings, the medical bills skyrocketed as a result of his recovery and the surgery. Trina's refusal to place her parent in long-term care led her to make the life-altering decision to quit a six-figure job to return home and help him through recovery.

The physical therapy, medications, and top-of-the-line prosthetics were expensive. The family dry cleaning business kept a roof over their head and food on the table, but month after month she pinched from her own retirement savings after all their credit cards were maxed out to pay for his care.

Trina picked up the purchase order for the overhead supplies for next week and compared it to her bank balance. She was a little over one hundred dollars short, which was enough reason for the bank to decline the charge.

She sat back in her chair and released an exasperated sigh. Something had to be done—fast. There was another ten days left until the end of this month and judging from the amount of money in her account, it was barely enough to get by and run a business.

The bell chimed over the entry door to the store. The first customer of the day. She should have been delighted to start the week off with the boost in earnings local businesses expected to bring in during the big convention coming to their small town of Cross City, but this morning's news had already put a damper on her spirit.

"Hello," the customer called out.

Trina rose from her chair and went to greet the customer, a middle-aged woman with a pile of dresses in her arms. "Good morning. How may I help you?"

"I need these dresses cleaned and I'd like to pick them up in two days."

"No problem." Trina zoned out as she wrote up the order.

The woman looked around the shop nervously as Trina keyed the information into the system.

"How will you be paying today?"

There was a spark of gold around the woman's irises and her pupils narrowed as she observed Trina. It wasn't a natural reaction, but Trina had witnessed this type of response before. The woman must have picked up on how aggravated she was. Aggravated was an understatement, to say the least. But the reaction wasn't completely out of the norm. Her non-human customers were always very wary of their surroundings—just like the woman standing here.

Before Trina could stare anymore, the woman averted her gaze, looked down at the counter, and held out her credit card. "Credit, please."

On the card was an emblem in the corner unique to the non-human population in America, which confirmed Trina's suspicions. The woman was a shifter. Thirty years had passed since it had been discovered that shifters lived among them. To this day, no one could determine if the discovery of two wolf pups and a human-like baby left inside a bassinet outside of a church was by accident or intentional. Many concluded that some poor mother couldn't care for her child, so left the responsibility with the church. At the time, no explanation as to why the wolf pups were in the bassinet with the baby—except to keep it warm—was given.

The wolf pups were released to a wildlife conservation center, but the baby was taken into the custody of Child Protective Services. When doctors investigated her DNA in an effort to find the parents, the results revealed some not-so-human qualities. The information was leaked by a scientist and the government had no choice but to reveal that non-humans lived among us. Just like the woman standing in Trina's dry cleaning store.

The woman cleared her throat and thrust the card toward Trina again. "Don't you still accept our payments?"

"Sorry, yes I do."

Trina completed the transaction at the cash register.

When the woman left the store, she grabbed her cell phone and thumbed through the phone log in search of the number to her retirement fund servicer. The last time, she'd told herself she wouldn't take another distribution, but if she didn't do something she and her father could end up living on the streets.