VICTORIA STARTED RESELLING BUSINESS
At twenty-two, Victoria looked a decade older, with hands permanently red from the industrial cleaning fluid she used at the office blocks.
Her eyes were rimmed with the grey fatigue of someone who slept in four-hour snatches.
Now, the only job that had sustained them for six years was gone, she would have to find another job without the knowledge of her sisters.
Any news about her joblessness could force them to withdraw from school out of pity, especially Clara who had threatened many times.
The following morning, Victoria was about to hit the street. Clara hurried out with her faulty shoe.
"Vic, the soles are coming off again," Clara whispered, holding up a scuffed school shoe.
The twins were also stripping out of their clothes faster than Victoria could sew the hems.
Victoria didn't look up from the kitchen table, where she was buried under her thoughts
"Put some duct tape on the inside, Clara. Just until Friday. I will replace your shoes, I promise…."
"Friday is for the electricity bill," Celine noted, her voice flat. "If we pay the bill, we don't get the shoes. If we get the shoes, we will eat toast for dinner until Tuesday." She was hunched over a library book on advanced calculus, her brow furrowed in concentration.
Victoria closed her eyes for a moment, knowing fully well that such math was always a no-win scenario, and house rent was around the corner.
The next afternoon, while carrying a heavy bag of discarded office supplies toward a skip, Victoria ran into a familiar face—a childhood friend.
"Vicky? Vicky Sterling?"
She froze.
Standing by a rusted van was Lucas Lopez.
A boy she hadn't seen since the garden parties of her childhood. He looked different—his designer clothes replaced by a rugged denim jacket and a headset tucked behind his ear—but his grin was just as warm.
"Lucas?" she breathed, feeling a bit shy in her stained overalls.
"I heard what happened many years ago. I'm sorry, Vic," he said kindly, stepping over a puddle.
He looked at the heavy bag she was carrying.
"Are you working for the man? Cleaning up his mess for pennies?"
"I'm just surviving, Lucas. There's a difference," she replied softly.
Lucas leaned against his van, which was packed high with mismatched boxes.
"Survival is fine, but it's a slow death. Look at this." He handed her a high-end digital camera.
Though scuffed, its lens was clear.
"I found it at a liquidator's auction for fifty quid. I'll sell it tonight on the forums for three hundred."
Victoria looked at the camera, then at the van.
"You buy trash and sell it as treasure?"
"I buy undervalued assets," Lucas replied with a wink. "People are lazy, Vic. They want things gone fast. I refurbish them and find the right buyers. You were always great at puzzles when we were kids. This is just a puzzle with a dollar sign."
A warmth ignited inside Victoria, the first real feeling since her last word with Mr. Cole.
"Teach me," she said eagerly.
Lucas hesitated.
"It's a grind, Vic. You need a bit of startup capital. At least £100 to start."
Victoria thought about the shoe money, the electricity bill, Celine's calculus book, and the rent.
"I have eighty pounds," she lied. "My two twin sisters can research prices faster than any computer."
"Deal," Lucas nodded happily.
That night, suspended everything including the mailing job, and met Lucas at a warehouse clearance.
Lucas taught her some strategies needed to be successful in reselling the business.
Under flickering fluorescent lights, Victoria spotted a crate of "vintage" leather briefcases—mildewed, forgotten, and priced at ten pounds for the lot.
"Those are junk, Vic," Lucas warned.
"Nobody wants moldy leather."
"They don't want the mold," she said quickly, her mind racing. "They want the 'Sterling' look. Celine can clean them up, Clara can sew the linings, and we'll sell them as 'Restored Heritage' pieces to law students at the university."
"Good luck," Lucas said with a playful smile.
Three days later, Victoria stood outside the University Law Library. She had five polished briefcases, their brass fittings gleaming like gold.
By noon, she had made four hundred pounds.
That evening, she entered her little flat and placed a brand-new, sturdy leather boot in front of Clara. Then she slid a professional-grade financial calculator across the table to Celine.
"What's this?" Celine asked, eyes wide.
"This is the end of the cleaning jobs," Victoria said confidently, feeling a new sense of hope.
"From now on, we won't work for people. We own the things they want."
That sounded a little like a progress__ Clara jingled softly.
"You mean reselling business?" Celine asked with her calculus notebook handy.
"Yes," Victoria nodded.
"I will wake up by 4:00 AM to help sort the reselling inventory. Celine will prepare our breakfast. We should be done before the school bus," Clara said excitedly.
"Besides" Celine cut in, " our graduation is next week"
Victoria pulled them into a gentle hug.
As Victoria looked outside the window, she saw a black sedan idling across the street. Inside sat a young man she had recently started seeing—Julian Pence.
A guy who looked at the dilapidated building with a sneer of disgust. He was beginning to look at her in a way she couldn't explain easily.