SIARA.
I sat on the edge of my narrow bed, staring at the cracked screen of my phone. My throat tightened as the cruel truth stared back at her: $100. That was all I'd managed to scrape together after four days of relentless work.
Four days of juggling three part-time jobs, four days surviving on two hours of sleep each night if at all, stretching half-empty water bottles and stale crackers as the gnawing in my stomach growled for more. I fought with everything she had. Yet, I was way out of reach of the required $7,000 necessary for mom's life-saving treatment.
My fists clenched, and I pressed my palms into my eyes to stop the tears. But they threatened to spill anyway, hot and bitter.
"I can't fail her," I whispered-a quiet vow to myself.
As I'd come home that evening, the familiar stench of stale beer and cigarette smoke wafted through the cracked front door of the apartment. Dad's gravelly laugh echoed inside, punctuated by the clinking of bottles.
I had stepped inside, taking in the mess of the living room. He was sprawled on the couch, cigarette ash dangling precariously from the edge of his fingertips. His companion, one of his usual drinking buddies, cackled loudly at some crude joke. The sight had made my stomach churn.
"Where the hell have you been?" He'd slurred, not even glancing in my direction.
"Working," I'd muttered, ignoring him as I headed to my room.
Now, my stomach growled with hunger and I left my room in the kitchen in search of something to eat. There wasn't much to work with in the fridge—just a couple of bananas and a carton of milk that had turned sour days ago. I sighed, grabbing the bananas. Dinner, once again, was a joke.
I stood at the counter peeling the fruit as my dad's voice floated into the kitchen.
"Yeh, it's bringing in cash for that cocksucker," he said enviously. "Like the fucker needs more."
"What was the name again?" his friend asked, slurring his words with drunk curiosity.
"Valerie. or Valore. Shit if I remember," Dad replied, slurring on every word. "Where's the damned card, anyway?
I froze mid-bite, my heart skipping a beat. Valore. That name sounded familiar. Something stirred in my memory, and realization struck like lightning. Valaro.
I left the kitchen in a daze, barely noticing their drunken ramblings. Once I was back in my room, I shut the door and locked it, my hands trembling as I rummaged through the cluttered drawers of my nightstand. Finally, I found it—a sleek black card.
It had been in one of Dad's messes a few days ago, thrown to one side without a care during one of his drunken rages. I'd pocketed it on impulse, unsure why. Now, as I stared at it, my mind started racing.
Maybe Valaro wasn't just a name or some lame website. Maybe it was one of the most exclusive digital payment platforms in the world, where only the very rich and super-elite did business. The type of place where millions shifted through anonymous accounts daily.
My breathing quickened as an idea, wild and reckless, took shape in my mind.
"No," I whispered, shaking my head violently. "That's insane. Illegal. I'd go to prison." Besides, I hadn't coded in years.
But then Mom's face flashed in my mind—her frail body lying in that cold hospital bed, thin and plugged to numerous machines.
"I'd rather go to jail than watch her die," I muttered, my voice trembling but firm.
I swallowed hard, my resolve solidifying. There was no turning back now.
I powered up my old, battered laptop; its screen flickered faintly. I set up my VPN, which was my first layer of defense, followed by several proxies to hide my location. Then, I set a timer for 5 minutes. I wasn't just stepping into dangerous territory; I was diving headfirst into the lion's den.
My fingers moved with practiced precision, navigating the dark web. It had been years, but the muscle memory returned like an old friend. I bypassed the initial layers of Valaro's security, my mind laser-focused.
The first firewall stopped me cold.
"Damn it," I muttered, scanning the lines of code. The encryption was dense, designed to catch and flag unauthorized users. It was obvious that whoever created this code knew what they were doing, and definitely had professional training of some sort. Which was something I lacked in spades.
But I didn't let that stop me. I opened a secondary program, one I'd made years ago when I was playing around with some of my hacking creations. It was a worm script that emulated authorized access, burrowing deep into the system's code. My hands were shaking as I launched it.
It worked.
I exhaled sharply, my chest tight with tension. But there was no time to celebrate. The verification algorithms were next, demanding biometric data I didn't have.
"Think, Siara," I muttered, biting my lip. My fingers flew over the keyboard, creating a spoofing program on the fly. It was a gamble—if the system detected my trick, it would shut down and possibly alert authorities.
My heart pounded as I waited. I glanced at the timer. 2 minutes. The seconds dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity. Finally, the system accepted my fake credentials, granting me access.
I was in.
On my screen appeared rows upon rows of digital vaults representing each account, which was valued for more money than I could possibly imagine. My jaw simply fell. But I really wasn't in a position to gawk. Another peek at the timer- and I had less than one minute before the system would automatically reset.
"Twenty thousand," I whispered and continued to type. That's double Mom's treatments.
My finger hovered over the confirmation button, shaking. My breathing caught.
I clicked.
Since the transaction went through, I started covering her tracks. I wiped my tracks off the system, embedding decoy codes at each layer to mislead possible investigators. Every action was well thought out, yet my hands were racing quicker than my brain.
At last, I slammed my laptop shut, my chest heaving just as the timer pinged. Time up. I sighed.
My phone pinged, its sudden noise startling me. I grasped it, and my heart went racing on.
Credit Alert: $20,000.
I just stared at the screen, hands trembling. I'd done it.
"Oh my God," I whispered. At once, the reality of the situation hit me full-blown. Relief and fear wracked my chest, dazing me. I really had done it.
But then I thought of Mom—of the treatments that would now be possible. Tears streamed down my face, a wide smile broke through as I clutched my phone to my chest.
"She's going to live," I sobbed-cackled, my voice breaking. "Mom's going to live."
When the tears finally subsided, exhaustion set in. I set my laptop aside and crawled under my thin blanket, my body heavy with fatigue.
I'd deposit the money at the hospital first thing tomorrow morning.
But for now, I'll sleep. But sleep wouldn't come easily as the thought of danger lurking just outside my door, waiting for me the following day, haunted me. All I could do was shut my eyes and hope.