Chapter 13 The Road to Morelia
Los Angeles
August 9th
Khatira Kar
K hatira walked out of LAX airport, her Sabyasachi glasses firmly planted on her face as she inhaled the familiar Los Angeles air. It smelled like smog and burnt Cheetos, but strangely enough, it also felt like home. She had stayed in Indiana longer than expected. Without the anxiety of survival nipping at her stomach, she found she was actually able to enjoy her parents’ company. She’d even gotten to know Mr. Benji by taking him on walks and learning about his favorite treats.
It was on these walks that she had accidentally run into the neighbor’s son, Khaleel, who had been walking back from the neighborhood store. Khaleel was on break from Purdue, where he was majoring in criminal justice and hoping to carve out a career in criminal investigation. Khatira found his earnestness endearing, if not slightly naive.
Somehow, every night for the next three nights, whenever Khatira took Mr. Benji for a walk, Khaleel just happened to be coming back from the store. She found the coincidence ridiculous, but she allowed it. Because, if she was being honest, it was also slightly appealing. She liked making him laugh, and she liked the way he listened to her. Peering intently into her eyes, really paying attention. And he wasn’t awful to look at. Slightly lanky, his chin a bit too pointy, his hair overgrown and brushing over his horn-rimmed glasses. But behind those glasses, his eyes held a kindness that felt... nice.
There was that one day when his family had come over, and they’d all played Scrabble while her father grilled up lamb kebabs, which they ate with naan bread and fresh salad. As far as family visits went, this time around hadn’t been awful.
Khatira shook her head to clear away those thoughts. August was here, and with it, her court date right around the corner. A month ago, she would have been a ball of nerves, but after living through robbing someone, almost getting shot at, and bartering with seedy pawnshop owners, she felt like she could take anything on.
As Khatira waited for her rideshare, her thoughts drifted back to Khaleel’s steady hand slipping into hers that one evening. She had pretended not to notice. It wasn’t romantic—at least that’s what she had told herself. It had been a friendly gesture, but there was something comforting about him. Something dependable. Someone she could possibly trust her life with.
Khatira shook her head, thankful her phone rang, jarring her out of her own sentimentality. “Khatira here,” she said into the phone.
“Hey girl, heeey,” Janvi’s voice rang in her ear, all sing-song.
“Janvi?” Khatira asked, confused. “How did you get this number?”
“My girl Christian hooked me up. You know I love when she drops her pearls of Wednesday Wisdom. I never miss a video,” Janvi chirped.
Khatira wasn’t buying the act. “Uh-huh. What do you want?”
“Okay, Deepica was legit asking for you at her Live Tinted event a few weeks ago. You know, the one you stood me up at,” Janvi rushed through her words. “There’s a marketing consultant aspect of her business she wants to explore—helping start-ups across the nation get recognition, funding, and all that. And since you took yourself off the map—”
“Changed careers because influencing is like skin grafting one aspect of your soul at a time,” Khatira interjected.
“Whatever—you went dark, but you still have that mystery around your deleted page. The Port of Long Beach shooting. Putting bad guys away,” Janvi retorted, making Khatira realize how little she was on social media anymore. “You’re not going to have this demand going for long, so I say capitalize on it.”
“Why are you being nice to me?” Khatira asked, watching the LA scenery whiz by. “What’s in it for you?”
There was an exaggerated gasp on the other end of the phone. “You know I can be a nice person—”
“No,” Khatira corrected. “You really can’t and aren’t.” Khatira chuckled at the shocked silence on the other end of the line. She loved not playing the suck-up influencer game anymore. She didn’t miss the high falsetto tones and overly gushy compliments over nonsense. She vowed to always be this way going forward—cut-throat and honest.
Finally, Janvi cleared her throat and responded. “Well, if you’re consulting for up-and-coming companies who need a social media presence, perhaps you’ll remember an influencer who has 166K followers and who NoFilter Magazine referred to as ‘the perfect combination of Bollywood meets Cardi B.”
Khatira squinted her eyes in thought. “I’m pretty sure no publication has ever written that sentence in print. Ever.”
As Khatira thought about the consulting opportunity, her mind veered toward the perks. The travel. The access. The chance to meet people with money to burn. Entrepreneurs, the kind of people who wouldn’t bat an eye at her slipping into their world. Who wouldn’t notice her presence until it was too late. She’d move in their circles, learn their secrets, and have the perfect cover. She’d take from the rich and powerful. No one would suspect her. Consulting was just another name for networking—and with the right connections, she could rob them all blind.
“I’m open to a conversation with Deepica. Thank you for thinking of me.” Khatira paused, letting the idea settle into place. Her mind drifted back to Laila’s office overlooking the Chicago River. “Would there be an office with a brown leather chair in the mix as well?”
Silence met her on the other line. Janvi slowly responded, “A brown leather chair? Um....I can ask.”
Satisfied, Khatira clicked off the phone and took a deep breath. Smiling broadly, she hugged herself. She could do this. Make her own rules. Live by her own ethos. And never have to scrape for another cent again. Khatira Kar—Large and In Charge—was going to be coming to a city near you. Except, of course, you’d never see her coming.
Khatira leaned back against the seat, her fingers scrolling through her phone idly, letting the city’s pulse fade into the background. But before she could lose herself in the possibility of being a consultant and diving into the entrepreneurial world completely, her phone buzzed with a text.
She stared at the name: Hal.
Her thumb hovered over the screen for a moment before she opened the message.
“Got a gig. High-stakes, rare vintage watch. Client’s asking for a specific one. You in?”
Khatira read the text twice, feeling her pulse quicken. The familiar adrenaline surged through her veins like a shot of caffeine. She bit her lip, the excitement bubbling. This was it. This was the life she wanted. The thrill, the chase—outsmarting the untouchables. Marketing consultant by day, an “appropriator of goods” by night. Luxury and theft, mingling seamlessly. Like they always have throughout the ages.
Her fingers danced across the screen without thinking.
“Tell me more.”
Chicago
August 15th
Laila Malik
Laila stared down at her phone, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. In bold, capital letters, the words “CASE DISMISSED!” shouted at her from Khatira’s message. “Trixie Brands couldn’t provide any proof that I was aware of the carcinogens in their products. Judge dismissed the whole case. The lawyer you got to represent me was awesome!!!”
“Yes!” Laila shouted with a fist bump in the air, startling the pigeons around her. She looked around in embarrassment, hoping only the pigeons had seen her. After showering Khatira with heart emojis, she tucked her phone away and continued on her walk toward the Hyatt—her home away from the office. Jay had kept that monstrosity of a penthouse, with its ridiculous mortgage and ostentatious furnishings. Good riddance!
Laila took the longer route back, strolling through the park. It was too nice of a day to rush back to her claustrophobic hotel room. She took a deep breath, the scent of dahlias filling her lungs.
She felt caught between worlds. Without a permanent home, and with work becoming lighter these past couple of weeks, she had too much time on her hands. She suspected Alex was deliberately easing her caseload due to the divorce, assuming she was still mourning the loss of her marriage. In truth, she was mourning the loss of Gabriel. It had been almost a month since they’d last seen each other.
Laila sat on a bench, closing her eyes, letting the stillness settle around her. Her mind drifted back to her last memory of Gabriel—his tired, strained eyes, the wires and monitors beeping relentlessly. His lips forming the word goodbye . Instead of lingering there, her thoughts jumped to how his lips had felt on hers, his teeth grazing her shoulder, his fingers beneath her jaw, pulling her gaze upward to meet the raw hunger in his eyes. A soft moan escaped her lips.
“Look, mommy!” A small voice broke her out of her reverie. Laila’s eyes flew open to see a toddler pointing at her. Had she really just moaned out loud? Was she about to be arrested for lewd behavior?
“Look, mommy!” the child repeated, pointing again. Laila glanced down. Perched on the bench beside her, a monarch butterfly sat perfectly still, eyeing her closely.
Laila peered at it distrustfully. Staring straight ahead, she pretended not to notice it at all. “This means nothing, you mean nothing,” she whispered to herself.
Annoyed despite herself, she finally looked down at the butterfly and said in a low, urgent whisper, “Do you know he hasn’t texted me in almost a month? Not even a smoke signal to let me know he’s okay.”
The butterfly remained next to her, flapping its wings lazily. Unbothered by her outburst.
“I have a life here. A career. A good one. He should come to me,” Laila said hotly, irritated by the butterfly’s indifference.
The toddler looked at them both in confusion before running over to the swings.
Laila stood up and began to walk away. “And now I’m scaring small children thanks to you. Great job, Morelia!” she said, inadvertently naming the butterfly after the city she couldn’t get out of her mind.
The butterfly lightly got up and flew next to her. “Unbelievable.” Laila looked around her to see if anyone else was noticing the butterfly’s odd behavior. Laila continued to talk aloud, “Khatira wasn’t wrong. There are a lot of unanswered questions and as his lawyer, I should let him know that giving his children the option of living in the United States would only set them up for success in the future. Maybe he’s unaware of that.”
Laila then wrinkled her nose. “And I know success means different things to different people. They could all be perfectly happy living exactly where they are. But I just think a person should have options, you know?”
Hailing a cab and continuing the conversation, “And I deserve answers too. Maria Sofia this and Maria Angelica that. Anyone would get confused by that. There was no need to hold that grudge against me for so long.”
“Where to, lady?” the cab driver asked, interrupting her mutterings.
“O’Hare Airport,” Laila said, her voice clear, strong, and confident (nothing like a crazy woman muttering to butterflies).
She jabbed a finger at the window, where the butterfly hovered, and continued, “And he better not be boinking his sister-in-law.”
As the cab driver waited for the traffic light to turn green, Laila, her stomach in knots, sat back against the seat. Am I really doing this? The thought echoed in her mind as she pulled out her phone. Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened the flight app and began to book a ticket to Morelia. The confirmation page loaded.
She had done it! She was finally going to see Gabriel. A soft breath escaped her lips, and she quietly corrected herself, “My Gabriel,” she whispered.
The butterfly fluttered once more, as if to say, ‘It’s time.’ And then, it vanished into the wind.