Criminal

Chapter 3

I sighed inwardly, knowing that the conversation was far from over. My father had never been one for small talk - he always had an ulterior motive.

"So, Ava," he continued, his voice low and controlled. "I trust you've been keeping up with your studies?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Of course, my father would bring up my academics. To him, nothing else mattered.

"Yes, Father," I replied obediently. "I'm doing well in all my classes."

"Good," he said, his voice softening just slightly. "You know how important it is to maintain a strong academic record. Your future depends on it."

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me through the phone. "Yes, Father," I replied dutifully.

There was another pause, and I could almost hear the gears turning in my father's mind. I knew that he was about to ask me for a favor, and my stomach churned with anxiety.

"Listen, Ava," he said finally, his voice more urgent now. "I need you to do something for me."

My heart sank. Here it comes, I thought resignedly. The request was always the same - use my connections at school to get inside information on the other students, spy on my classmates, do whatever it took to give my father an advantage in his business dealings.

But this time, my father surprised me. "There's a new potential client coming into town," he began, his voice low and secretive. "He's a big deal, Ava, and I need you to make sure he's comfortable while he's here."

My brows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean, 'make sure he's comfortable'?" I asked, puzzled by my father's request.

"I mean exactly what I said," he replied, his tone clipped. "I want you to show him around town, entertain him, make sure he has everything he needs. This could be a very lucrative deal for us, Ava, and I need to know that he's in good hands."

I hesitated, unsure of how to respond. The idea of playing hostess to some stranger on my father's behalf was not exactly appealing. But I knew better than to defy him.

"Of course, Father," I replied, forcing a smile into my voice. "I'll take care of everything."

"Good," he said, satisfaction evident in his tone. "I knew I could count on you, Ava. Don't disappoint me."

With that, he hung up the phone, leaving me staring at the receiver in disbelief. My father's trust and expectations always weighed heavy on me, especially when they came with such vague requests.

As I stood there lost in thought, my mind wandered to what the stranger would be like. Would he be young or old? Charismatic or dull? I couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement mixed with apprehension at the thought of meeting him.

Sighing, I shook my head to clear my thoughts. There was no sense in dwelling on it - I had a job to do, and I couldn't afford to disappoint my father. With determination settling into my bones, I began to make plans for how to entertain this mystery client, hoping that it wouldn't be too difficult a task.

Sarah's voice pulled me from my thoughts, her words cutting through the haze of uncertainty that clouded my mind. "Hey, Ava," she said, her tone light with curiosity. "Are you like Paris Hilton rich or H.C. Hammer rich?"

I blinked, momentarily taken aback by her question. Paris Hilton rich? H.C. Hammer rich? The comparisons seemed absurd, yet strangely fitting. But before I could respond, Sarah continued, her words laced with a hint of teasing.

"If you're so loaded, why aren't we living in a castle or something?" she quipped, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "I mean, think of all the money you could save on rent."

I felt a familiar surge of irritation rise within me at the mention of my family's wealth. I hated the assumptions people made about me just because of my background. "It's not about the money," I replied tersely, my voice betraying my frustration. "And I'm certainly not interested in living in a castle. I prefer to keep things simple."

Sarah raised an eyebrow, her gaze lingering on me with a mixture of amusement and skepticism. "Sure, Ava," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Because everyone with a trust fund wants to live in a shoebox apartment in New York City."

I bit my lip, resisting the urge to snap back at her. Sarah had always been confident, bordering on arrogant, in a way that both fascinated and infuriated me. But I knew better than to let her get under my skin.

"Believe what you want," I said evenly, forcing a tight smile onto my lips. "But I'm not interested in flaunting my family's wealth or living a lavish lifestyle. It's not who I am."

Sarah shrugged, unfazed by my response. "Suit yourself," she said casually, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "But think of all the designer clothes and fancy vacations you're missing out on."

I rolled my eyes, resisting the urge to argue further. Sarah would never understand the weight that came with being born into privilege, the pressure to conform to expectations that weren't my own. Instead, I kept my thoughts to myself, silently resenting the fact that my family's wealth seemed to define me in the eyes of others.