The next morning, Addison wakes up with a dull headache and a plan. First and foremost, she needs pain medicine immediately, then needs to clean the wound on her face. Obviously. Next, and most important part of her plan,divide her newly acquired money. Bills, car payment, mechanic shop, the whole nine yards. Everything she hasn't been able to properly afford for the past few months will get taken care of, finally. If there's anything left — which she doubts, considering she's very behind on her rent — she'll split it three ways: savings account, next month's rent fund, and then something nice for herself. Maybe a new pair of shoes, or a nice dress, or a good bra, maybe even a professional haircut. She hasn't decided yet.

She and Bree spent hours coming up with the plan. After, of course, popping open a bottle of the fancy wine and pouring themselves glasses. And, she remembers, Bree conving Addison for fifteen straight minutes not to look a gift horse in the mouth (whatever that means) and just accept the money. It wasn't like Addison had any way of finding who sent her the box. It had to have been dropped off, and no one has working security cameras that deep in Zombietown. That's just asking to get robbed.

In Addison's opinion, Bree was a little too pushy about Addison quietly taking the money. Even though she managed to play it off last night. But, it's weird. She's never been like this before. She questions everything, all the time. But she's been deflecting and waving everything off all night. Like why she had a change of heart about setting Addison up with Bonzo's friend, Zed. It's all very weird, but Addison only has time for one puzzle today, and it's the money.

After taking two Advils and replacing the gross gauze on her face with a simple band-aid, Addison goes back to her room, sitting on her bed with her laptop. She logs onto her mobile rent website, ready to check how much she owes for this month…and last month. The gift money might not be enough to cover it all. She has not been managing well with paying rent on a two bedroom apartment. She knows, she should've gone groveling to her parents for help, or maybe gotten them to help her get out of her lease. She got busy. Too busy to beg for help without sounding like a complete and utter failure. In her defense, she got busy! She works pretty much every day, and when she's not working she's forced to go and help her mother with chores because she's 'too injured' and 'doesn't feel well enough,' even though she's been fully recovered from her accident for almost three months now.

She logs in, ready to cringe at the large, red numbers at the top of her screen — but it's blank. Completely, entirely blank. No itemized list of numbers reminding her of the dozens of late fees and warnings, no insane rental payment due. Just a big fat zero.

She leans in closer, not believing her eyes. Maybe she hit her head when she went down last night. But her eyes don't lie. She checks the upper right corner, and her name is still there. She checks the date, the time, everything, but it's all correct. Her rent is gone.

Switching to the 'Payment History' tab, she quickly finds out it's not her mind playing tricks on her or a glitch in the system. A checking account that doesn't belong to her, or her parents or her cousin, paid the full two thousand, seven hundred and sixty dollar charge on her account late last night.

She stares at her computer screen for what feels like minutes. Unable to form proper, functional thoughts, brain and expression completely blank.

Her phone buzzes on the nightstand, effectively snapping her out of reprieve.

Okay. Time for some logical thinking. Next steps type of brainstorming and planning. She can't have that much money sitting around in cash.

Okay. First thing she'll do…

Okay.

Okay.

Start from the beginning. The only logical, or semi-logical, explanation for this is that whoever found her purse and gave her all the money also somehow paid her rent and cleared all of her charges. Should she be worried about a stranger having access to her rent account? Yeah, she should. But that's the least of her worries right now.

Someone was…kind enough to pay off her debt. One she didn't even know was so high, but she's honestly pretty glad is gone now. She can use all the money from the stranger — maybe the same as the rent-payer, maybe not — for whatever she wants. Probably to fix her car. She's more concerned with finding the stranger now. If not to return the money she definitely doesn't want to take, then to thank them profusely and find out what the hell kind of strings they attached to two thousand, four hundred dollars. And rent.

She springs out of bed, intending on going and washing up. She needs to clear her head, come up with a game plan, something. And pee, something she completely forgot when she was changing her gauze.

She needs to find whoever sent the box. Yes. That is the logical next step. They may not have signed their name, but they probably touched the box and the wine and the money. It'd be so easy to call her dad or cousin, get them to do her a favor and run the fingerprints through their system. Not that she assumes whoever sent her the stuff would be in the police system.

Plus, she tries to avoid her family at all costs. So that idea is out…

But, whoever sent the box wrote her a note! It may not be signed, but the handwriting seemed pretty unique and messy, and the watermark on the back…had to be distinctive. She can use that. She will use that!

She runs to the living room, grabbing the note from the box, then goes back and sits on her bed. It balances on her left knee, and she picks up her sketchbook from her nightstand, putting it on her right knee. She spent all night analyzing the note, she could draw it from memory. But it needs to be perfect. It takes a few minutes, and she does it three times before she gets one she actually likes.

The weird seven-like symbol sits on the beige page before her. She grabs her phone, taking a picture of it and heading straight to the reverse image search. If she's learned anything after years of watching Catfish the TV Show, being the daughter of the chief of police, and being the favorite cousin of Seabrook's best detective, it's how to find a lot of information with next to nothing.

Reverse image search tells her it's a Greek letter, the zeta, the original Z. Not much else. She adds a Seabrook filter to the search and gets…very strange results. Most of it is nothing, until she stumbles upon some lame blog, AceysDish, run by three kids she vaguely remembers from the cheerleading team in high school. At least, they look familiar in their blog header, an overly stylized banner with the three of them in various poses and the cheesy tagline 'the Aceys are on the casey.'

The post that the search result takes her to is titled. "10 Ways to Know if You're in Seabrook's Secret Mafia," which is absolutely not what she expects.

Written by Lacey Adams, who, if Addison recalls correctly, was her cousin, Bucky's, beard for three years, from the end of high school and Bucky's first two years of college. Former Mighty Shrimp cheer assistant captain, two years under Bucky and one year under Addison.

"No. 1: Zeta Symbolism in Your Life." Well that was easy. Very, surprisingly easy. Under the header is a collage of the weird seven — the zeta — graffitied on walls, highlighted in yellow in old pictures of businesses and places around town, and even tattooed on some people. Her eyes skim over the small paragraph under the collage.

According to Lacey's post, there's been a secret crime family gaining power and running Seabrook for about fifty years. She refers to them as zombies, zetas, and the Big Z Family. All three sound incredibly stupid, if you ask Addison, but Lacey gives a compelling story. The telltale sign that a person or business is somewhat involved in the secret mob is if they have the lowercase zeta emblem displayed in a significant place — like a family portrait wall or among news clippings and articles hanging but the entrance — or if someone has a zeta tattoo on their left wrist.

Okay?

Addison doesn't bother reading the rest of the article, though she bookmarks it for later so she can find out more — and know what information she'll need to look for if she ever decides to look into a more credible source, because she honestly trusts Lacey Adams about as far as she can throw her. And Addison has about zero upper body strength.

She gets out of bed, grinning like a madman and running to the guest bedroom — Bree's former bedroom — where Bree currently sleeps. Not for long though, because Addison bursts in, shouting Bree's name until her friend startles awake. "Jesus Addy!" Bree groans.

Addison jumps onto the edge of the bed, putting her laptop between them. "I think whoever found my bag is in some sort of secret mafia."

Bree bolts upright, looking at Addison frantically. Maybe a little too frantic, but Addison's too wrapped up in her new discovery to notice or care. "Wh-What? That's crazy! Where…Where'd you get that from?" Bree asks.

"Well, I searched up the symbol on the back, found this article about a possible secret mob in Seabrook," Addison says excitedly. "To be fair, Lacey — remember Lacey, Bucky's ex in high school? Well she wrote it, so it's not super credible. It's also an Acey gossip blog, but still weird!"

Addison turns back to the screen. "I mean, I get robbed, then that same night I get all my stuff back plus a shit-ton of money and fancy wine with a mystery note that a gossip blog says is linked to a secret mafia. That's also apparently been around for years but I've never heard of! Crazy, right?"

She looks back at Bree, grinning, nearly bouncing from the new found energy. But Bree smiles tensely, looking between Addison and the computer screen. Definitely not excited, or even entertained. "It probably means nothing," Bree quickly dismisses.

Addison's smile falls and she lets out a confused, "What?"

Bree avoids her friend's gaze, instead staring at the screen. "Think about it. Why would our silly little town have a secret mafia! I mean, nothing happens here, like, ever. Plus, wouldn't you think your dad or cousin might ever mention a secret mafia?"

Addison starts to say no, but Bree does have a point. Her dad and Bucky don't talk about work around her and her mom very much, but they do spend a lot of Thanksgiving dinner talking about big drug rings and gangs they bust, trying to impress their family. A secret mob would've come up at least once.

"I-I guess. I don't know." Addison looks down at the comforter, suddenly uncomfortable.

Bree sighs, pulling off her bonnet and fluffing out her hair. "What time is it, anyway? I have to head in to work at eleven."

"Uh, a little after eight," she says. "We could hit the diner for breakfast if you want. I could probably get Wyatt to mess up a few orders so we get free stuff."

Bree hums, thinking through the offer. Addison closes her laptop, glancing at the window. Little light comes through the baby blue curtains. It looks like it'll be a rainy day today. Not good for someone without a car.

Bree obviously doesn't want her to question the mystery package and the mystery sender. But what else is she supposed to do all day? She has the day off, originally to go and take care of her mother — who she'll mention again, doesn't need to be taken care of — but she can't get to their place without a car. Her parents live all the way out in the suburbs, and she's almost in the heart of the city.

"Yeah, let's go," Bree says. "Also, you just got twenty four hundred dollars. Why are you worried about spending money!"

"It feels weird taking money from someone I don't know. Hence why I wanna find the guy and return it."

"A guy? What makes you think it's a guy?"

"Handwriting." Addison shrugs. "No girl in Seabrook has handwriting that bad."

Bree opens her mouth, but decides against whatever it is she was going to say, instead nodding.

"Okay, well, what makes you think this guy wants you to find him? Seems pretty purposeful that he left it here and left no way for you to contact him."

"I have the note," Addison offers.

"And?"

"And…" Addison racks her brain. Daughter of the ex-mayor, daughter of the chief of police, favorite cousin of one of Seabrook's best detectives. She can figure out a way to find the sender.

She can't call her dad for help. He'll open an investigation, a real one, which would get messy. Addison would probably have to find a real lawyer too. And her mother is basically useless now.

"Exactly," Bree says. "No plan! So just, leave it alone. Be grateful some stranger decided to do something nice. You got all your stuff back. You got money. You got nice wine. What good would come from finding out the identity of someone who wants to remain anonymous?"

Addison looks down again, her shoulders falling. "Okay," she says quietly. "I'm sorry." She gets up, taking her laptop and heading to the door. "I'm gonna go get dressed." she adds, rushing back to her room.

Bree didn't say anything necessarily mean, yet Addison thinks she might cry. Maybe it's the awful weather making everything feel more drab, maybe it's because she hates annoying others. Whatever it is, it nearly makes her cry. Especially since it's Bree! If Bree stops liking her, then she's got no one! She's already quiet and mostly anti-social, she can't lose the only constant she's ever had.

She stands in front of her closet, attempting to pick out clothes while also thinking if she needs to apologize to Bree. She picks out a pair of jeans and a plain blue cropped tee shirt, as well as a pair of barely worn running sneakers Willa and Eliza gave her for Christmas last year. And she figures she doesn't actually have anything to apologize for, at least not currently. Bree's annoyed, but not mad.

Still, when they meet up by the front door, Addison links arms with her friend as a sign of peace. Bree laughs, and the two of them head out to the diner.

When they get there, Bree goes and snags a table, while Addison heads straight to the kitchen. She makes sure to give a polite wave to the college kid manning the counter on her way. The dining room is sparsely filled, like it usually is, so Wyatt just casually makes food for the people still waiting.

He looks up at the sound of the door, a wide grin stretching across his face. "Well if it isn't trouble," he says. "Here on her day off. Couldn't stay away from me, could you?" He blows her a kiss, making her laugh.

She leans against the shelving lining the wall. "I brought Bree, and we were hoping we could take care of your slip-ups." She nods toward the grill.

Wyatt smirks, chuckling. "Yeah, I got you. Lemme just finish these orders real quick. Come back in fifteen?"

Addison nods, pushing off of the shelves. "Thanks, you rock!"

Before she can get to the door, Wyatt calls after her. "Wait! While I have you…"

She stops, turning back to look at him. He turns down the heat on the grill, taking a deep breath that only makes her nervous. Stiff frame, eyes not really meeting hers, it all meant he had something bad to say.

"I, uh, got a job offer last night," he starts. "Better pay, more hands on stuff. It's up, spectacular, actually. And I'm starting soon. I'm bumping down to part time for the next month, but after that I'm…I'm gonna be done here."

Her shoulders fall, but she tries not to show how much his words affect her. Tries not to show how awful it feels losing one of her best friends. How sucky it is that Wyatt's moving on and up, and she's stuck here, forever.

"That's…great." She forces a smile, however smile and tight. "That's…I'm so proud of you, Wy."

He lifts an eyebrow, slow and cautious. "You're not upset?"

Yes. She absolutely, without a doubt, is. Everyone she knows is doing great things, bettering themselves and their lives and she's still living in the same crappy apartment with the same bland job. Exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally everyday. All along, her parents' have been right: she's wasting her life.

"I'm happy for you. But don't forget to visit me still."

Wyatt laughs, scratching the back of his neck. "How could I? You're my favorite person."

Tears sting the back of her eyes. She nods, not trusting her voice.

Still, Wyatt crosses the space between them, wrapping her up in his arms. She buries her face in his shoulder, a few tears escaping. Wyatt rubs her back, saying softly, "Don't be sad, we've still got a few weeks together. And I'll still be in town after that."

She nods again, sniffling hard. She pulls out of his arms, forcing down her feelings. It's just a bad day.

"Gah, I need food," she jokes lightly, rubbing at her eyes.

Wyatt smiles. "I'll get right on it."

Addison turns around, wiping her eyes again then leaving the kitchen. She finds Bree at a booth in the back corner, typing away on her phone. Addison slides in the seat across from Bree, who finally looks up, a soft gasp leaving her mouth. Before she can ask anything, Addison says, "Wyatt's gonna make us some food. Dealer's choice, so, don't be mad."

Bree nods slowly, the worry never leaving her face. Addison shrugs, wiping her probably red eyes again before pulling out her phone, signaling Bree not to ask. She doesn't want to talk about it, otherwise she'll start sobbing in the diner. Which would be bad, considering she works here.

Luckily — well, unluckily if she's being honest — she pulls it out just as her mother calls. Bree leans over, catching sight of Missy Well's contact picture, and frowns. "Don't answer!"

Addison looks up at Bree, frowning. She always answers her mom. It makes life easier. It causes her unnecessary stress and anxiety, sure, but either she answers now and gets shit, or answers later and gets shit plus gets chewed out for ignoring her mother.

"It's my mom."

"She's just gonna stress you out," Bree points out, a knowing look on her face.

Bree doesn't let up, and Addison doesn't have it in her to disappoint Bree and listen to her mother's nagging. She sighs, sending it to voicemail and adding a quick 'in the shower!' text as an excuse.

"I don't know why you haven't blocked her yet," Bree says offhandedly. "All she does is stress you out."

Addison shrugs lamely. She may not like her, but she's still her mom!

Her phone starts ringing again. Addison gives Bree a pointed look, an almost 'I-told-you-so.' Addison reaches, but Bree grabs it first, sending the call straight to voicemail.

Addison blanches at her friend. "Bree!"

Bree starts typing, probably a long rambling message Addison will have to damage-control later. "You're taking the day off," Bree states definitively. "No work, no mom. Just, enjoy yourself!"

Addison huffs, but can't argue much. Bree holds her phone hostage all throughout breakfast. Even though Addison tries not to worry, her whole body tenses every time her phone vibrates. She doesn't even know if it's her mom most of the time! Though, no one else really calls her… Either way, she feels like fucking Pavlov's dog. That poor dog.

Bree finally gives her her phone back once it hits ten thirty, and makes it very clear it's only because she has to go to work. "But, I hope you enjoyed your mother-free breakfast," Bree adds with a smile.

She didn't. But, Bree thinks she's helping, even though she's only setting off her anxiety. Addison doesn't tell her that. That'd be mean, and she wouldn't want that.

"I'll see you later?" Bree asks.

Addison nods, fidgeting with her phone like a child. She won't check it until Bree leaves, she decides. "If you're not busy tonight we can do something stupid like we're in college," she jokes.

Bree laughs. "Can't wait to see what party-animal Addy comes up with," she teases. Slightly hurtfully, Addison would add. Bree always teases her because she never does anything fun, ever. But Addison thinks movie nights are just fine, no need to go to the crowded club and get so wasted she can't think straight.

Addison stands up, walking with Bree out of the diner. The dark clouds from earlier started to fade while they were eating, the sky almost a bright blue. She bids her friend farewell, deciding to walk home before she has to deal with the shit storm of crazy Bree's meddling caused.

Unfortunately, before Bree's even fully left the parking lot, Addison's phone starts ringing. She answers it on instinct, bringing it to her ear. Not even a second later, her mother shrieks in the air — Addison hasn't even fully brought it to her ear yet! She doesn't need to, already knowing the full scale of her mother's bitching. It's all the same, and then some: she's a horrible, ungrateful waste of space daughter who doesn't even have the common courtesy to check on her disabled mother.

But, instead of getting upset to the point of tears, she rolls her eyes. Actually, seriously rolls her eyes. She doesn't have it in her to cry over this. Her mother has always been rude and dramatic, and Addison typically puts up with her bullshit.

But in all actuality, Addison can't even find truth in anything she's saying. Maybe she is horrible and ungrateful, maybe, but her mother doesn't need to be constantly coddled by Addison. She's not even really hurt, she's dramatic! A car accident months ago that she was barely admitted to the hospital for, where she can go to her stupid hiking trips with her sister and yoga with her stupid soccer mom friends, but going to the grocery store is too much for her healing bones, and she just has to have Addison come and do her grocery shopping and water her stupid plants and cook her stupid dinner and be her stupid maid!

She's sick of it! There's more important things going on out there! Hell, Addison got robbed last night, and she knows her mother wouldn't care enough to check up on her.

She's not taking shit she doesn't deserve anymore. To hell with that. To hell with all of that!

She brings the phone to her ear, cutting off her mother mid-rant. "Mom, do you have something actually important to say or are you just bugging me because you're bored with your life?" she snaps.

She hears her mother blanch, spluttering and stumbling over her words. Her own chest swells with warmth, an almost smug grin spreading over her face. Is this what it's like to stand up for herself? Because it feels kind of awesome.

"Don't take that tone with me. If Danny were here, he'd have some respect for his parents. All you do is complain and do absolutely nothing with your life. Wasting everyone's time!"

"Actually, mom, you're wasting my time." She hangs up before her mother can get out another sentence.

It takes a second for the reality of what she just did to set in. She hung up. On her mom! That's like the equivalent of being sixteen and dying her hair purple and getting a back tattoo!

Her phone rings again, and she nearly answers. But she remembers what just happened, and not in the mood to get degraded and torn to pieces, sends the call to voicemail. In fact, she puts her mother on silent in total. She puts her whole phone on silent.

No more going through the motions of life, letting people walk all over her, none of that. The sun shines brightly above, and she smiles, looking up at the clearing skies. It's a new day, and she's a new Addison. She's going to do what she wants, on her day off.