“I have other appointments that I need to get to,” Cruz announced. “Did you have any other questions that I can answer to help with your decision?”
“I think it seems fairly straightforward,” I answered, though I was sure it was anything but.
I didn’t have too much paperwork to address when I got back to the office, so I could research Fuentes Shipping for most of the afternoon, and hopefully, I would find out if their brand risk had more to do with their rough around the edges workers rather than potentially illegal imports.
“I appreciate your time,” I said before I opened my briefcase and placed the ill-typed offer inside next to my laptop.
“You have our offer in hand,” Alvaro said as he stood and held out his hand for me to shake. “Give me your answer by Monday, take it or leave it.”
Chapter 3
“I’ll let you know,” I said as I stood up.
The intimidating man nodded his head, but he was done with me, and he had nothing else to say as he sat back in his leather office chair and reached for his cell phone. He flipped the device over, frowned again at the message he had just received, and then glanced up at me with his almost black eyes as he waited for me to leave so he could continue his work.
I bobbed my head, then walked out of the office and down the unsteady metal staircase to the main floor. The hallway that led to the bathrooms was quiet, but the main warehouse still echoed with the shouts and orders of the supervisors as the large crates were moved out of the metal shipping containers.
My beat up blue Honda Civic looked even more pathetic next to Alvaro Cruz’s brand new, shiny, black Mercedes-Benz S Class, though my car fit in better with the dirt and grime that covered the shipyards and the smell of fish that clung to the air itself. It was hard not to picture myself in such a classy car, though, especially with the company’s offer in my briefcase.
With a sigh, I climbed into the Civic and turned the key. I glanced at the Benz again, and pondered how perfectly timed the company’s offer had been. I hadn’t accepted the position at Hancock, Garcia, and Smith, so I was still available. And now, I was desperate for cash and I knew if my mother hadn’t been diagnosed with cancer, I wouldn’t even be considering the possibility of working for Fuentes Shipping.
I cranked the AC to fight against the afternoon heat, put my car in reverse, and then drove out of the shipyard. The docks fell away behind me as I made my way to my office, but all I could think about were the ships and containers I’d seen lined along the docks. I just hoped that nothing critical had come in, because once I filed the paperwork for Perez, I intended to spend the rest of the day researching the Fuentes Shipping Company.
The drive to the parking garage next to the Public Defender’s Office was less stressful than the drive to the shipyard, but my mind was preoccupied with my mother, her diagnosis, and the strange offer, so I barely noticed the traffic. I parked in my usual spot, then hurried down the sidewalk to the tower that the Public Defender’s Office rented from the University of Miami.
I darted past the paralegals and other attorneys without so much as a hello and quickly buried myself in my cubicle. The tiny space with its gray makeshift walls was just big enough for my desk, a small office chair that made me feel like a giant even when it was raised all the way up, a black plastic chair for my clients, and a two drawer filing cabinet where I locked my case files.
The inbox already had a new case in it, but I ignored it as I plopped down in my chair, and then readjusted it so that I wasn’t on the floor. I needed a new seat, one that was made for a six foot tall man, but it was an expense that I didn’t want to pay, especially if I was on my way out. It was an argument I had with myself every time I sat down in my cubicle, and it had become much more relevant with the two new job offers.
“Hey, Torres!” my colleague, Stephen, said as he popped his head around the side of my cubicle wall. “Congrats on the Diego Perez case. Man, you’re going to be the talk of the courthouse for a while.”
“Thanks,” I muttered while I pulled the papers I needed to file out of my briefcase.
“I’ll talk to you later, man,” my coworker replied as he realized I wasn’t in the mood to talk. “Know you gotta get the filing done.”
I booted up my work computer, then grabbed the papers I needed to scan in, and made my way to the copier slash fax slash scanner. But all I could think about as I stood in front of the machine was how frail my mother had looked when she shuffled into the kitchen that morning. Even though she had slept later and longer than usual, the bags under her eyes seemed to be darker, and in the early light of day I could see just how much weight she had lost in the few weeks since I had seen her.
“Rob,” one of the paralegals, Rina, greeted me as she strolled up to the ancient printer with a file in her manicured hand. “I put a new case in your inbox. It should be pretty easy for you to take care of.”
“I saw it,” I said with a small smile. “I’ll get to it later.”
“Is everything okay, sugar?” the southern woman
