“One night was enough for most people to decide I didn’t count,” he said quietly. “At the hospital, I proved who I was. The estate sent people.”
“Convenient.”
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“Very. But you didn’t know. You just helped.”
He offered me a temporary job.
“So why are you here?” I asked.
“Because I need help,” Murray said. “I have money. I don’t have trust. I’m surrounded by staff, lawyers, and advisors. I need someone who isn’t impressed. Someone who’ll tell me when something feels off.”
“And you picked me because I did CPR.”
“I picked you because you were the only person in that alley who acted like a human being.”
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“What would you accept?”
He offered me a temporary job: stay at the estate part-time, sit in on meetings, take notes, ask questions, and say something if my gut screamed.
“How much?” I asked.
He said a number that felt like a trap.
“No,” I said. “That’s a ‘buy a person’ amount.”
“Okay. What would you accept?”
“I’m not trapped somewhere I can’t leave.”
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“I’m in an EMT course. Two months left. I’m not quitting.”
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