“It’s a weird way to exchange insurance details.” I passed the small, smooth box to my best friend Shelby, who was closing the till at ’Bolt Springs’ only supermarket. It was more of a roadhouse really, but she ran it like it was a downtown department store. The shelves sparkled, not a can of tuna was out of place.

“It’s like one of those fancy business card wallets.” She took it and thumbed the latch. It flipped open smoothly, like it had done for me as the black SUV had slid out of the parking lot.

I’d been expecting a card, maybe a scrap of folded paper. But nestled on a black velvet lining was a small, pale rectangle. Heavy for its size, in the daylight it shone a translucent, celadon green.  When I’d tilted it, a line of engraving flashed across the polished surface.

1 CASTLE PLACE, SYDNEY.

Shelby gave a low whistle and tipped it back into my hand. “This is so swank. He must have a whole bag of these things.”

“Yeah,” I ran my finger over the lettering. A dollop of disappointment plopped into my chest, “he probably does.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“Keep it, I guess.” I answered absently.

She rapped me gently on the forehead. “About your car, dufus.”

Ah, crap. My crumpled Corolla.

A little while later, Shelby stood on the curb while I started the engine. Immediately, a loud clanking came from behind me.

“I think you’ve bent the exhaust pipe.”

“Can I drive it?” I turned off the ignition and bit my lip.

“I guess we could rip off the rest of the bumper bar,” she gave it a prod with her toe, “or I can just give you a lift home. You can call the mechanic tomorrow, right?”

Purple shadows were gathering, and ’Bolt Springs’ solitary streetlight had lit up. I gave up.

“Thanks.”

Shelby started work later in the morning than I did. She was picking me up, so I couldn’t complain. Besides, customers weren’t exactly lining up to buy souvenirs. Barry wouldn’t care if I was late.

But my usually laid-back employer was standing in the doorway, parting the bead curtain anxiously as I got out of Shelby’s Ute.

“You’re late.”

“I texted you,” In fairness, it was unlikely Barry would have checked his phone, he still used a cheque book. “I had an accident.”  

“Oh, right.” He followed me inside. I put my backpack down behind the counter.

  “Look, son,” he sat down and fiddled with his polishing wheel, “business hasn’t been great lately.”

My heart began to sink. I knew where this was headed. But when had business ever been good?

I saw out my last shift in a fog of misery. Barry, once he’d delivered the killing blow, retreated into the workshop and clamped on his earmuffs. He was furiously cutting opals as though there was a chance of them selling out. I snorted. Not this decade.

What the fuck was I going to do? Dad’s pension barely covered himself. There were no jobs going in town. It was a couple of hours drive to Gordonvale, the nearest big town. I could probably get a job there.

If only I had Betsy.

 ***

The façade of 1 Castle Place was warm sandstone, but I entered a foyer of sleek, black marble. Suddenly my ‘VibeFest 2020’ t-shirt didn’t seem like such a great sartorial choice. I sidled over to the monolithic reception desk, hoping the five hour bus ride hadn't left me smelling like fabric deodoriser.

A neat, black-suited young woman looked up from her keyboard and arched an eyebrow finely.

“Can I help you?”

Yeah, help me back out onto the street in my band t-shirt and no-name canvas sneakers.

I held out the token. The inscription gleamed in the light. “I…”

Her other eyebrow rose to meet its neighbour, then she gave me a bright smile. “Of course, sir. I’ll escort you up now.”

She exchanged a nervous look with the lookalike receptionist beside her, and her high heels clicked on the smooth marble as she put out her hands to direct me. “This way, please.”

We walked past a knot of suits at the lift bank, rounded a corner and stopped at another elevator door. In a shiny building, this one seemed even shinier, like it was regularly rubbed down with banknotes. My stomach whooped gently. Would now be a good time to back out and leave? Surely, I didn’t need a car. Not one with two bumper bars, anyway.  

With a soft ‘ding’ the doors slid open. Too late. My ears popped, and as we stepped out, the receptionist’s heels were muffled by plush carpet the colour of dusk.

A good-looking man in a grey suit came to greet us. His eyes flicked to the receptionist, who in turn looked at me. Not knowing what else to do, I held out the token. He smiled warmly, and my voice finally unfroze.

“I’m looking for someone. We had a bit of an…incident, and he gave me this.”

“I see.” The man’s voice was smooth, like cool water over pebbles. The receptionist retreated with a smile, her job done. The elevator’s ding sounded very far away this time.

“My name is Gregory.” He offered me a hand to shake.

“Braith.” I replied, a little breathlessly.

He held my eyes for a few seconds. “Braith, huh? Owen isn’t here right now. Can I offer you some tea?”

The way he said it made me slightly nervous. If this ‘Owen’ was who I was looking for, how long would be gone? It seemed Gregory expected me to wait. Twenty storeys up in the air was as bad as two miles underground. Impossible to escape from.

‘It’s alright. I think I’ll come back,” the hamster wheel in my brain finally started turning again, “I’ll, uh, make an appointment next time.”

“I can arrange that. What do you need from us in the meantime?”

This whole conversation had me stumped. Just when I thought I’d grasped things like the fully grown adult that I was, this guy made me feel about ten years old.

“Er, nothing,” I mumbled, desperately ignoring the mechanic’s enormous bill, my complete lack of transportation, losing my job. “I’m good.”

“Nothing?” He smiled, his green eyes crinkled at the corners, “Then may I ask why you’ve come?”      

I hesitated. Ever since I’d shown the token to that receptionist, it was like I’d stepped into another world. A rich, gilded world. And hell, I needed money. 

“Well, since…Owen…backed into my car, I’ve been a bit short.”