The next morning, someone knocked like they meant it. When I opened the door, I froze. A black limo sat at the curb like a glitch in reality. And standing there, clean and put together, was the man from the alley. He smiled. “You’re the woman who saved my life yesterday, right?”
I stared. “Either I hit my head, or you’re about to sell me something.” “Murray from the dumpster.” He huffed a laugh. “Fair. I’m Murray.” I didn’t take his hand. “Murray from the dumpster.” He winced. “Yes.” “Why are you here?”
“Can I explain? And if you still tell me to get lost, I will.” He didn’t step closer. That mattered. “I’m an heir. Family estate. We have more money than I could ever need. My last living parent died last week. I flew in for the funeral, landed late, and decided I could walk two blocks to my hotel.”
“And I found you in an alley.” He nodded. “I got robbed. They took everything. I chased them, got hit, woke up in that alley.” “So why are you here?”
“So you were ‘trash’ for a night,” I said, hating the word as it left my mouth. “One night was enough for most people to decide I didn’t count,” he said quietly. “At the hospital, I proved who I was. The estate sent people.” “Convenient.” “Very. But you didn’t know. You just helped.”
He offered me a temporary job. “So why are you here?” I asked. “Because I need help,” Murray said. “I have money. I don’t have trust. I’m surrounded by staff, lawyers, and advisors. I need someone who isn’t impressed. Someone who’ll tell me when something feels off.”
“And you picked me because I did CPR.” “I picked you because you were the only person in that alley who acted like a human being.”
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