Three

Zara Shaw adjusted her cream blazer, her eyes sweeping over the battered fa?ade of The Eclipse Cinema.

She was feeling better than she should have about what she was looking at—because this was her bread and butter.

A clapped-out business on its last legs? Bring it on. She was a business advisor sent by Heritage Trust Bank to assess a loan application and was good at what she did. No, that was false modesty. Zara was great, and she knew it.

Zara knew what people thought of banks, and, for the most part, they were correct. But they didn’t know Zara. For her, it wasn’t just about securing loans; it was about preserving a piece of local heritage.

That’s what made her excellent at her job. She truly loved coming to the rescue. She loved meeting business owners in a bind and making them feel like it wasn’t over.

She loved walking into a disaster and, with just a good attitude, making everything better.

Zara had been briefed on the situation at The Eclipse: a burst pipe, massive water damage, and a pile of repairs that far exceeded the cinema’s insurance coverage.

The numbers were daunting, and Zara knew that Tess Fitzgerald, the cinema’s owner and loan applicant, was facing an uphill battle. She needed money to climb.

Zara’s first job was to look at the numbers. How much did they need? How much did they make? What shape would a loan take? How long would it take to pay off?

She entered through the front doors, greeted by the unmistakable smell of damp and musty carpets. The foyer was lined with industrial fans and dehumidifiers.

A woman was standing behind the concession stand, partly turned away from her, staring at an empty popcorn dispenser. Her skin was deep brown, her hair a crown of tight, coiled curls cropped close to her head. Her petite body was held tight, shoulders hunched, and her neck disappearing into a well-worn grey t-shirt that might have been black once. Even from the back, Zara could tell it was the body of a stressed woman. Zara’s heart went out to her.

That lasted until she turned around.

‘You! You’re an hour late!’ the woman said, her large dark eyes blazing, her thick eyebrows arched in rage. The emotion happened to suit her strong features. Not that Zara cared if Theresa Fitzgerald was a looker. All she cared about was the accusation flying from her cupid’s bow mouth. Zara wasn’t late. She was never late.

She checked her watch. ‘I’m right on time.’

‘You were supposed to be here at twenty past eleven,’ the woman said, walking around the concession stand. She was only about five-two, but my god, she packed a lot of intimidation into that small stature. And Zara was not easily intimidated.

‘That’s not what I-I-I had,’ Zara stuttered, shocked. This woman needed her, and she was talking to her like crap. This never happened. ‘Are you Theresa Fitzgerald?’ Zara asked, trying to reset with some politeness. Also, she wondered if this woman might be a random escapee from an asylum for the criminally insane.

‘Tess,’ the woman corrected.

‘Tess,’ she repeated. ‘I’m Zara Shaw from Heritage Trust Bank. I’m here to assist with the financial aspects and help you navigate this situation.’

‘Yes, I know. I’m supposed to be at the doctor in half an hour, so we better get a wriggle on,’ the woman said.

Zara tried not to look stunned. Or more stunned, to put it accurately. ‘You scheduled a doctor’s appointment for today? You know I’m going to be here a while, don’t you?’

‘I scheduled it weeks ago because I didn’t have a crystal ball,’ the woman said.

‘Can you reschedule?’ Zara asked, wondering what the hell was going on here. Did Tess not know this appointment was a big deal? She was acting like Zara was here to put in fibre optic Wi-Fi.

‘Aren’t you just here to give it the once over?’ Tess asked.

‘Not exactly.’

‘Well, I can’t reschedule. It’s an important appointment.’

‘Right. Well, why don’t you give me the tour, and then you can leave me with the books if you like.’

‘The books?’ Tess asked.

‘Yep.’

‘As in our financials?’ Tess checked.

‘That’s correct.’

‘It was on the laptop. Which is broken from water damage,’ she shrugged.

‘You don’t have cloud backup?’

‘I was going to get that. But then I didn’t,’ Tess said. Zara thought there would be more to that story. There wasn’t.

‘OK, well, then what you’ll need to do is regather those records. Any paper records you have for a start. Bank records, credit card statements, vendor and supplier invoices, all that can be put together again.’

‘Oh Christ,’ the woman groaned.

‘I’ve reviewed the initial reports, and I understand the insurance coverage isn’t quite what you were hoping for,’ Zara said, feeling steadier. The vibe was more familiar now. A stressed owner and Zara coming to save the day.

Tess nodded, her expression a mix of frustration and resignation. ‘They’re covering a fraction of the total cost. We’re left with a shortfall that’s… well, it’s fucking massive, to put it bluntly.’

Zara gave her most reassuring smile. ‘I understand. My role here is to help you secure a loan to cover the additional costs and provide some strategic guidance on how to manage this crisis.’

‘Strategic guidance?’ Tess repeated. ‘What does that mean?’

‘I’d like to look at everything before we get into that.’

Tess put her hands on her hips. ‘Alright. Let’s leave it.’

‘Sorry?’

‘I’m cancelling. I have to go anyway.’

‘You’re cancelling the appointment?’ Zara said.

‘Yes,’ Tess said.

‘That I’m already at?’ Zara checked.

‘That’s right.’

‘Are you saying you are cancelling the loan application?’ Zara asked.

Tess nodded. ‘Yeah. So, see yourself out.’ And she walked out of the building.

Zara was alone, left with a profound feeling of ‘What the fuck’. She looked around her at the cinema—it was a shit heap, alright.

But Zara knew what it used to look like. A gorgeous art deco building filled with some of Zara’s loveliest childhood memories. She’d wanted to get it back up on its feet.

But that was not happening. Because Tess Fitzgerald was absolutely bonkers.