Enter Player Name: Noah

I despised this chair.

Its legs were too short. Its cushions too hard. Each part, designed to cast a daunting cloud over the waiting room. Bookcases and file cabinets lined the crimson red walls. Everything looked new, shiny, and without a speck of dust to tarnish to its perfect appearance.

But I digress; back to this stupidly complex chair.

As a child, I spent a lot of time sitting within these four walls. My mother would regularly leave on business trips, so my father brought me here when a babysitter could not be procured. I sat here, listening to the periodic clicking of typing. Almost every day, a never-ending cycle of people paraded into my father's office. Some came out happy, and others left dejected.

"Excuse me, Mr. Kline. Your father is ready for you," my father's secretary spoke in a soft tone.

I stood and automatically straightened my tie. "Ms. William, I have told you many times you can call me Noah. At this point, you are like family to me."

Her entire body trembled from age. "Mr. Noah would sound awkward."

Stubborn as always. "Fair enough," I chuckled.

Ms. William pushed against the formidable doors of my father's office— a daunting task given her advanced age. I pressed against the wooden panels and gave it the final push it needed.

My father, The Honorable Judge Nathan Kline, sat behind an enormous mahogany desk. Clear blue skies adorned the gorilla glass wall that served as a backdrop. From this vantage point, the city below looked glamorous and clean. Much like the waiting area, his office was accessorized with books, files, and the occasional work of art — every item strategically placed to give the office an air of importance.

"Noah!" He sprung from his desk, sending his chair rolling back. "It's so good to see you, my son."

Dad captured me in a tight hug and patted my back. The comforting scent of cigar and mint pulled me into a vision of sitting and gaming on his lap. With my life spiraling and his busy schedule, I barely conversed with him nowadays. It was good to see him, even if out of necessity.

I caught a glimpse of my father's judge robes hanging on the wall. He switched professions about five years ago. He quickly climbed the ladder from a standard immigration judge to assistant chief. Yet, those measly years aged him immensely. His green eyes, although always sharp, had new wrinkles framing the corners, making him appear more overtaxed than he was.

His arms unwound, releasing me, and we instinctively walked over to the set of leather sofas to the right of his desk. I released the button on my smokey grey blazer and took a seat, matching my father's linear back posture.

I shifted on the chair. It irked me how the atmosphere took the undertones of a business meeting rather than a conversation between father and son.

My father spoke first. "I'm surprised that you decided to visit."

"Yes, I wanted to speak to you."

"You know, your mother told me she was worried about you," he ignored my statement.

"She always is." I threw my head back and exhaled. It was evident that my mother, ever the savvy businesswoman, hijacked my meeting with my father. I should only blame myself for not anticipating it. I watched the ceiling fan turn, waiting for the execution of my mother's masterful hand-woven trap.

My father grumbled, annoyed that I did not meet his gaze. "She wanted me to speak with you."

"About?" I straightened and feigned ignorance.

His eyes narrowed with disapproval at my fake ignorance. "I'll cut to the chase: she wants you to get back together with Cynthia and move out of that 'hole' you found."

I grunted, "It's hardly a hole."

"Your mother said she was afraid that you would get mugged there."

I looked at my father and noticed the gold-silver watch and gold cufflinks he wore for the first time. I looked out the window. "What a mighty high view this is," I mumbled under my breath. I met my father's gaze, and I knew he heard me. I raised my tone, "She and I must be seeing very different places."

"Is this about you getting cold feet, Noah? I mean, a couple more months and you would have been married. It's normal to get scared right before. I almost ran away a couple of times." His belly jiggled as he spoke those last words.

"You thought you could run from mom?" I joked.

My father smirked and rested his chin on his hand. "I know, foolish."

We chuckled lightly before I spoke, more serious this time: "No. It has nothing to do with being afraid of marriage." I looked at my hands. They were soft compared to Riley's. I met his gaze with conviction. "I know you both have my best interest at heart, but with all the respect you are due, I would appreciate you keeping your noses out of it."

He fanned his hand, telling me to calm down. "I can tell you feel frustrated, but your mother and I don't want you to regret your decision."

"I won't." My voice was unshaken. Unwavering..

"Can you reassure me that your decision was not as rash as your mom is making it seem?"

"I promise, it was something that I deliberated over."

"Well, at least I will be able to tell your mother that I tried" — he smiled, a far too childish glint in his eyes — "I never liked Cynthia much in the first place." The moment reminded me of the many times he would let me off the hook after mom grounded me. Perhaps that is why I was such a rascal growing up. "So, what did you want to talk about, son?"

"I have a friend who is having immigration-related issues. I was hoping you would meet her and see if anything can be done."

"Her?" My father's eyebrow rose with insinuation.

"Yeah, is that an issue?"

His eyes settled on my face, analyzing every twitch. "I assume you know what my next question will be?"

Of course, I knew. "No, father," I grumbled. "I did not leave Cynthia for another girl. I only met her after I moved."

His eyes pried into me, trying to figure out if I was being honest, a skill he honed throughout his many years as a lawyer and now as a judge. "Why are you so invested in helping her?"

My forehead throbbed.

"I'm not one of your cases, dad; you do not need to question me," I rebutted. When did my father transform into a cynic? It rivaled Riley's bleak view of humanity. As if I could only help her if I had some hidden selfish motive.

"In all your twenty-six years, Noah, you never came and asked me for legal help. Why now?"

"Well, it's not like I meet people in this type of situation every day. In fact, other than knowing you work in the field, I have never really thought about it," I answered.

"Fair enough," — he paused to pour himself a glass of scotch — "what's her dilemma?"

'Dilemma' it's like her problem was as minuscule as trying to choose between chocolate or vanilla.

"Her parents were deported, so she became responsible for her two younger brothers. She mentioned she tried to petition for them to return, but her petition was denied. Their reason being that she is financially stable enough to care for her siblings, so there's not an urgent need," I explained.

My father took a drink and a casual look at his watch. His golden watch. "That seems like a standard ruling."

I tried to keep his gaze. "It doesn't appear to be a fair one."

"The system is not set up to be fair." My father's words were cold and detached. His answers, as well-rehearsed as pre-recorded tapes.

I pressed on. "Is there something that can be done?"

"Do her parents have a criminal record?"

"I don't think so."

"Maybe there is a loophole or something that can be exploited. I would need to meet with her to discuss the specifics of her situation."

The couch squeaked as I leaned forward. "That's great! I can ask her to stop by tomorrow."

"Hold your horses, Noah." My father held his right hand up and leaned back. "I am leaving this afternoon for a fishing trip with some old friends. We can meet when I come back in two weeks."

"Can you see her today, then?" I checked the clock on the wall. "Before you leave?"

"I oversee hundreds of judges who each see 80 cases a day. Each one of them is as urgent as this girl's. If they can wait two weeks, so can she."

I stared at him for a second, knowing it was a losing battle. "Sure, thanks, Dad," I mumbled begrudgingly as I got up. I expected him to show more concern, or at least some human decency. Was he always this disconnected?

"Noah." Dad's voice stopped me in my tracks.

"What, dad?" I asked, harsher than I should have.

"I am asking you again." He stood and crossed his arms, resting them on his stomach. "Why are you so invested?"

My jaw clenched. I couldn't stand this side of him. It was light-years away from the man that raised me. "Do you remember what you said when I asked why you were switching jobs?"

His head tilted. "I don't."

"You said you wanted to have the ability to help people more directly." I button my blazer.

"Ah, I don't remember telling you that." My father got lost in his memory, trying to recall the words he once spoke.

"And here I am, asking you to do that, and you are more preoccupied with discovering non-existing ulterior motives. Good to know that that is what you think you taught me."

My father's face tightened, my words striking a nerve. "You are harsh, Noah."

"I could say the same about you."

My father took a deep, hollow breath, pausing for a second. For a second, his composure fractured, and lines of worry and regret slipped over his face. The light shone on his silver head. "I need to come back in five days for the event your mom is holding this Saturday, before returning to the trip. Why don't you bring this girl with you? I can talk to her then."

I smiled. "I appreciate that, dad. Really."

He washed away the defeated look with a smile. "Great. I'll walk you out; I have a meeting to attend across town."

I got home close to eight pm. After visiting my father, I spent the day hopping from meeting to meeting. It proved to be a draining experience.

My hopes of securing a team for my startup by the end of the day went down the drain. The ones I wanted to hire would drain whatever money I had left fast. But hiring inexperienced workers would only slow down the growth of the company.

I looked around my apartment, disappointed at my unboxing progress. Other than a newly assembled couch and dining table, the living room was bare to the bone. Not to mention that the corpse of my computer, may it rest in peace, sat on the dining table. I pulled out my phone from my pocket and slowly scrolled down to the newly added contact.

Cream Puff

I unconsciously smiled and typed.

Noah

Hey, Riley.

Got your number from your brother.

Talked to my father about your parents; stop by my place once you get a chance.

An email notification popped into my screen. What now? I shouted into the void of my room.

Dear Mr. Kline

I am sorry to hear about the accident you had when moving with the company computer. As you understand, you signed a contract that states that when your employment ended, you had to either return the computer or pay for its current market price. Considering that one of those is no longer an option, I expect that you will turn over a check for 15K by January 1st. Please contact me if you expect this to be an issue.

Yours truly,

Richard McAway,

GameX Enterprise

Sent from Iphone, please excuse any typos.

Take me now, God! I pleaded as I let my phone drop to the floor. What am I going to do? That only left me two months to come up with the money, and what I have, I needed to hire new people.

"UGGGHhh." I furiously rubbed my hair. Maybe if I yanked hard enough, an idea would fall out of it. My head began to throb, so I got up and walked over to the shower; hopefully, some cold water would cool me off.

.

.

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Cream Puff

I'll be right over