Chapter 1: The Envelope
The coffee pot slipped from my hand.
I watched it fall in slow motion, my tired brain too foggy to react. Hot coffee exploded across the diner floor, splashing my already-stained sneakers. The few customers left at 2 AM didn't even look up.
"Lucia!" Maria's voice cut through my exhaustion. "Girl, you okay?"
I wasn't okay. I hadn't been okay in six months.
"I'm fine," I lied, grabbing the mop. My hands shook as I cleaned up the mess. When was the last time I'd eaten? Breakfast yesterday? The day before?
Maria touched my shoulder. "Honey, sit down for a second."
"I can't. I have to finish—"
"The last customer just left. We're closed." She guided me to a booth and slid into the seat across from me. "You've been working three jobs for months now. You look like a ghost."
I felt like one too. A ghost of the person I used to be, before Mom got sick, before the hospital bills started piling up like some kind of horrible tower that just kept growing and growing.
My phone buzzed on the table. Another notification. I already knew what it was.
Maria saw my face. "Another bill?"
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. If I opened my mouth, I might scream. Or cry. Or both.
"How much do you owe now?"
"Forty-three thousand dollars." The number felt like a weight sitting on my chest. "And that's just the hospital. There's rent, utilities, her medications..." I laughed, but it came out wrong, sharp and broken. "I'm nineteen years old, Maria. I'm supposed to be in college right now, worrying about tests and boys and stupid stuff. Instead, I'm drowning."
Maria was quiet for a moment. Then she leaned forward. "I know someone."
Something in her tone made me look up.
"Someone who can help," she continued. "With money."
I'd heard this before. "I already tried every bank in the city. My credit is terrible, I have no collateral, and I'm barely an adult. Nobody will give me a loan."
"Not a bank." Maria glanced toward the door, like she was checking if anyone was listening. "A private lender. He helps people when nobody else will."
My stomach twisted. "You mean a loan shark."
"I mean someone who understands that sometimes good people end up in impossible situations." Maria pulled out her phone. "My cousin borrowed from him last year when her daughter needed surgery. Yes, the interest rate is high, but he gave her the money when every other door was slammed in her face. She's paying it back, everyone's alive and healthy, and that's what matters."
I wanted to say no. Every TV show, every movie, every logical part of my brain screamed that this was a terrible idea.
But then I thought about Mom in that hospital bed, getting weaker every day because we couldn't afford the treatment she needed. I thought about the eviction notice taped to our apartment door. I thought about the empty refrigerator at home and the way my vision sometimes got blurry from not eating enough.
"How high is the interest?" I heard myself ask.
"I don't know the exact number. But Lucia, you're out of options. I've watched you work yourself to death for six months, and you're not any closer to paying off those bills. You're just getting sicker and more tired."
She was right. I knew she was right.
"What do I have to do?"
Maria typed something on her phone. "I'll give his assistant your number. Someone will contact you tomorrow with the details. Just... be honest about your situation. Don't try to hide anything. He doesn't like people who lie."
A chill ran down my spine. "What happens to people who lie?"
"Nothing, if you just tell the truth from the start." Maria's expression was serious. "My cousin said he was actually nice. Professional. He's a businessman, Lucia, not a monster."
I nodded slowly, trying to convince myself this was true.
We finished closing the diner in silence. My mind kept spinning, creating scenarios, imagining what would happen tomorrow. When we finally locked up and walked to our cars in the empty parking lot, Maria hugged me tight.
"It's going to be okay," she whispered. "You're going to save your mom."
I drove home through empty streets, my old Honda making concerning noises that I didn't have money to fix. Our apartment building looked even sadder at 3 AM, all dark windows and cracked concrete. The eviction notice was still on the door. I ripped it down and crumpled it in my fist.
Inside, I collapsed on the couch without even taking off my shoes. My phone sat on the coffee table, screen dark, like it was waiting for something.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, sunlight was streaming through the window and my phone was ringing.
Unknown number.
My heart started pounding as I answered. "Hello?"
"Is this Lucia Santos?" A woman's voice, professional and cold.
"Yes."
"I'm calling on behalf of Mr. Damien Cross. I understand you're seeking financial assistance."
Mr. Cross. So that was his name. It sounded too normal. I'd expected something scarier.
"I... yes. I need to borrow money."
"Mr. Cross would like to meet with you today to discuss terms. Are you available at 2 PM?"
Today? So soon? "I have to work—"
"Mr. Cross's time is very valuable. If today doesn't work, I'm afraid he won't be able to help you."
I thought about the hospital bill. The eviction notice. Mom's medication running out in three days.
"I'll be there."
The woman gave me an address in the fancy part of downtown, the area where I'd never had any reason to go. Where people like me didn't belong.
"Come alone," she added. "And Miss Santos? Don't be late. Mr. Cross doesn't appreciate people who waste his time."
She hung up before I could respond.
I sat there staring at my phone, at the address glowing on the screen. What was I doing? This was insane. Dangerous. Wrong in every possible way.
But then I checked my bank account: $47.23.
And I looked at the photo on my wall, the one of Mom and me at my high school graduation last year, both of us smiling like the future was full of possibilities instead of nightmares.
I had to go. I had to try.
Even if it meant making a deal with someone who might destroy me.
I stood up and walked to my closet, trying to find something that didn't look like I'd slept in it or spilled coffee on it. My hands were shaking again, but this time not from exhaustion.
This time from fear.
Because deep down, I knew that once I walked through that door at 2 PM, once I sat down across from this Damien Cross and accepted his money, my life would never be the same.
Some debts you can never repay.