Too Late For Regret: The Lethal Orphan

Jimmie kept the umbrella over Amara and Bernice as they walked toward the dark back corner of the diner's parking lot. Kenny dragged his feet behind them. "This weather is garbage. Why did we have to drive all the way out here?" Amara's eyes scanned the darkness. Her vision caught the massive silhouette of a vehicle parked away from the streetlights. Jimmie pressed a button on his key fob. Two blinding xenon headlights cut through the rain. It was a pristine, vintage black Rolls-Royce Phantom. The silver Spirit of Ecstasy hood ornament gleamed in the light. Amara's footsteps faltered for a fraction of a second. A car like this cost more than the Richmond family's documented income for the next twenty years. Bernice pulled open the heavy suicide door. "Get in, sweetie. Let's get you warm." Amara slid into the backseat. Her fingertips brushed against the full-grain calfskin leather. It was authentic. Jimmie got into the driver's seat. He pressed the ignition. The massive V12 engine roared to life with a deep, flawless purr. Directly across the highway, Sterling Valentine sat in the back of his Mercedes S-Class at a brightly lit gas station. Sterling rubbed his temples. He was furious about a failed business deal. He turned his head and looked out the rain-streaked window toward the diner. His eyes locked onto the black Rolls-Royce pulling out of the parking lot. Sterling's breath hitched. He recognized the exclusive VIP crest bolted to the license plate. That car belonged to the absolute apex of the city's elite. As the Rolls-Royce drove past the gas station, the rear window rolled down two inches to let in some air. The yellow streetlights illuminated the backseat. Sterling saw Amara's cold, indifferent profile clear as day. Sterling's hand jerked. The hot coffee in his cup sloshed over the rim and soaked into his expensive suit pants. The heat burned his thigh, but he didn't feel it. His brain short-circuited. The trash he just kicked out of his house was sitting in a car he could not even afford to lease. His driver looked back. "Sir? Should I follow them?" Sterling gripped the leather seat. Panic squeezed his throat. He forced his brain to find a logical explanation. "No," Sterling muttered. "She found some old billionaire to be her sugar daddy. She is selling herself. I knew she was garbage." The thought made his stomach churn, but it protected his fragile ego. He convinced himself he had made the right choice. Inside the Rolls-Royce, Bernice opened a small refrigerated compartment between the seats. She pulled out a slice of expensive mousse cake on a porcelain plate and handed it to Amara. Kenny sat in the passenger seat. He glared at Amara through the rearview mirror. "Don't think you can just come into our house and act like a princess." Bernice reached forward and slapped the back of Kenny's head. "Watch your mouth when you speak to your sister!" Amara took a bite of the cake. The rich chocolate melted on her tongue. She watched the mother and son bicker. Jimmie caught Amara's eye in the mirror. He gave a sheepish smile. "I borrowed the car from a distant relative. Wanted to make a good impression on your first day." Amara chewed the cake. She looked at the custom stitching on the seats. She did not expose his terrible lie. She just gave a small nod. The Rolls-Royce accelerated, driving away from the city lights and out toward the dark, sprawling acres of the Richmond farm.