Mia Eden Flannigan.

Do I look like a Mia to you?

I'm not sure. I don't know what a Mia is supposed to look like a voice in her mind replies, as she looks at her face is the magnifying mirror.

The reflection sends back the image of a porcelain skinned young woman, whose face is marred with freckles, contrasting with the clear sapphire color of her eyes and foxy auburn of her curled hair escaping the tight bandage on her head.

Mia Eden Flannigan. That's what the State of New York driving license bearing her picture says. According to it, her birthdate is November 26. She is a 5'10 tall, 27 years old who resides at 905 east 37th St, Apt.7, 10016, NYC, NY.

Except, the address can't be correct because it doesn't place her home in Murray Hill, mid- Manhattan, but just a tad past that...past Glick Park, and in the middle of the East river!

The police officer had a smirk on his face when he informed her of that particular detail.

They were in a hospital room. Hers by all accounts. She had had surgery the previous day. The entire day, the operation lasting over 15 hours, 2 teams of surgeons relaying each other.

She was recovering well according to the attending who had examined her in the previous hour when she had woken up. She was fully alert and responsive. And fit enough to talk to the police...

Well, except that she didn't recall anything. Even her own name didn't sound familiar on her lips.

A team of police officers had been tending her door to ensure another attempt on her life wasn't made while she recovered from the surgery.

Now she was awake, it was time to justify the expense to the NYPD... except, she was confused.

The police was there to find out who she was.

"See, Mia or whatever your real name is..." officer Mayer's voice had a threatening edge to it, "...before we can investigate who tried to kill you in that alley, it would be useful to know who you actually are..."

She winced, and decided she did not care for this man's tone.

"I believe my driving license and passport are telling you who I am, so with that information, why don't you leave me alone, and actually go investigate?"

She was dlightly smiling, but her eyes were hard as stone, matching her cold tone. She was getting a headache, and would not let this ass see his interrogation technique had an effect on her.

Yet, Officer Mayer got the message loud and clear: she would not be entertaininf his bantering.

"Oh, but I'd love to Miss Flannigan..." he replied in a syrupy tone, goading her, "but first, I need to know where the money came from..."

"What money?" her brows arched in sheer surprise.

"The one found in your handbag." He said, making a slight forward move with his head indicating the piece of leather on the nightstand on her left.

She snatched the bag, and grumbled as her hands fell on a large wallet, "So they tried to kill me but left me a little money...maybe for a cab home..."

The amount of money wasn't really the issue for Tom Mayer, -after all, this was America and people were free to have as much cash as they wanted on their person if they wanted to...-, but, he needed to see the look on her face when she examined the bills found. They were quite unusual in their form, and led to the presence of police officers guarding her door until a reasonable explanation was provided...

Her handbag, only piece of belongings discovered along her body in the street she had been found, contained a driving license, a US passport, a Swiss wallet which money clip held twelve 10,000$ bills and seventeen 500 hundred dollars bills, a Mac lip gloss, and nothing else.

Clearly robbery wasn't the motive that landed a bullet in her head, since her money and IDs were untouched.

Or maybe the killer was just smart, such banknotes were bound to make you noticeable and noticed, no matter where you spend or cash them out...

Or maybe they didn't care one bit, since it appeared the IDs, at least the driving licence so far was fake....

Had something else gone missing? He had asked her. She didn't know. She couldn't remember.

Right now, as she was laying the bills in front of her, she felt herself pale, she could feel the color literally drain from her cheeks.

"Is this a joke?" she looked up the officer in front of her who was openly staring at her.

"nope Miss Flannigan, this ain't a joke, in fact, we would like you to explain...These are just not a couple of c-notes..."

"I am aware, so I gather they are real?"

"You don't know if they're real? You think it's monopoly money?"

"I don't know. I d-don't remember them...I...I..." she stuttered, at loss for words, feeling her heart-rate jump.

"You don't remember carrying over 125,000$ on you?" he was writing on small notepad.

"No." she mumbled, staring at the bills, blinking rapidly as she tried to force herself to remember something, anything.

The room stayed silent until Tom Mayer, said, "Well, try to get some rest then, to help with the memory... and if you recall anything, my card is on your bed stand drawer, do not hesitate to call my cell. Day or night."

He cleared his throat as he met her glistening eyes and got up from the chair he had been sitting in and which had been giving him a vantage point of view on Mia Eden Flannigan.

I don't need this, was the thought in the detective's mind as he exited the room and through the hospital door window watched her rip his card to shreds.

I don't need this, was the thought in Mia's mind, as she had opened the drawer taking the business card out to read the name on it. Tom Mayer. She wouldn't need his help; that was for sure. She tore the card.

What an ass! She shook her head as her focus returned to the money lying on her lap. This was much more important than replying to the police. She had the feeling, this was more important than anything.