Chapter 5
His office never felt like a room I was allowed to sit in.
He didn't tell me to sit. He just pulled the chair out from the front of his desk and nodded once. I sat because my legs were shaking and I didn't have anywhere else to put myself. The cream hallway light cut in through the open door behind me. He closed it.
He set my phone down on the dark wood of his desk, screen up. The call had ended an hour ago but the number still sat there in the recents. He didn't touch it right away.
"How much was the original loan?" he asked.
I swallowed. My throat was raw from crying. "Four thousand."
He looked at me. Not with surprise, just with that steady hold he had, like he was waiting for the rest to come out without me having to force it.
"It was for my brother. He needed an inhaler setup and two ER visits last winter. I didn't have insurance that covered it. A woman at the diner where I used to bus tables gave me a card. Said they approved same day."
"What name was on the card?"
"I don't remember. It was just a phone number. Green card, glossy. Cash Fast or Cash Now, something like that."
He picked up his own phone then, a different one, black, no case. He didn't dial the number from my phone directly. He typed it into a text first and sent it to someone. His thumb moved fast.
"He's sick," I said, because the silence was too loud. "Asthma, bad. He's twelve. The fees started adding on when I missed one payment by three days. Then they said I owed six, then eight."
He nodded, eyes still on his screen. A reply came back. He read it, his jaw shifting once.
He turned his phone so I could see. A name and a business listing. Nothing fancy. A strip-mall address out on Route 9, next to a check-cashing place and a tire shop. A photo of a storefront with bars on the window.
"Ever been to this address?" he asked.
I shook my head. "No. Everything was over the phone. And that one time a guy met me in the parking lot of the grocery store to have me sign. He had a clipboard."
"That the guy who called you tonight?"
"I don't know. Voice sounded different."
He set his phone down and finally picked up mine. He tapped the number and put it on speaker but didn't hit call. He just stared at the digits like they were a face he recognized.
"They do this to everyone," he said. "Four becomes eight on paper. One hour to pay is the script. They did it to make you panic. To make you run to whoever you're staying with and beg."
My hands were in my apron. My knuckles still burned. I tried to tuck them under my thighs but he had already seen.
"How much do they say you owe now?" he asked.
"Eleven thousand, four hundred," I whispered. "They said if I didn't bring five tonight they'd come for my brother."
He didn't flinch. He picked up his phone again and made a call. It wasn't to the crew. It was to someone he knew.
"Marco. Run this name for me," he said, and read the business name off his screen. "Yeah, that one. Green card loans, Route 9. Find the principal. Who holds the note, who collects." He paused, listened. "No, don't call them. Just tell me if they're licensed. And who the collector is."
He hung up. He looked at me for a long second.
"You didn't borrow for clothes or rent," he said. It wasn't a question. "You borrowed so your brother could breathe."
I nodded and my eyes stung again. I didn't want to cry in his office. I had already cried all over his hallway.
His phone buzzed. He answered, listened, and I watched his expression go flat in that way that scared me more than anger would have.
"Unlicensed," he said when he hung up. "Shell company. Note gets flipped between three names so you can't pay it off even if you try. Collection is two guys, former repo. The owner calls himself Jace. That's who had you on that call."
He said the name like it meant something. Jace.
He leaned forward, elbows on his desk. His tattoos pulled against the black satin of his shirt when he moved. His voice dropped.
"I could wire the eleven tonight and they'd send you a receipt and call you next week for another eleven. That's how they eat."
I stared at the wood grain. "I know," I said. "I tried to pay extra last month. Balance went up anyway."
"I'm not paying him," he said.
My head snapped up.
"I'm going to him," he said. "He used your brother as leverage on my property. He put you on your knees in my hallway. He doesn't get money for that."
My stomach turned over. "Please, you don't have to —"
"I know I don't have to." He cut me off, but not harsh. Quiet. Certain. "I'm choosing to. They get one way out with you. I give them a different name to be afraid of."
He slid my phone back across the desk toward me, but he kept his hand on it for a second so I had to look at him.
"You will not answer if they call again," he said. "You will not meet anyone in any parking lot. You understand me, Sadia?"
I nodded. I couldn't speak.
May you like
He let go of the phone. He picked up his own and started typing again, his eyes already somewhere past the office walls, down Route 9 where that barred storefront sat with its green cards in the window.
Outside the door, the hallway stayed warm and silent, as if nothing had happened at all.
