The rich

The rich
Myra stepped out of her car in front of her former apartment building at Ciaran complex, feeling like a thief. 

She just had to get the few things she still had here. If not, she would never have come. 

Although if she was truthful with herself, she harbored a little hope that she might run into Cal.

It had been months, and she had come to accept that he was putting great efforts into not running into her. 

She had no idea he could be this cold, but what did she expect? What she did to him was unforgivable.

She had just stepped into the lobby when she froze. 

She found herself staring at Atlas. 

He was just as startled, but then his eyes became angry, and he stood more erect.

There goes another person she had hurt. 

She did not know what to say, so she was about to walk around him when he said, “So you are not even going to apologize?”

She stopped, “Apologize for doing my job?” She turned to stare in his eyes.

“For using me, dammit,” he said. “You had eyes on the professor the whole time but kept leading me on.”

“That was the last thing I did,” she said, “I am sorry if you feel that way, but I had a job to do, and I gave you enough clues to back off.”

He squinted at her in pain and shook his head, “I liked you Myra.” He shook his head, “Scratch that. I was in love with you. I was ready to do anything for you,” he said. 

He was moving closer now, and Myra had to step back. 

He was acting like he still felt that way, and then later he would go claiming she led him on?

“Well, you know my real age now, don’t you?” She said quietly.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“What? We are on different timelines.” She stopped. 

It was ridiculous to keep pointing out the obvious. 

“I am sorry you got hurt in all this. But I really hope you turn out OK and find a sweet girl who loves you.”

She started to walk away. 

She wanted to erase Ciaran and its memories from her life. 

The last thing holding her back from completely forgetting that she had ever been in this place was Cal, and the fact that she still did not know who killed Valentina.

Although she was beginning to accept that she might never know. 

Every detective had that one unsolved mystery in their life, and Valentina’s murder might be hers.

“Myra.” She heard Atlas call, and she stopped even though she was exhausted of having to explain things to him.

“I know you hate me because you think we had a hand in Valentina’s murder. But we didn’t.”

Myra held herself from yelling in his face now. 

“I never even touched that girl.”

“But you watched, you called her names. You stood back while your friends bullied and beat her. Do you know what that makes you? An accomplice,” She said through gritted teeth.

“If you grew up the way I did, in this place,” he gestured around, “You will understand how speaking up is not an option that would have crossed our minds. If you were not in support, you simply did not join in.”

“Go figure that out with your conscience, Atlas.” 

She was beginning to turn around again, when he said something that made her stop and the hairs on her body stand.

“A woman pushed Valentina, not a student.” 

“What?” Myra turned around.

“She was too old to be a student.”

“What are you saying? Did you see this woman? Why did you not say anything all the while?”

“The police said it was suicide till that anonymous journalist published that article. Do you remember?”

“Then why did you not say anything even when you were all taken to the station for bullying her?”

He shrugged, “I was not asked, it did not seem like anyone cared.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Her mother is still grieving.”

“We are not all freedom fighters, Myra,” Atlas said with a sad smile, and was turning around when she ran after him and stood in front of him.

“I’m sorry for judging.” She said, even though that was the last thing she felt. “Please tell me what this woman looked like.”

Atlas was already shaking his head, and her heart sank that he did not want to speak up, till he said, 

“She walked past me about an hour before I saw her with Valentina. I did not see her face. But her choice of clothing was unique. It was a coat that was designed to look like a robe, burgundy in color, but the lapels and the turned-out cuff were cream-colored.”

“You saw this woman push her? Were you not in the theater with us then?” 

“No. I stepped out,” he said, and shivered now. “I saw Val clinging to the sleeve of the coat, as her body hung over the balustrade, about to fall, before the woman shook her off.”

Myra looked away with a frown as she tried to re-imagine the scene. 

Valentina must have been pushed from behind, caught by surprise, she must have gripped the woman’s sleeve for support, pulling her hand outside the wall.

The woman might have even been in the danger of falling too, before she shrugged Valentina off to her death.

“Did you see anything else?” She asked, hoping he saw something significant. 

The coat would not help her identify the woman if she did not even know her hair color, talk less of what she looked like.

Atlas looked away in thought, then he looked up suddenly, “She was carrying a luxury bag that is scheduled to come out next summer. I recognized it because that was all my mom ever talked about, and I wondered how rich she was to get a bag that had not even been released for pre-order.”

A super-rich woman had murdered Valentina. Why? 

Valentina did not strike her as a mistress or one who would sleep with a married man and annoy his wife into murdering her.

One thing she knew for sure now was that whoever murdered Valentina was in the Ciaran complex. 

Only the people who lived here were rich-rich like that.

“Thank you, Atlas,” she said, and turned back to her car as her driver jumped out and opened the door for her.

She was not moving out anymore. 

In fact, she was moving in. 

She was rich enough to cover the cost of that apartment now. She would stay there and befriend all the rich ladies till she found the culprit.

And if she was lucky, maybe this would bring her and Cal back together.