THE DEVIL'S COMPANION

The rain fell hard on the small group of people standing around the open grave. Aurora Bloom held a black umbrella over her head, but the water still found ways to run down her neck. She did not wipe it away. Her father lay in the plain wooden box at the bottom of the hole. Only six people had come. The priest spoke the same words he said at every funeral. Aurora barely heard them.

She kept her eyes on the wet dirt. Her father had never been a warm man. He had worked long hours and come home tired. He had paid the bills most months and forgotten birthdays others. Still, he was the only parent she had left. Now he was gone, and the hole in the ground looked too small for a whole life.

Lila had not come. The hospital would not let her leave. Her sister’s lungs were still weak, and the doctors said even a short trip in the rain could set her back. Aurora had promised to tell her everything later. She did not know yet what “everything” would mean.

When the priest finished, the workers started filling the grave. The sound of wet earth hitting the wood made Aurora’s stomach turn. One by one, the other people left. An old neighbor touched her arm and said he was sorry. A woman from the flower shop where Aurora worked gave her a quick hug and hurried away under her own umbrella. Soon, Aurora stood alone with the two workers and the priest.

She waited until the last shovel of dirt was in place. Then she turned to walk back to the narrow path that led to the road. Her shoes sank in the mud. The rain came down harder.

A black car waited near the gate. It had not been there when the funeral started. The windows were dark. The engine was running. Aurora slowed her steps. She did not know anyone who drove a car like that.

The back door opened. A man in a perfect gray suit stepped out. He held a black umbrella of his own and did not seem to mind the rain. His hair was neat. His shoes stayed clean even on the wet ground. He looked at Aurora like he already knew her name.

“Miss Bloom,” he said. His voice was calm and cold. “I am here on behalf of the Ashcroft Group. I have documents that require your attention.”

Aurora stopped under her umbrella. “My father just died. Whatever this is, it can wait.”

“It cannot.” The man opened a leather folder and held out a thick set of papers. “Your father, Thomas Bloom, owed the Ashcroft Group forty-seven million dollars. The debt is unsecured and carries high interest. It is due in full immediately.”

Aurora stared at him. The number did not make sense. Her father had fixed small engines and sold used parts from a shed behind their house. He had never spoken of millions. He had never worn a suit that cost more than fifty dollars.

“That is impossible,” she said.

“The contracts are clear. Your father’s signature appears on every page. The Ashcroft Group has been patient for three years. That patience ends today.”

Aurora did not take the papers. Rain dripped from the edge of her umbrella onto the man’s polished shoes. He did not move them.

“I do not have forty-seven million dollars,” she said. “I do not have forty-seven thousand. My sister is in the hospital. The treatments already take everything we have.”

“That is not the Ashcroft Group’s concern.” The man kept his arm out with the folder. “Mr. Ashcroft requires an answer by tomorrow evening. If the debt is not settled, the group will begin collection. That includes every asset connected to your father’s name and any future earnings you or your sister may have.”

Aurora felt the ground shift under her feet. Lila’s medicine. The small room they rented above the flower shop. The hours Aurora worked arranging bouquets for other people’s happy days. All of it could disappear because of a debt she had never heard of.

“Who is Xavier Ashcroft?” she asked.

The lawyer’s face stayed blank. “The man your father borrowed from. The man who now owns the debt. He does not wait.”

Aurora finally took the folder. The leather was dry under the man’s umbrella. She opened it just enough to see the first page. Her father’s messy signature sat at the bottom next to a clean printed name. *Xavier Ashcroft.* The date was three years old. The interest rate made her dizzy.

“I need time,” she said.

“You have until tomorrow at six o’clock. The address for the meeting is on the last page. Come alone.”

The lawyer closed his umbrella, stepped back into the black car, and shut the door. The car pulled away without another word. Aurora stood in the rain holding the folder against her chest. Water soaked the edges of the papers.

She walked to the bus stop because she could not afford a taxi. The bus was late. She sat on the plastic seat and stared at the folder on her lap. Forty-seven million dollars. The number kept repeating in her head until it lost meaning.

When she reached the hospital, she went straight to Lila’s room. Her sister looked smaller than usual against the white sheets. Tubes ran from her arms to the machines that helped her breathe. Aurora sat down and took Lila’s hand. The skin felt cool.

“How was it?” Lila asked. Her voice was thin.

“Quiet,” Aurora said. “Only a few people came.”

Lila nodded like she had expected that. “Did they say anything about the shop?”

“Not yet.” Aurora could not tell her about the debt. Not while the machines beeped and the rain still hit the window. “You just rest. I will handle the rest.”

Lila closed her eyes. Aurora stayed until the nurse said visiting hours were over. Then she rode the bus home to the small apartment above the flower shop. She turned on one lamp and sat at the kitchen table with the folder open.

Page after page showed the same thing. Her father had signed. He had taken the money in pieces over two years. He had never made a single payment. The interest had grown like a living thing. Now the full amount sat on her shoulders.

Aurora thought about calling the number on the last page and begging for more time. She thought about selling the shop, the old van, every piece of furniture they owned. None of it would reach even one percent of the debt. She thought about Lila’s next round of treatment and how the hospital already sent letters about unpaid bills.

The rain kept falling. Aurora rested her forehead on the table. Her father’s funeral felt like it had happened weeks ago instead of hours. The lawyer’s voice stayed in her ears. *Mr. Ashcroft requires an answer. Come alone.*

She did not know what she would say when she faced him. She only knew she could not let Lila lose the care she needed. Whatever Xavier Ashcroft wanted, Aurora would have to listen.

She closed the folder and turned off the lamp. In the dark, the number still glowed behind her eyes. Forty-seven million. Due tomorrow. Her life had broken open in a single afternoon, and she could already feel the pieces sliding out of reach.

Aurora woke before the sun. The rain had stopped, but the streets still looked wet. She sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the folder on the table. Forty-seven million dollars. The number had not changed while she slept.

She made coffee and forced herself to drink it. Then she started calling every person she could think of. First she called the bank that held the small loan on the flower shop. The woman on the phone listened for less than a minute.

“We cannot help with a debt that large,” the woman said. “And we cannot lend more money against a shop that barely breaks even.”

Aurora hung up and tried two more banks. The answers were the same. No one would touch a debt connected to the Ashcroft Group. One loan officer even lowered his voice and told her to be careful. People who owed that family did not walk away clean.

Next she called the few relatives she still had numbers for. An uncle in another state said he was sorry about her father, but he had hi