ONE WEEK LATER

“Your benefactor is a strange entity altogether,” Aunt Mariam told Amber while arranging the plate of refreshments in her hands on the coffee table. “Even with the software from my company, I came up with nothing—not even a name.”

Amber sat with both feet up against the dark gray sofa nestled in the corner of her aunt’s modest and private living room, listening. It was soft for a couch, spacious enough to relax in all day without growing tender.

The family room was small and comfy, with a contemporary, full-open concept and mellow colors throughout. To her right, past the foyer, was the kitchen, equipped with a stove, dishwasher, and fridge. No centerpiece island yet, despite its modern interior layout. In between the rooms were the stairs leading up to the second floor, with two bedrooms and an office.

“Who knows what his motives are.” As Aunt Mariam called him, the unknown entity—or benefactor—was the individual who rescued Amber the evening her home caught fire.

The evening her parents died.

After saving her, the mysterious person refused to let her be. According to her aunt, while the person never showed himself, he confirmed daily with the clinic on Amber’s health. Eventually, he began poking into her history and now requested for a settlement of some sort. It was a case of I saved your life; it belongs to me syndrome.

Not that Amber objected. Over the preceding few months, as she laid in her hospital bed, an idea appeared, and part of it comprised of this enigmatic entity.

“Are you sure you recall nothing?” Mariam retrieved a cookie from the tray, chewing with bliss. Fresh cookies out of the oven were always the best.

“I don’t,” Amber answered, snatching a chocolate cookie herself. “After I pulled…,” she took a couple of seconds, grappling with the words, before continuing. ”… After I pulled my parents down from the beam, I passed out from the fire and smoke. I… thought I was a goner.”

“Oh, Amber.” Mariam reached over to take Amber’s hand. “I don’t know what to say other than I am so sorry.”

Amber nibbled her cookie, blinking back the tears that seemed to overwhelm her now and then. She didn’t—couldn’t—answer her aunt because what else could she say? That it was all good? That everything would be okay in the end? No, that was a lie, and they both recognized it.

There were no words to convey the loss. Amber didn’t even get to attend their funeral, stuck in the hospital recuperating from her wounds.

Amber took another bite and withdrew her hand from Mariam’s grip. She had little of an appetite these days, and the cookie tasted bland despite being fresh and warm, something her tastebuds have accepted. Under her aunt’s probing gaze, Amber grabbed her water bottle and took a sip, not wanting her to worry.

“You haven’t opened the packet from the academy,” her aunt switched the subject. “It might be your degree—"

“It’s pointless.” Amber waved her hand in the air. “Do whatever you want with it.”

“Your parents would—"

“My parents are no longer here,” Amber interrupted, her voice sharp and unflinching. Her fingers clenched unknowingly.

She didn’t mean to sound so harsh.

Slower more gingerly. “They picked death over Hope and me. Now tell me about this session with my benefactor.”

Not that she didn’t want to talk about it. Just… there was nothing to talk about. Yes, suicide was a serious conversation, but it was one she wasn’t yet ready to have and presumably never will. For Amber, her parents had been steady, loving, and courageous souls. Why they would have taken their own lives over something so trivial as the company was hard to accept. Even now, it felt like a dream, with Amber and Hope left behind, especially Hope, who was still so young.

“Very well.” Aunt Mariam shifted into lawyer mode and started sifting through the knowledge she kept stored away. She recognized how tough and stubborn Amber could be. It was an attribute that ran in the family. “It is a virtual meeting, alone, with just you and him. You are to be on camera with the mic on at all times. According to him, no questions are off-limits. Whether he answers is a different matter. We also don’t know how honest he’ll be.”

No matter how many times she’d seen Aunt Mariam in action, Amber was still awestruck. Mariam was one of the top lawyers in her business, in part, because of her skill to turn off her emotions, studying just the facts. Amber’s mom had referred to it as lawyer mode and Mariam mode. They were both remarkably identical, with black hair and eyes in terms of looks, but Aunt Mariam’s features were more prominent, cultured. Amber’s mom was less subtle, more feminine, with all the curves befitting of a mom. To Amber, Mariam was a delicate porcelain doll unapproachable by no one.

“Are you listening?” Mariam interrupted when she didn’t respond.

“Yes,” Amber acknowledged, coming back to the present. “I don’t care as long as he gets me what I need.”

Her aunt nodded. “He’s prepared a laptop configured to reach him when there’s a need. I’ve had my company attempt to hack the system, but no luck. The encryption techniques are beyond even our ability.”

“Hunter would have no issues with it,” Amber countered without thinking and shut her mouth.

Her aunt looked like she wanted to say something about Hunter but thought better of it. It was none of her business, anyhow. “From the limited intelligence your benefactor has shared, Liam’s parents have been deceiving the corporation for a few years now.”

At the mention of Liam, Amber’s fingers stiffened. “And Liam?”

“They did not involve him in the beginning.” Aunt Mariam paused for water. “He knew nothing, not until after the… incident.”

It was not an incident, but Amber didn’t correct her aunt. Instead, it was suicide with both of Amber’s parents setting the house on fire before hanging themselves. And what a way to die, too, the coroner had claimed. It wasn’t an instantaneous death since they both died of suffocation. A swift death by a gunshot to the brain would have been better than strangulation. Not that it mattered. Her parents weren’t gun owners.

Amber rubbed her face with her palm, returning to that day.

The day of her college graduation—her first stride into the real world. It should have been a pleasant affair, a ceremony shared with those most important to her. When Amber heard nothing all day, she had left to check on them… and discovered their already lifeless bodies dangling from the ceiling.

Amber recalled nothing but the heat of her flesh, the smoke in her eyes and lungs, even as she tugged them down.

Her parents never made it to her graduation, and she never made it to their funeral…

“Amber?” Her aunt called, louder this time.

“I’m fine,” Amber retorted, blinking away the images. “His story adds up then, at least. It doesn’t matter. The fact that he covered up for them and continued to cover it up for them—is unforgivable!”

“I’m not trying to excuse him,” Aunt Mariam said quietly, “But place yourself in his shoes. What if it was your parents? What would you do? What can you do?”

It was a question she didn’t want to consider. Not now. Not ever. Amber said instead, “Anything else I need to know before I go upstairs and greet this mysterious friend?”

“Do you want to take some cookies with you?” She was back to being Aunt Mariam.

“No.” Amber stood up, stretching her limbs before moving. Her eyes drifted to the bundle dozing on the other end of the sofa. “Are you planning on taking Hope out?”

“Alec wants to take her to the playground.” Mariam followed Amber upstairs to what used to be the guest room. At the moment, it belonged to Amber. “She doesn’t cry as often anymore.”

Alec was Mariam’s husband of approximately thirty years. Childhood sweethearts, the two married right out of high school despite their parents’ wishes.

“That’s a relief.” Amber swallowed the knot at her throat. Since her parents had Hope during her sophomore year in college, Amber was never around enough for Hope to recognize her. To Hope, Amber was a stranger despite being a sister. “I was never home much in college. I don’t know how much of a help I’ll be.”

They both halted in the hallway to the bedroom. It was a small room with ample space for a queen-sized bed in the corner and a miniature desk for a nightstand arranged next to the bed below the window. Neutral colors coated the walls with minimal furnishing, accompanied by a popcorn ceiling and blueish carpet.

Amber was told to add her own personal touch, but there weren’t many things left that belonged to Amber. There was scarcely anything else for Amber between the house fire, the investigation, the banks, and the shareholders. Luckily, they couldn’t touch Hope’s college fund, which was an achievement in itself.

Amber walked in and sat on the chair in front of the cramped desk. A laptop perched on top, opened, and hibernating. Aunt Mariam remained in the corridor, arms crossed.

“All you need to do is power on and sign in with the username and password I provided on the sticky note,” Aunt Mariam instructed. “You’re supposed to never lose it.”

Amber glanced at the scrap of purple sticky note that was scribbled with letters and numbers. “And if I do?”

“You’ll have to ask your benefactor.”

It was a joke. Her aunt didn’t catch on, though, and Amber was in no frame of mind to point it out. “Please shut the door behind you.”

“I will.” Aunt Mariam reached for the doorknob. “But are you sure you’ll be all right? Alec and I can—"

“I will be fine,” Amber assured. “You and Alec take Hope out for some fresh needed air.”

“Signal if you need anything.” Her aunt paused, wanting to say more. For a split second, she opened her mouth but closed it at once, changing her mind. There were a lot of things she wanted to say… to confer with this stubborn niece of her. But, as she kept reminding herself, Amber was no longer the cute, innocent child that called her Aunty Marm because she couldn’t pronounce Mariam.

The computer was stirring from its slumber when Amber heard the door shut behind her.