Vindication

Soot gray storm clouds glared down upon the bustling streets of New York City, releasing walls of water as if in vengeful fury. Perhaps they sensed Anya Elmcroft’s irate mood. The young woman in question strode through the throngs of people, easily clearing a path for herself as her dark mood seemed to manifest itself in her intense green eyes, daring people to block her way. Her previously neat brown hair was now matted down her back and her light blue jeans soggy with water. Sucking in a bitter breath, Anya focused on her now visible destination.

Inside one of New York’s most popular cafes sat a primly dressed elderly lady, clothed in silk and exuding a regal aura making plain her power and wealth. Her wrinkled eyes were intently focused on the steaming cup of tea placed on the glass table before her as she pointedly plopped sugar cubes into the hot beverage. Mrs. Silverton was her name, and she was well known for her broad influence across America. Multiple affluent apartment complexes in downtown New York City bore her name, as she used her fortune and charismatic personality to propel herself into high society. Her shady business dealings and quick rise to power were swept under the rug as her charity work extinguished any suspicion the public might’ve held for her. Surely, no one so charitable could possess malicious intent.

Suddenly, the brass chair across from her was yanked from its place under the table, scraping unpleasantly against the stark white marble floor of the cafe. The soaking wet newcomer quickly slid into the seat and folded her hands together on the table, staring straight into Mrs. Silverton’s eyes. Green clashed with dark brown, both women engaging in an unspoken battle of will. An uncomfortable cough from a nearby waiter broke their eye contact as the younger woman turned to order a large black coffee.

“Hello Anya, it’s been a while hasn’t it?” Mrs. Silverton painted a superficial smile upon her powdered face as she greeted the girl across from her, glancing at the droplets of water falling from her soaked clothing to the rapidly forming puddle of rainwater on the floor. Curling her lip in disdain, the woman tore her gaze back to her companion, who had yet to respond.

“Drop the pleasantries. Why am I here? I thought I made it perfectly clear the last time we spoke that our business arrangement is over. Permanently.” Anya fixed Mrs. Silverton with a cold, steely stare.

“Well?”

“I have a proposition for you; a simple favor with a brilliant price-”

“No-”

“Trust me, you are going to want to hear me out.” Mrs. Silverton watched as Anya shifted uncomfortably against the polished brass chair. She leaned over her folded hands and quietly murmured,

“Vindication Anya? You certainly could use it.” Mrs. Silverton settled back into her chair and straightened her blue, silk scarf before continuing.

“Trust me, you need this job. Do it and I’ll never contact you again. Plus,” A small, dark briefcase was slid across the table. “You’d get this.”

Anya hesitantly reached for the case, treating it as though it carried an active bomb. Knowing Mrs. Silverton, it very well could. On second thought, the old lady across from her would never get her own hands dirty, she’d leave the work for someone else to do. Anya could certainly testify to that. With renewed confidence, she unhooked the latches holding the case closed and peered inside. The color green greeted her. Mountains of one-hundred dollar bills stacked upon each other lined the case, which was fit to burst. Face splitting into a sly grin, Anya slowly removed her hands from the sides of the case, reaching for the paper gold. Mrs. Silverton was quick to slap her hands away.

“Not until you agree.” Clouded green eyes, transfixed by the sight before them, quickly refocused.

“Hold on. I’m not the same person I used to be, you can’t just throw some money my way and expect me to do your dirty work. I’ve created a new life for myself, one that isn’t controlled by you or anyone like you, one that allows me to make my own choices without constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting to be either caught or killed. I’m leaving, don’t contact me again.” As she abruptly stood to leave, Anya’s sleeve was quickly pulled back down towards the table.

“I never said this was a request. If you don’t take this job, I’ll let some very influential people, people who you don’t want to get caught on the wrong side of the law by, know about your past, which I do believe includes criminal activity- and not just some petty crime. After all, you worked for me.” Slowly, Mrs. Silverton let go of Anya’s sleeve, which she had been clutching tightly during her tirade. The young woman slid back into her seat and took a gulp of her steaming coffee, a vain attempt to appear collected in the impossible situation she now faced. She knew Mrs. Silverton would carry through with her threat, as she had insurmountable evidence and influence on her side. Anya had worked too hard for her new life to let it go to waste simply because she refused to comply with a single demand. Sighing, she made up her mind.

“I’ll do it.” Mrs. Silverton’s face split into a grin as she began to explain the details of the assignment.

“You’re going to retrieve a notebook for me. I’ve put the address it’s being held at in the briefcase. Slip in and don’t get caught! If you are, just remember that I can easily destroy what you’ve worked so hard for. Anyway, you’ll get the twenty-thousand dollars in this case now and another twenty-thousand when the job is completed, as well as all the evidence pertaining to your crimes. There’s also a photo of the notebook inside the case.” Nodding and clutching the briefcase close to her chest, Anya stood up, mindful to keep her sleeves out of Mrs. Silverton’s reach this time, and walked back out into the heavy downpour without a second glance.

Days passed, those of which Anya spent preparing for the upcoming heist. Most of the time, she could be found sitting cross-legged on the rickety wooden floor of her small apartment, blueprints scattered around her as she memorized the layout of the building she was meant to infiltrate. It was large, with intersecting corridors and various wings-easy to get turned around in. Everything about it screamed wealth, from the elegant stone and brick siding, covered with climbing ivy, to the long cobblestone lane leading to a large fountain placed just before the entrance to the mansion. She became familiar with the daily routines of the staff and owners, trying to puzzle out the best time to carry out her plan. Sure enough, she found an opening. Every Thursday night, just before dusk, the owners would head out to the country club. At this time the staff would begin to head home for the night, exiting from a distant wing of the building. It was a small time frame, but nonetheless possible. Anya had easily distinguished where the notebook was being kept, as the entrance to the particular room was off limits to all staff, even maids and butlers, whose sole responsibility was to clean the building spotless. She often noticed the owners meeting with wealthy acquaintances behind the room’s closed doors. If the notebook was being held anywhere, it would be there, as it obviously contained important information- information that was meant to remain hidden. Sighing, Anya tidied her workspace before crawling into bed. Tomorrow was Thursday, and she was ready to carry out her end of the deal.

This was most definitely not how things were supposed to go. Stuffed in a cleaning closet opposite her destination, Anya reflected on the events that led to her current predicament. Everything had been going smoothly (perhaps that was the first glaring clue to something going wrong). She had successfully entered the mansion without being noticed and was stealthily making her way down the lengthy corridor that led to her destination. Finding the room was simple, as Anya had spent every waking moment memorizing the blueprints of the building. Slipping inside, she gave herself a quick pat on the back and took a moment to compose herself before swiftly rummaging through the drawers and cabinets, one of which undoubtedly held what she wanted. After a few minutes spent tearing the room apart, Anya found it. In her hand was a small tattered black notebook, tearing at the seams and looking worse for wear. But she knew otherwise. Carefully, Anya proceeded to put the room back together, shuffling books and cabinets back into their correct positions, trying her best to make it seem as though no one had ever entered the room in the first place. Just as she slid the last book into place, faint voices could be heard echoing through the long corridors, growing closer and closer to her location. The owners and their guests must have returned early from the country club. Frantically, Anya tucked the notebook into her pack and peered around the corner. There was no doubt that the group of unexpected visitors were heading in her direction. Anya quickly darted across the hall and yanked open the nearest closed door in the long stretch of corridor. It was a cleaning closet, which was a safe bet, as the group of people were most likely on the way to the room she had just fled. Holding her breath, she listened as the group approached her hiding spot, straining to hear their conversation.

“Yes, you’d be right. It’s an extraordinarily valuable item. If the information it holds is disclosed, Mrs. Silverton will be ruined.” Eyes widening, Anya tightened her grip on the small pack she was carrying. The notebook had to be what they were discussing, why else would Mrs. Silverton be so adamant about Anya retrieving it? Sure, Anya had known it held important information, but nothing this large scale. Mrs. Silverton must’ve chosen her because she had so much to hold over her head, but the scared and desperate girl she used to be was replaced long ago, leaving a strong, confident woman in her place. Could this be her key to freedom? Anya knew that Mrs. Silverton would never truly give up all of her incriminating evidence, the old woman would never let go of such a useful pawn. No, she would pretend as though she had held up her end of the deal, perhaps giving Anya a few documents pertaining to her crimes. However, she undoubtedly had copies, which she would use against Anya again in the future. Anya heard the group open and shut the door to the room she had left moments before. As soon as she heard the lock click into place, she left her hiding spot and crept out of the building.

Anxious to see what secrets were hidden in its pages, Anya jogged to a nearby park and pulled the notebook from her pack. She took a deep breath and scanned the vicinity, suspicious of everything. She flipped the notebook open. Scrawled in elegant penmanship was a long list of well-known and affluent names with various numbers and symbols beside them. Anya smiled to herself, remembering the conversation she’d heard from the closet. Closing the notebook, Anya brushed her fingers over the rough edges. Mrs. Silverton would regret crossing her.