Ephram stepped out of the shadows. The motion sensor triggered the automatic doors behind him, but he didn't look back. The wind whipped his hair across his forehead, rain soaking instantly into his cheap grey hoodie.

"Erlene?"

His voice was hoarse, barely a croak over the sound of the downpour.

Erlene jumped. She shoved Andrew's chest, stumbling back in her high heels. Her eyes went wide, reflecting the harsh hospital lights.

Andrew didn't jump. He didn't even look surprised. He smoothed the lapel of his suit, a smirk playing on his lips. He looked at Ephram like one might look at a stray dog that had wandered onto a clean porch.

Ephram didn't scream. He didn't throw a punch. He just pointed a shaking finger upward. "You said you were across the city. Grandma is waiting for you."

Erlene's eyes darted around. She was looking for an exit, a lie, anything. "Ephram, I... Andrew wasn't feeling well. I was just bringing him to the ER. It was an emergency."

Ephram looked at Andrew. The man's skin was glowing with health. He smelled like expensive cologne and aged whiskey.

"He looks healthier than I am," Ephram said.

Andrew stepped forward. He positioned himself between Ephram and Erlene, using his height to loom over Ephram. "Don't be so sensitive, buddy. Erlene is just being a good friend. You know how soft-hearted she is."

Ephram clenched his fists at his sides. His fingernails dug into his palms until he felt the skin break. "This is my family. Erlene, come upstairs. Just for five minutes. That's all I'm asking."

Erlene looked at Ephram. She looked at his wet hoodie, his scuffed sneakers, the desperation etched into his face. The fear in her eyes hardened into something colder. Disgust.

She took a step back, moving deeper under the shelter of Andrew's umbrella.

"I'm not going," she said. Her voice was flat. "I don't like watching people die. It's depressing."

Ephram felt like he had been punched in the throat. "She treated you like a granddaughter."

"Don't push her," Andrew said. He wrapped his arm around Erlene's shoulders again, possessive and firm. "Let's go, Erlene. The air here smells like sickness."

Erlene bit her lip. She turned her back on Ephram. "Tell Grandma I came by. Don't let her die sad."

Ephram took a step forward, his body coiled to move, to grab them, to make them understand.

A security guard stepped into his path. "Sir, please. Keep the entrance clear. No disturbances."

Ephram stopped. He watched the red taillights of the Porsche fade into the curtain of rain. He felt hollowed out. Like someone had reached inside his chest and scooped everything out.

He turned around. He walked back to the elevator. He didn't feel his legs moving.

When he entered the ICU room, the rhythm of the monitor had changed. It was slower. Weaker. Beep...... beep...... beep.

Dr. Miller was checking the grandmother's pupils with a penlight. He looked up and gave a small, sad shake of his head.

Ephram rushed to the bedside. He grabbed her hand again. Tears blurred his vision, hot and stinging.

His grandmother's eyes opened a slit. She looked past him, searching the doorway.

"She's here, Grandma," Ephram choked out. The lie tasted like ash. "She's just outside... she has a cold. She didn't want to get you sick."

She looked at him. Really looked at him. Her eyes cleared for a second, and a single tear tracked through the wrinkles on her cheek. She knew.

She squeezed his hand. It was a faint, fluttering pressure.

"My... little Ephram," she breathed. "Don't... don't live so hard..."

The pressure in her hand vanished. Her fingers went slack.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

The sound was a flat line that went on forever.

Dr. Miller checked his watch. "Time of death, 2:14 AM."

A nurse moved forward to pull the sheet up.

"Wait," Ephram said.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. It was already cooling. He stayed there for a moment, his forehead resting against hers.

When he stood up, he took off his glasses. He wiped his face with his sleeve. He put the glasses back on. But behind the lenses, the soft, pleading look was gone. The eyes that looked at the dead woman were dry, dark, and terrifyingly calm.

Ephram sat on the metal bench outside the hospital morgue. The hallway was empty. The vending machine at the far end hummed, a lonely, mechanical sound. He was holding his grandmother's necklace, a cheap silver chain with a small locket. It was the only thing she had left.

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

He pulled it out. A message from a sender labeled simply: 'The Unit'.

He slid his thumb across the cracked screen. Images loaded. High-definition photos taken with a telephoto lens.

Erlene and Andrew walking into the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton.

Erlene and Andrew in the glass elevator.

Erlene's hand on Andrew's lower back.

Andrew kissing her neck.

Ephram stared at the photos. He didn't feel jealousy. He didn't feel sadness. He felt a cold precision settling in his brain.

A second message appeared.

Target acquired. Authorization to engage?

Ephram typed back.

Hold. Let them enjoy the night.

He wouldn't let their filth touch the night his grandmother died. They could have tonight. Tomorrow was a different world.

The phone vibrated again. This time, it was a call. No Caller ID.

Ephram stared at it for three seconds. Only three people had this number. He answered it but didn't speak.

"I heard the old woman passed," a voice said. It was deep, gravelly, and commanded instant attention. Arlie George. His father.

"Your intel is fast," Ephram said. His voice was devoid of emotion. "Even for a man who hasn't visited her in ten years."

"She's gone," Arlie said, ignoring the jab. "Which means the last excuse for you living this pathetic life under your mother's name is gone too."

Ephram stood up and walked to the window. He looked out at the city skyline. "What do you want?"

"The family trust freeze ends next week," Arlie said. "Your uncles are circling like sharks. I need you back. Not as the Uber driver. Not as the failure. I need the heir."

Ephram saw his reflection in the dark glass. He looked tired. He looked weak.

"And if I refuse?"

Arlie chuckled. It was a dry, rasping sound. "Then the file on your mother's investigation... I'll burn it. Personally."

Ephram's hand tightened around the phone. The plastic creaked. His mother. The unsolved fire. The reason he had stayed in this city, in the shadows.

"You're threatening me?"

"I'm negotiating, son," Arlie said. "Equivalent exchange."

Ephram looked at the distant lights of the Ritz-Carlton. He could almost see the room where his wife was sleeping with another man.

"I'll come back to the estate," Ephram said. The ice in his voice matched his father's. "But first, I have to take out the trash."

"Do as you please," Arlie said. "Just don't make it too messy. The police chief is new."

The line clicked dead.

Ephram took off his thick black glasses. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. He cleaned the lenses on his shirt and put them back on. The grief was packed away in a box in the back of his mind. Now, there was only the mission.

Ephram stood under the smoking shelter outside the hospital. The rain had stopped, leaving the air damp and heavy. He looked at the phone in his hand. The screen was cracked, the battery life was terrible, and it was filled with messages from a life he hated.

"By the way," Arlie's voice echoed in his memory. "The Alvarado girl is waiting."

Ephram scowled. An arranged marriage. Another chain.

He raised his arm and threw the phone. It hit the concrete with a satisfying crunch, shattering into pieces. The battery skittered across the pavement.

He took a silver cigarette case from his inner pocket. He lit a cigarette, the flame illuminating his face for a brief second. He inhaled deep, the smoke filling his lungs.

A black SUV rolled up to the curb. It made no sound. The window rolled down three inches. A hand extended, holding a sleek, black satellite phone.

Ephram took it. The window rolled up. The SUV waited.

He powered on the device. It booted up instantly, connecting to a secure network.

Immediately, it rang. The contact name synced from the cloud: Mrs. Wilson. His mother-in-law.

Ephram frowned. He slid the answer button.

"Ephram!" Mrs. Wilson's shrill voice pierced his ear. "Where the hell are you? Erlene said you were making a scene and screaming at her at the hospital!"

"She's lying," Ephram said calmly. He flicked ash onto the wet ground.

"I don't care!" she screamed. "Now that the old hag is dead, you have no reason to stay. Andrew is back. He's a hero. He just paid off the loan on Erlene's car! What have you done? You can't even pay for gas!"

Ephram smiled. It was a cold, sharp expression. "Are you sure he bought it?"

There was a pause. "What is that supposed to mean? You jealous loser! Just sign the divorce papers tomorrow! Don't stand in the way of her happiness!"

Ephram looked up at the neon sign of the hospital. "Don't worry. I'll sign. You'll get everything you want."

Mrs. Wilson sounded suspicious. "What do you want? Alimony? We won't give you a dime!"

"I don't want anything," Ephram said softly. "I just hope you don't regret it."

He hung up. He blocked the number.

He tapped on the window of the SUV. The driver got out and handed him a manila envelope.

Ephram opened it. The divorce papers were already drafted. He leaned the envelope against the wall under the streetlamp. He took a pen and signed his name. The signature was bold, aggressive. Not the handwriting of a defeated man.

He tossed the envelope into the passenger seat of his rusted Honda Civic. He got in. The engine sputtered before roaring to life with a noise that sounded like a dying animal.

He pulled out into the street. He was going back to the apartment. He had one last thing to do.