I dropped to my knees on the wet pavement, frantically gathering my scattered clothes from a ripped trash bag, tears of absolute, profound humiliation finally spilling over my eyelashes and mixing with the light rain that had begun to fall.
I sat on the curb, surrounded by black plastic bags, holding the single, crumpled one-dollar bill Mr. Sterling had given me. I was entirely alone. I was broke. I was homeless.
A sleek, black, heavily tinted town car pulled smoothly up to the curb, its tires splashing quietly through the puddles, stopping directly in front of me.
The rear window rolled down with a soft mechanical hum.
Sitting in the back seat was Mr. Sterling.
He wasn’t smiling, but the cold, professional detachment he had displayed in the conference room was completely gone. His eyes held a strange, intense, and terrifying urgency.
“Get in the car, Maya,” Mr. Sterling said, his voice cutting sharply through the sound of the rain. “Leave the bags. We can buy you new clothes.”
I stared at him, clutching the wet one-dollar bill. “Where are we going?”
“Back to my office,” Sterling replied, pushing the heavy leather door open for me. “The primary reading for the parasites is over. It’s time for the secondary execution.”
Chapter 3: The One-Dollar Loophole
I sat shivering in the plush leather chair of Mr. Sterling’s private, heavily secured corner office. My wet hair clung to my neck, but my hands were wrapped tightly around a steaming cup of hot tea his assistant had quickly provided.
Sterling didn’t sit behind his desk. He walked over to the heavy, oak double doors of his office and locked the deadbolt with a loud, definitive click. He then moved to a large painting on the wall, swung it aside to reveal a wall safe, and punched in a code.
He pulled out a thick, heavy, wax-sealed manila envelope.
He walked back and sat in the chair directly across from me, placing the envelope gently onto the glass coffee table between us.
“Arthur loved you more than anything in this world, Maya,” Sterling said softly, his voice dropping the severe lawyer persona entirely. He looked at me with profound, grandfatherly affection. “You were the only light in the last four years of his life. He saw every single sacrifice you made.”
I looked down at my hands, fresh tears welling in my eyes. “Then why did he humiliate me? Why did he leave me a dollar?”
