CHAPTERONE
AZURA
Azura Morrow sat with her brother, Martin Morrow, waiting to discuss their financial situation with the bank manager. She had gotten off early from her job at the big hotel in town and had to restrain herself from yawning.
Her brother, on the other hand, was a whole other problem.
Martin was only fifteen when they lost both his parents. While still relatively young, Azura had to take over as both the caretaker and main breadwinner. The pre-ordained teenage attitude flourished within him.
His grief manifested in ways Azura often had a hard time dealing with.
Looking at her in a long black skirt and blazer, most people she encountered would have never known the depth of her struggle. Azura had worn her professional face all day.
“Where the hell is this guy?” Martin asked.
Azura looked at her watch. The manager was supposed to meet them at four that afternoon, and it was already fifteen minutes past. She noticed that Martin had begun bouncing his leg up and down, a nervous habit she had noticed blossom … after their parents had passed.
“He’ll be here,” Azura said, playing with her watch. “He has to be.”
Just as Martin dramatically blew air out of his mouth, a short, stocky man entered the office. Azura and Martin stood to greet him in the way their parents had always taught them.
“Afternoon,” Mr. Fogarty said.
He took hold of Martin’s hand and aggressively pulled him in for a handshake.
“You were on fire the other night, man!” Mr. Fogarty said. “Let’s make sure we keep that up for the entire season, huh?”
The manager slapped Martin's shoulder, and it took everything within Azura’s power to stifle the biggest eye-roll-to-end-all eye rolls. On the other hand, her brother was positively beaming with pride, looking more and more like their father with each passing day.
Mr. Fogarty then turned to Azura with much less enthusiasm. He shook her hand like he was holding a dead fish.
“What can I do for you both today?”
They sat down, and Azura took in a deep breath. She was driving this bull, and although she was fairly good at it, she didn’t always like it.
“Mr. Fogarty,” she began, legs crossed and hands in her lap. “We’ve come to seek out some financial advice from you. As you may have already heard, our parents tragically passed away last year.”
Mr. Fogarty nodded solemnly.
“And I’m sure you also know that our home is enormous, one of the last big manors in town. I’ve been considering turning it into an events center or resort.”
Mr. Fogarty began shuffling through, what she assumed, were her financial papers. Martin had begun shaking his leg again, staring down at the floor like it was an endless abyss.
“Uh-huh, that could be lucrative,” Mr. Fogarty said.
“My thinking exactly,” Azura said. “But I need to register it as a historical landmark, first. You know, to get more funding and suchlike for the upkeep. But it needs upkeep now. And I haven’t been able to get a loan due to my earnings.”
Mr. Fogarty went through the papers closely. Azura waited for a few moments, hoping there was something she was missing, something that could help them out of the vicious cycle.
“I see what you’re saying,” the manager replied. “You do have a steady income, but unfortunately, it doesn’t qualify for the loans you’ve been applying for.”
Is there an echo in here?
Azura nodded, then leaned on her hand, doing her best to contain her impatience.
Mr. Fogarty looked up, then leaned back in his chair. He wrapped his hands over his belly and spoke like he was referring to the latest baseball game.
“There isn’t much we can do, unfortunately, until you or Mr. Superstar over here start earning more income,” Mr. Fogarty said, turning to Martin. “Maybe you’ll be able to start paying all the bills when you hit the big leagues, eh, man?”