❝ Don't play with me. Don't you ever think you're capable of that. ❞ — H.

↞ o n e ↠

Stressful.

Sinking into my queen-sized mattress with a warmed laptop on my lap, white screen searing at my eyes; I'd never expected it to come back to bite me this much - except I did.

I run my maroon acrylics over my goddess locs, expecting they could get caught. "Anonymous tip," Scoffing, I shake my head. "That's it?"

"It's a top-class case!" Jean reasons with his hands splayed out, open-palmed. "We only opened it back up since we were tipped off."

Humming lowly, I nod my head every now and then. "And that's the only information we have?"

His eyes drift down to his left side, regretfully nodding so. I knew it, I knew this would be stressful. I also knew that I was biting off more than I could chew, taking it past a possibility. But I'd always assured myself I was strong enough to keep up, same reason why I challenged myself with stressful situations - affirming myself in the long run when I made it but regretting it during the process.

Jean leans forwards towards me who's sitting on the opposite side of the booth, "The file, it'll be where you always find stuff."

"Do you at least know who I'm dealing with?"

He snaps up and scoffs, "Of course I know that much."

I quirk a brow expectantly which prompts his own to shoot up in realization. "Oh- you know the Pyxis family?"

"Pyxis family. . ." I test out on my tongue, immediately irritated by that sense of deja-vu but not knowing where I heard it before. "Pyxi- Don!"

I snap my fingers to help my memory, "Don! Pyxis Corporation and its subsidiaries."

"Yeah - that." Jean grimaces at my loud reminder.

That was insensitive, Halo.

"Well, now we know it was from somebody inside since they have access to the accounts. . . maybe an accountant?" He nods his head along at the possibility, considering what I said.

"Or," He scratches at the brown scruff of his beard. "Employee, maybe?"

I roll it around in my head, tasting the theory - testing it out and seeing how it'd pan out. "But what would be their motive?"

"Haven't thought 'bout that yet," Jean's lips purse thinly. "But I have to go. Charlie will help you."

My lips part a little, I don't know a Charlie. 

He leans just as close as he did earlier while he whispers, "Everything you need is inside."

With that, Jean slides out of both the booth and my sight. Leaving me alone, like your mother. I shuffle through my navy, gold tote bag for the book I'd packed earlier - plucking it from its cramped spot.

After reading through more than 25 pages, I'm disturbed from continuing.

Buzz.

On notification preview, Jean texted me: your file was delivered. I hum to myself, pleased with how much reading I was able to get in along with the plot. Maybe I could tip them since I didn't order anything cause I'm not bouta mess up my white suit. I place my belongings aside from my phone in their respective places, shrugging my bag onto my shoulder.

Waving at the brunette barista, I walk over to the counter and drop a $20 bill in the tip jar. I've been obsessed with this new anime, Euphoric Darkening. But I didn't want to connect to Bean There Coffee's wifi since it's public and I won't risk confidential information being leaked so I'll just marathon the anime at home instead.

Gazing down at my phone, I text Imari: nice cafe. The muscles in my cheeks pull into a smile and I don't fight it; I can't fight it, or they'd fight back harder 'til I lose. Snorting to myself, I shake my head - she'll be so upset I didn't see her while I was here.

Black heels stabbing at the wooden floor, I sigh and relax into my white suit-jacket which hangs off my shoulders at the clicking sound. Strutting out of the coffeeshop with the wind causing my jacket to flow makes me feel powerful until it starts to get too breezy for a lace top and I shrug the hanging jacket onto my shoulders. I can't wait to hear Imari getting on me later, but 'til then - I'mma order a Ryder.

Getting home isn't anything special, silent ride as usual. Remembering I need to check my mail, it's an easy walk to the mailboxes - sorting through the mail is a different story. Mail from old residents and wrong addresses are sorted into a separate pile from my own. Most of it is coupons, discounts, or sale papers from places I've only ordered from a handful of times - the audacity.

I'll just shred the pile which doesn't belong to me. I was raised to mind my own business and make sure people mind theirs. The pile which actually has mail that matters to me is cut in half after it's sorted - 'sa shame. When I roughly shove the key into the door lock, I turn the lock and watch the knob follow after. I glance around at the green plants which are in simplistic white pots, man. I really enjoy the minimal aesthetic my sweet little place carries, making it look cleaner and giving the illusion of more space.

I place my clutch along with the two piles of mail onto a marble entrance table, bending over to take my heels off. Right beneath them, a classically orange file folder is nearly punctured by the pressure of my weight. It's really stacked and full of whatever's inside, "Looks like I won't be getting much sleep tonight."

Waving it up and down to test the weight isn't anything I can't handle - but a folder shouldn't weigh as much as this one does. Once I place my shoes neatly by the side of the front door, I rest the file on my circular dining room table which only fits three. I'm a single woman so I don't need to worry about anybody else but my friends and parents - can't say I don't enjoy it either.

When I get settled, the shredder is slicing up each piece of mail I feed it greedily. If the mail was that important, they would've let the sender know about the address change. But since it's in my control, I'm not 'bout to let what could be their personal information get leaked. A little after I'd come in, my oven clock read '6:57 pm' which made me grimace. I usually have my bedtime set for 8:00 since I have to wake up early, but I always have something figured out in case that plan fails, and being a lawyer, there was a lot of that.

I step into the bathroom, peeling off my suit which was stiff and uncomfortable, though I can't deny how powerful and desired it makes me feel. Reaching under the marble sink, I feel around for cotton pads and makeup remover. Not much comes off since I only put on clear gloss, brown lip liner, and a little bit of mascara.

Habitually turning the knob nearly completely towards the red 'H' label, I wait a few seconds before settling my feet on the cool ceramic in the bottom of the tub. Just like routine, the biting hot rain pinches at my skin eliciting a hiss as I try to focus on the cold beneath my feet - though it's quickly becoming warmer.

When I rush into my bedroom while my teeth chatter and eye the file on my bed, my wardrobe is the destination where I put on a black satin nightdress through my frantic search for something warm since my towel is doing a sad job. I charge towards my mattress, belly-flopping onto the bouncy bed. Inhaling my favorite fabric softener gives me the strength to roll over and pick up the folder. Aside from the heel prints, there's also a coded phrase in bold letters on the front: C4$3 - PYX1$ F4M1|Y.

It's really obvious what it translates to and it almost makes me want to cry pitifully for them but laugh at them at once. That was a poor attempt at encrypting and it wouldn't have done much good since the file was slid under the door, into my home. That's as secure as it can get unless someone breaks into my home and as a lawyer who works with criminals, I'm not dumb enough to go without doubling down on security - so good luck with that.

On the opposite side of the front of the folder is a number and name:

CH405 (MALE) - (911) 338-115

Now this is interesting, no numbers besides the national emergency hotline are supposed to have those digits and in that order - is that even legal? A strong doubt and suspicion surely weaved through my core, but I try to unravel it as I dial the number, wondering if it'll even go through. Will it automatically cut off at the last one and dial 911?

I tap my acrylics against the black comforter, listening as the buzz tickles at my ear. A low and bored tone picks up, "Hello?"

"Yes," My attention perks at being captured. "I'm supposed to call you."

When he stays silent I take that as the signal to continue on. "By Jean Clervil?"

He hums, "Right. Pyxis family?"

"Exactly," At least he doesn't try small talk. "Can I have the information?"

He inhales, "Most of the information is inside the folder that was delivered. I'm just here to go over it with you and answer any questions besides the fact that we'll be working together in the future. You should save my number."

"Alrigh-" He interrupts me.

"Turn to the next page,"

I stay quiet for a few seconds, gathering my irritation together. It'd be dumb to fall out with the person providing me information.

"Hell-"

"Don't. Don't interrupt me again." His line goes quiet for a few seconds, enough that I hear an audible inhale and his microphone shift.

"Sorry. Please, turn to the next page."

I nod dutifully until I remember he can't see me. "The start of the Pyxis family?"

"Correct," I imagine him nodding. "This is important, especially if we're going to succeed this time around."

"Also, call me Charlie."

⚠

"And you ain't come to see me?" I can hear her scoff, a little bit playful but mostly serious.

I twirl a goddess loc around my finger, studying how it slides down my long maroon nail. "I mean- I was only there for a meeting."

"But it was your first time visting, but ooh-" She squeals loudly. "You went there on business?!"

I roll my eyes, but not without a smile on my face. "Yes, yes."

"Don't think I don't see what you're doing!" I'm sure she's pointing her finger accusingly, "Don't distract me!"

I shake my head while snorting quietly, shoulders jerking as I laugh. "M'not."

"Yeah, you are. You only texted me when you left." She mumbled softly, "Did that mess on purpose."

The ends of my lips quirked up, of course the company of someone like Imari would make me smile - she's like a sister to me. "Yeah?" I listen for her hum and it comes. "What if I had something urgent to do after? I could've been busy, y'know."

Imari exhaled, "C'mon, Halo." But a sneeze interrupted her called for her attention.

"Bless you," I supplied smugly.

"Shut up." She mumbled. "Anyway, we know you ain't got nothing to do if it ain't ya parents."

Imari doesn't know about the undercover case I picked up since it's confidential and I'm not a bouta put her in potential danger. "I got a life too,"

"Mh?" She interrogates. "Like what? You paused on them lawyer cases for whatever reason, so what?"

"Tryn-"

Imari interrupts me, "Nun, exactly."

"Mariii!" I whine childishly. She knows it, she knows.

She exhales heavily, "Sorry. But whatchu' you doing tomorrow?"

The spark of irritation which had been slowly burning into a flame of anger was extinguished by her apology, letting it peacefully die. "Mm, I have to see my parents for one."

I can hear Mari tutting over the line. "So when we gon' hang?"

The Pyxis case really has my schedule tied up so I don't have much time to hang around. I could only manage to fit my parents in after working extra to make a gap in my workload and while Imari is almost as important to me as Dad, she'll have to wait her turn. "Ion know."

"Fine, but you have to call me after tomorrow."

Relieved that she doesn't make a big deal out of it, I joke with her. "I might be too busy. . . I'll see what I can do."

Mari sternly lowers her voice, "Stop playin' wit' me chile."

When I burst out laughing, she quickly joins me and I'm reminded of why I enjoy her company so much. Even when things are hectic and there's so much going on, she doesn't demand from me what I can't give her and patiently waits her turn. "How 'bout 3?"

✕