Sylvia Masyia, Edward's assistant, set down a badly stained coffee mug on her polished office desk. It was a Friday evening, five minutes to 7:00 p.m., and she was still in the office working. Even after a long day of work, she was still elegance personified.

"Do you need more coffee?" she asked.

"No. Thank you."

She rummaged through her document cabinets frantically for something. Moments later, as if she changed her mind, she stopped and walked calmly again to sit on the desk.

"What did you major in while you were in University?"

"I got into med school. I finished my first year at the University of Nairobi before I had to leave."

"Why medicine?"

"I wanted to be like my mother. She was an anesthesiologist. But I wanted to go into cardiology."

"Why did you drop out?"

"I didn't have the money to go back to school after my surgery," I told her. "Last year I signed up for an online college for a diploma in Nursing. What about you? What did you study?"

"I went to law school in Italy. After law school, I got a job as an estate planning lawyer for a firm in Florence for a year. I left shortly after and moved back home."

"Why would you leave? How did you end up working as an assistant?"

"I needed a fresh start around the family." Her words were soft, but I heard the edge in her tone and when I met her gaze, her eyes gleamed. "As for my job description, Edward is the best criminal lawyer I've met. He's very smart. I wrote a paper about him during my final year in uni just around the time he opened his law firm. I think I romanticized what it would be like to work with him. When I came back, I did everything in my power to secure an interview with him."

"Is your background the reason why he assigned my case to you?"

"My experience in the field is the reason why. This case is a priority for him and when he asked for my help, he said that he needed a different perspective."

I was surprised. If Edward was working on the case, why did he need me to meet a liaison instead of explaining the case to me himself? Was his reason just a perfectly credible excuse?

"Why did you ask me to see you today?"

"I have a few questions." She flipped through a file. "Did you know your father's business partner? His name was Robert Odhiambo?"

"Not well enough. I met him a few times when he came over for lunch after church. I remember one time I heard my father talking about him to my mother. He said that Robert was a power-hungry maniac willing to wage anything for self-preservation. Why?"

"I was looking into the liquidation of your father's company," Masyia explained. "Legally, after liquidation, any surplus of funds remaining after satisfaction in full of all the liabilities is distributable to the owners of the company according to their rights and interests. But according to the legal documents, Robert was the only one who was paid."

"What are you saying?"

"Edward was right to look into your case. Legally, your father was meant to get half of the surplus money from the liquidation. Since he died the money was supposed to go to the next of keen. But it didn't."

In the silence, my thoughts tormented me. I scrambled to come to terms with the reality, which unbeknownst to me brewed under my nose. I had spent years floating, lost, and confused, stumbling my way through the dark. I had been living in a fog for way too long when the people who stole my life hid in plain sight.

Masyia put her hand softly on my shoulder as a token of sympathy. "I know this is a lot to take in."

"What next? What am I supposed to do about it?"

"If you let us represent you then the burden of proof falls on us," she said. "And if we're lucky, we can take the people involved in court and get the justice you deserve. You can get your father's money back."

"What about my family lawyer? Anything on him?"

"We're still looking into it. There is nothing yet, but there is a high likelihood that he was working with Robert to defraud you."

Without the luxury of curling up and letting my misery overwhelm me, I fought to pull myself together. "Is there anything else I can help with you? What can I do?"

"There is nothing at the moment. I wanted to keep you updated. Unless there is something else you have for me."

"I don't think so." I looked at my watch, mindful of the time. 7:30 p.m. If I hurried out, I would get to the bus station early enough to catch a matatu home. "Is it okay if I left? It's getting very late and I have a long way home."

"Of course. Do you need a ride?"

"Thank you. I can manage."

Gathering my things, I asked, "was it worth it?"

"What?"

"Doing everything you could to work for Edward? Was the reality better than the expectation?"

Masyia smiled. "It's been three years and I'm still here, working as an assistant. I'd hope so."

Edward walked out of the elevator doors in a rich jewel-toned suit, black shirt, and a black-tie. He looked elegant - sophisticated. When our gaze met, misery banded my chest.

"Maria?"

"Hello, Edward?"

It was three months, almost to the day, since I had left. I still had an imaginary conversation with him in which he told me how his days were, how he was and what he looked forward to, but the conversation was less frequent.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm alright. I was just leaving. Masyia was filling me in on the case."

There was a distinct shift in the features on his face. As hard as I tried to decipher what he thought, I couldn't.

"Let me drop you off," he said.

"I can manage."

"I know you can, but it's late. I'd still like to drop you off."

"Thank you."

He stepped back in and stood aside to create space for me in the elevator. It felt smaller than it had on my way up. Feeling strangely numb, I forced myself to glance at him, my eyes moving up his chin to a penetrating gaze.

"I missed you," he said.

"Me too."

The ride down was quiet. As we approached the parking area, we walked on separate sides of the streets. Around his office building, there were stone buildings, one or two of them in need of repair. They belonged to craftsmen and traders who had their shops and stores on the ground floor and their living quarters above.

Edward's car passed through the back gate, avoiding the hurly-burly of the main road.

"Where am I dropping you off?"

"I rented out a place in Kikuyu. I'll show you the way."

Taken aback, his eyebrows furrowed. His tense muscles relaxed but the doubt did not leave his eyes. He focused on the road, nervously tapping his hands against the staring wheel.

The warm humidity made me feel sticky and suffocated. I opened the window to let in some fresh air. Edward's silence shook me rigid, but I didn't quarrel with the reprieve. I sat still, making sure that my emotions were also kept hidden, anxiety undetected. Luckily, in no time, he was parking outside the gate to my flat.

"This is an improvement from the last place," he said.

I smiled and without thinking it through blurted, "you should see the inside."

"I'd love to," he added hurriedly.

I stared right at him despite trying not to. An excuse dance on my tongue but it seemed flimsy. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of thinking he still affected me. "Okay."

The sleeves of Edward's button-down were now scrunched up to his elbows and his tie hung loosely around his neck. His movements were deliberate as we walked up the stairs - as if he were measuring every word he was about to say but still said nothing at all.

He stood by the door for a little while longer and then stepped inside and surveyed the flat. The studio was separated into four parts; the kitchen to the left, the bathroom and toilet to the right, the bedroom and the living area. One had to climb up three steps to get to the bedroom. I had done a few renovations since I had moved in. A super-comfy sofa and a small bed purchased from a neighbour who needed to move out at the last minute. Repainted white walls and cheap street art to bring the space to life.

"What do you think?"

In the kitchen, he twisted the bulb. "Your lights are burned out."

"It's the wiring. I've been asking my landlord to fix it but he always has an excuse. When I turn on the lights in the living room it reaches the kitchen so it's fine."

"It's cosy," he said. "The flat."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Edward picked up a stick of weed from the kitchen counter and raised it to me. "It depends. Since when do you smoke?"

"They're not mine." I snatched it from him. "It's Ken's. He left it here when he helped me move in."

He glanced at me disapprovingly. "Are you two together?"

"We're just colleagues. Not that it's any of your business."

Tension lingered between us. In that sacred moment of silence, all the blood settled to the bottom, within my feet. He moved away, climbing up the stairs and sat on my bed. I remained standing where I was. The space between us was much needed.

"You don't have a TV?"

"I can't afford one right now."

"What do you do after work?"

"Shower, cook and read before sleeping early," I said. "I'm usually very tired."

"What are you currently reading?"

"1st to Die by James Patterson. It's the first book in his women's murder books series. A friend at work lent it to me. It's under my pillow."

He reached out a hand under the pillow and pulled out the book. Edward examined it incredulously and then flipped it over to read the back. "Can you change your schedule for me tonight?"

"What did you have in my mind?"

"Do you want to smoke the blunt with me?"

Whatever I had in mind seemed to disappear. I couldn't think. "I don't...I mean, I wanted to..."

He put the book down and glanced at me. He studied me for a prolonged minute, his eyes focusing on the curve of my breasts. "I want to kiss you with the taste of weed in my mouth. So, will you smoke with me?"