the art of being decived

Chapter 1: The Empty Wallet Vero Reyes Point of View I count the coins in my hand again. Five dollars and thirty-seven cents. That's all the money I have left in the world. My stomach makes a loud noise. I haven't eaten since yesterday morning. But I can't buy food. This money needs to be paid for Papa's medicine. I look at the painting on my table. It took me three weeks to finish. The colors are bright and happy. A little girl plays in a garden full of flowers. I painted it because I wanted to remember what happiness feels like. Maybe someone will buy it today. Maybe. "Vero, mija, come here." Papa's voice sounds weak. I walk to his room. He sits on the bed, looking at a piece of paper. His hands shake as he holds it. "What's wrong, Papa?" I sit next to him. He shows me the paper. It's a bill from the hospital. The numbers are so big they make my head spin. "We can't pay this," he says. His voice is sad and tired. I take the paper from him. "Don't worry about money, Papa. I'll figure something out." "How? You work three jobs and still can't make enough money." He's right. I work at the coffee shop in the morning. I clean offices at night. On weekends, I help at the flower shop. But it's never enough money. "I'll sell my paintings," I say. Papa looks at me with his kind eyes. "No one has bought a painting in six months, Vero." My heart hurts because he's right. I take my paintings to the gallery downtown. Mr. Harrison, the owner, puts them on the wall. But people walk by without looking. They want fancy paintings by famous artists. Not paintings by a girl who lives in a tiny apartment. "I have an idea," I say. "I'll get a better job. A job that pays more money." "What kind of job?" Papa asks. I don't know. But I have to try something. After Papa falls asleep, I sit at my computer. It's old and slow, but it works. I look for jobs online. Most of them want people with college degrees. I never went to college. We didn't have money for that. Then I see something different. "Need help right away. Good pay. Call this number." The phone number is all that's written. No name. No address. Nothing else. I stare at the screen. This could be dangerous. But I'm running out of choices. I pick up my phone and dial the number. "Hello?" A man's voice answers. "Hi, I'm calling about the job." "What job?" He sounds confused. "The one in the online ad. It says you need help." There's a long pause. "Hold on." I wait. My heart beats fast. Maybe this was a mistake. "Hello." A different voice comes on the phone. This man sounds older. More serious. "I'm calling about the job," I say again. "What's your name?" "Vero Reyes." Another pause. "Can you come to my office tomorrow?" "Yes, but where." "Blackwood Tower. Top floor. Ask for Mr. Blackwood." The name sounds familiar, but I can't remember where I heard it. "What time?" I ask. "Three o'clock. Don't be late." "Wait, what kind of job is." The line goes dead. He hung up. I stare at my phone. This feels strange. But the man mentioned Blackwood Tower. That's one of the tallest buildings in the city. Rich people work there. Maybe this is my chance. The next day, I put on my best dress. It's blue and a little old, but it's clean. I brush my hair and put on the lipstick I save for special days. Blackwood Tower is huge. All glass and steel, reaching up to the sky. People in expensive suits walk in and out. I feel very small. The elevator takes forever to reach the top floor. My hands are sweaty. What if this is a joke? What if no one is expecting me? The elevator doors open. A woman sits behind a big desk. "I'm here to see Mr. Blackwood," I say. She looks at me from head to toe. Her eyes are cold. "You're three o'clock?" "Yes." "Wait here." She picks up her phone. "Sir, she's here." After a few minutes, she points to the door. "Go in." I walk to the door and knock. "Come in." I open the door and step inside. The office is bigger than my entire apartment. Windows cover one wall, showing the whole city below. A man sits behind a desk. He's handsome in a scary way. Dark hair, gray eyes, and a suit that probably costs more than I make in a year. "Miss Reyes." He stands up. "I'm Daniel Blackwood." His voice is deep and smooth. But his eyes are cold, like winter. "Thank you for seeing me," I say. "Please, sit." He points to a chair. I sit down and try not to shake. This man makes me nervous. "Tell me about yourself," he says. "I'm a painter. I work a few jobs to pay bills. My father is sick, and we need money for his medicine." "What kind of sickness?" "His heart. The doctors say he needs surgery soon." Mr. Blackwood writes something on a piece of paper. "How much money do you need?" The question surprises me. "I don't know. A lot." "I can help you," he says. "What's the job?" "I need someone to help me with my work. Someone to come to meetings and dinners with me. Someone smart and pretty." I feel my face get hot. "I'm not sure what you mean." "Nothing bad," he says quickly. "Just business events. You would be my assistant." "And you would pay me enough to help my father?" "I would pay all your father's medical bills. I would also give you money for yourself." This sounds too good to be true. "Why would you do that?" "Because I think you're special, Vero. May I call you Vero?" "Yes," I whisper. "I think we could help each other," he says. "You need money. I need someone I can trust." "But you don't even know me." "I know enough." He opens a folder on his desk. Inside is a picture of me. It was from last month when I was selling my paintings at the park. My blood turns cold. "How do you have this?" "I make it my business to know about people before I hire them." "That's... that's weird." "That's careful," he says. "In my business, I have to be careful." I look at the picture again. Who took it? Why does he have it? "I should go," I say, standing up. "Wait." Mr. Blackwood stands too. "Don't you want to help your father?" I stop. Papa's face flashes in my mind. He looked so tired this morning. So sick. "How much money are we talking about?" I ask. He writes a number on a piece of paper and slides it across the desk. I look at the number. My legs almost give out. It's more money than I've ever seen in my life. "This is real?" I ask. "Very real. All you have to do is say yes." I stare at the paper. This money could save Papa's life. It could pay for his surgery, his medicine, everything. But something feels wrong. Why would a stranger give me this much money? What does he really want? "I need to think about it," I say. "Of course. But don't take too long. Your father doesn't have much time." His words hit me like a punch. How does he know about Papa's condition? "What do you mean?" I ask. Mr. Blackwood's eyes change. For just a second, they look angry. Mean. But then his face goes back to normal. "I mean that heart problems are serious. They don't wait for people to make decisions." I back toward the door. "I really should go." "Vero." His voice stops me. "Take this." He hands me a business card. "Call me when you decide. But remember, some chances only come once." I take the card and run out of the office. In the elevator, I look at it. Just his name and phone number. Nothing else. When I get home, Papa is sleeping. I sit at my kitchen table and stare at the card. Daniel Blackwood. Why does that name sound familiar? I go to my computer and search for him online. Pictures pop up. He's at fancy parties, business meetings, charity events. He's rich. Really rich. But there's something else. An old newspaper article from fifteen years ago. "Blackwood Family Lost Everything in Scandal." I click on the article. My heart stops. The story talks about a family that lost their money because someone stole from them. The parents died in a car crash. Their son, Daniel, was left with nothing. At the bottom of the article, there's a name. Samuel Reyes. The accountant who was blamed for the theft. Samuel Reyes. That's my father's name. My hands shake as I read the article again. Daniel Blackwood knows exactly who I am. He knows who my father is. And he wants to hire me. Why?