Betrayal can only happen if you love.
John LeCarre

Part two: Sara – San Francisco, 1988

Sara idly folded one leg over the other, barely taking in the heavy buzz of city traffic, as her attention remained riveted to her book, Sense and Sensibility.

Her leg cramped up, and she glanced down at her watch, shifting slightly on the bus stoop.

Other people her age had a car by now, but she wasn't about to complain about the fact that she didn't. Every last penny she earned from her part-time job at Roy's Diner went into her Harvard account, and there it would stay.

Sure, her current foster family were great, but she wasn't going to rely on them for financial support. They had a biological daughter of their own to get through college, and they were just managing to survive off Marty's fisherman wage anyway. No. Ever since she was thirteen years old, she had learnt that only person to rely on was herself.

The bus hissed as it shuddered to a halt, and she climbed on, immediately resuming her reading at the chapter she had left off.

She had already been skipped a year ahead, and graduation was fast approaching. She was waiting to hear whether or not she had been accepted for a full academic scholarship to Harvard, while trying to pretend it wouldn't shatter all of her dreams if she didn't.

Harvard had been her goal for years now. The epitome of proof that she would not end up like her mother, and that she had the ability to make something of herself.

It took half-an-hour to reach the Silverman house in the outer, coastal suburbs of the city, and she clutched her book under her arm, hopping onto the sidewalk. It was a short walk to the modest, neat little two-story house at the end of the street, and she took her time, zipping up her jacket as the frigid ocean wind gusted inland.

Her foster sister's pink bicycle was laid out on the driveway, and she absently shifted it so Marty wouldn't run over it when he came home from the docks.

She was almost at the front door when a shadow caught her eye along the narrow road running down to the small inlet along the side of the Silverman house, and she realised a rusty, beaten-up blue Chevy was parked under the trees there, partially obscured from view.

Sighing deeply, she dumped her backpack on the front porch, striding slowly down over the lawn. A darkened figure leant casually against the rear door, and didn't move until Sara neared slowly.

The late afternoon light panned over their roughened features, and Sara took a moment to recognise the features.

"Hey, kiddo. Remember me?"

Sara paused on the dirt track, eyeing the figure warily. "Blake? What are you… doing here?"

He older brother blinked back at her steadily, rapping his knuckles vaguely against the side of his car. "That's quite a way to greet your brother, Sara".

"I haven't seen you since I was fourteen", Sara retorted icily.

He nodded, looking down guiltily. She assumed he was supposed to look guilty. She didn't trust his motives in the slightest. "You know I would've gotten you out of all this shit if I could have", he said earnestly. "But look at me, Sar. I'm not ready to have a kid around".

"I'm seventeen, Blake", she said briskly.

He bit his lip, sensing he was not making an ideal impression on her. "Right. I'm sorry".

She folded her arms over her midsection, warding away the cold as well as using it as a self-protective gesture. "What do you want?" she said impatiently.

Blake was four years older than her, and rarely around by the time their parents' arguments really escalated. He was only in the system for a year, and as soon as he was out, he was out. No looking back. No coming back for her.

"Okay", he said evenly, stuffing his hands gingerly in the pockets of his leather jacket. "I need your help".

She stared at him. Unlike her, he was clearly well along the family track.

"You need money", she guessed shrewdly.

He didn't deny it. "Well, yeah".

Sara narrowed her eyes. "I don't have any", she snapped angrily. "Does it look like I have money?"

Blake lifted an eyebrow. "What about your family? They must have some".

Sara glared. "They don't", she said forcefully. This wasn't happening. She wanted him gone.

Blake stared at her, rather helplessly. "Look, Sara, you think I'm proud of myself here? Hitting up my kid sister for money? This is… This really matters, Sara. I wouldn't be asking if it didn't".

"What do you mean?" she asked carefully.

He drew in a breath, frowning. "Look, they're… I'm in a bit of trouble. I might be in danger. That's all you need to know. Sara… if you don't help me, they'll… I need your help, kiddo. I promise; when I get a chance, I'll make it up to you, stay out of your life, whatever. But you're my last chance."

Sara felt a cold shiver run through her, but it wasn't from the cold. She would never give him her Harvard money. Ever.

"I don't have any", she said desperately.

Blake closed his eyes, indicating the house behind them pointedly. "No, but they probably do. Right?"

Sara stared at him; every nerve ending in her body screaming against the reply she knew was forthcoming. "They have… They have a stash hidden away. For emergencies", she blurted unwillingly.

Blake stared at her intently. "How much?"

She told him.

He was eyeing her dangerously now. "I need you to steal it, Sara. For me".

She swallowed, feeling her hands shaking. She knew she was trapped, and it was entirely self-inflicted. She could never betray her brother, not if it ostensibly led to his death. But the Silvermans… they were the closest thing to a real family she had ever had.

"Please", Blake murmured desperately.

She lowered her gaze, shivering involuntarily. "O-okay. I'll… I'll get it to you tomorrow. Is that okay?"

When the Silvermans were asleep, she crept up to the attic. She wasn't even supposed to know the money was up there. She had found it one day, when Amy threw a ball up into the window. It was hidden under some floorboards, which came dislodged when she stepped on them.

She bent, stuffing the wads off cash unsteadily into her backpack. Then she climbed out onto the sloping roof, and broke the window from the outside, carefully using a balled up rag to protect her fists from the impact. She knew enough about physics to understand which way a robber would smash the glass.

As soundlessly as possible, she attempted to make the attic room look ransacked, and then tiptoed back to her room.

In the morning, Marty spotted the broken window and they called the cops. They assumed it was some rogue teenager on a random burglary, and never apprehend a suspect.

The Silvermans lost their money, and Sara went away to college soon after, never being contacted by her brother again.

The guilt at her crime overwhelmed her, and Sara began to save her money to pay back the Silvermans. She never told them why. She said she was grateful for their kindness, in taking her into their home. And they believed her, because she was smart, sweet, innocent Sara Sidle, and nothing like her mother.