I looked at her.
Ten years apart, and I wasn't the woman she remembered.
I'd cut my hair short to make the long hours easier.
Three years as a drug-trial subject had wrecked my liver and gallbladder, and my skin had gone dry and sallow for good.
Even my features had sharpened.
She stared at me for a long moment, then turned and slammed the door on her way out.
"You've got three days. You'll be on your knees begging me to approve it."
I listened to her heels fade down the hall, and the corner of my mouth curved up.
Beg her?
We'd see who ended up begging whom.
I shut the door and messaged my best friend, the lawyer, laying out the whole situation.
The reply came fast.
*Your in-laws have been dead five years, and your husband's record was canceled as a presumed-dead missing person.*
*By law, the factory property passes to you, and the demolition payout is yours.*
*But if your husband actually gets his residency reinstated, you won't see a cent.*
*Have you thought it through? Maybe cut a deal with him. Money in hand is the only money that's real.*
I scoffed, cold.
And typed back, certain.
*Don't worry. He can't get it reinstated.*
*I need you to look into something for me.*
A hundred million.
There was no way I was letting him off cheap.
Then I called the redevelopment office to confirm.
Once they verified I was eligible to receive the payout, I grabbed my ID and marriage certificate and went straight over.
I beat Jude Delgado to it and registered the demolition claim.
That afternoon, Jude and Daphne Dickerson posted a video on their account.
The title: *How Hard It Is for an Ordinary Person to Get Anything Done.*
Not a word about the demolition. Just the two of them claiming they'd been stonewalled at the window over a simple residency matter.
They'd used the footage they secretly shot of me, stripped out the audio, blurred my face.
But they made sure to name where I worked.
The second it went up, the sympathy poured in.
In two hours it cracked a hundred thousand views, hundreds of comments.
All of them slamming me for being obstructive, for making people jump through hoops on purpose.
I'd just gotten back from the redevelopment office when I was called into the director's office.
Jude and Daphne were there too.
Cary Lambert stood at the window with his hands behind his back. The moment I walked in, his face went hard.
"Officer Simmons, there's some unhappiness online about how our office handles things."
"What's your take?"
My phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
*You'd rather take the hard road.*
*Just approve it and be done with it.*
Across the room, Daphne shot me a taunting look.
I smoothed my skirt, unhurried.
"I've already made my position perfectly clear."
Jude scoffed and turned to Cary.
"You see? It's not that we won't take the video down. Someone just won't cooperate."
Cary, frazzled, poured me a cup of tea.
"Proof of residence, blood-relation test, the materials are all there, aren't they?"
"So why won't you issue the certificate?"
"If that's not making things deliberately difficult, then what is it?"
I had it all worked out, and I didn't bother explaining.
"Director, I have my reasons for this."
"All of it is based on residency law."
Daphne shot to her feet, jabbing a finger at the tiny camera in her hand.
"Simmons, don't push your luck!"
"You're nothing but a low-level clerk. Let this blow up and that seat won't be yours much longer!"
With that, she grabbed Jude and headed for the door.
She left one last line before she went.
"We'll see about this!"
"Let's find out which is stronger, the pressure of public opinion, or that little chair you're sitting in!"
After they left.
