Pampered By The Assassin Family

Jerimiah pushed the heavy wooden door open.

Eleanor sat behind her cluttered desk, flipping through a stack of manila folders.

She looked up. When she saw Jerimiah standing there with Ava trailing behind him, her face twisted into a deep scowl.

"You are not on the appointment list," Eleanor snapped, pointing a manicured finger at the door. "Leave."

Jerimiah didn't move. He slowly pulled a chair out and sat down. He reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out a folded, wrinkled application form, and slid it across the desk.

Eleanor pinched the paper between two fingers as if it were covered in disease. She scanned the background information.

"Independent server farm maintenance worker?" Eleanor let out a harsh, mocking laugh.

She dropped the paper. "Do you even have a stable income? Raising a child requires actual money, Mr. Fitzgerald."

Jerimiah pushed his heavy glasses up the bridge of his nose. He stuttered slightly as he recited a perfectly memorized, utterly mundane tax history.

Ava stood beside his chair. She watched him fumble over his words. Her chest loosened slightly. He was a nobody. A weak, powerless man. Exactly what she needed.

Eleanor kept reading. She frowned. "Your credit history is completely blank. No loans. No debt. Nothing. In this day and age, that is highly suspicious."

Jerimiah slumped his shoulders, looking deeply embarrassed. He rubbed the back of his head. "I'm just a tech guy, ma'am. I don't trust banks much."

"And your wife?" Eleanor asked, her tone dripping with disdain.

"She teaches women's self-defense at the community center," Jerimiah mumbled.

Eleanor rolled her eyes. She picked up her heavy red 'REJECTED' stamp. This family was a dead end.

Just as the rubber stamp hovered over the paper, Ava stepped forward. She wrapped both of her small arms tightly around Jerimiah's thick bicep.

Ava tilted her head up. She forced tears to pool in her eyes, letting her lower lip tremble just enough. "I just want this daddy," she whispered, her voice thick with practiced vulnerability.

Eleanor froze. The sheer emotional weight of the broken little girl caught her off guard.

Jerimiah looked down at the girl clinging to him. A brief, almost invisible flicker of amusement flashed in his eyes.

He raised his large hand and awkwardly patted Ava's back, playing the role of the devoted, helpless father.

Out in the hallway, a deep voice echoed. "Check the nurse's station." It was a Savage family bodyguard.

Ava's spine went rigid. Her fingers dug into Jerimiah's arm with bruising force.

Jerimiah felt the spike in her heart rate. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his worn leather wallet. He extracted a crumpled wad of bills of various denominations-twenties, fifties, and a few hundreds, all worn and folded unevenly. He smoothed them out with clumsy fingers, trying to make the messy pile look presentable.

He slid the cash under the application form and pushed it toward Eleanor. "A donation. For the center's good work."

Eleanor's eyes locked onto the green paper. Her demeanor shifted instantly. She slammed the red stamp down on an ink pad, then pressed it firmly onto the approval line.

A loud click echoed in the room. The paperwork was finalized. From this second on, she was Ava Fitzgerald.

Jerimiah stood up. He scooped Ava off the floor with one arm, holding her against his chest, and walked out of the office with long, rapid strides.

He didn't take the main hallway. He pushed through the heavy metal doors of the fire escape, perfectly bypassing the Savage family members entering through the front lobby.

They stepped out into the freezing parking lot. Ava saw a dull gray Dodge minivan parked in the corner.

Jerimiah opened the sliding door. Ava climbed into the back seat. The cheap vanilla air freshener hit her nose, and for the first time in two lifetimes, her muscles completely relaxed.