Empty Hands
The late autumn wind rattled against the windows of the house as though it too sensed the storm closing in on Tessa and Ayisha’s lives. In the living room, Ayisha sat hunched over the glass coffee table, staring blankly at her phone screen.
Her hands trembled as she scrolled through email after email, each one worse than the last. The “congratulations on your approved loan” message from the bank still sat at the top of her inbox like a cruel joke. Beneath it were the follow up notifications—the wired funds, the transaction receipts, the withdrawal confirmations. And at the very bottom, the email from her supposed “business consultant,” a man named Trent Rivers, who had promised them investment opportunities and marketing expansion for their beauty line. The last line of his m
