Chapter 3 - Returning the Debt
I didn't sleep a single minute that night.
The thirty thousand dollars sat on my kitchen table like a live grenade. Thirty thousand dollars meant my mother’s next six months of oxygen therapy were secured. It meant the hospital collection agencies would stop calling three times a day. It meant I could buy groceries without calculating the tax down to the last penny at the register.
It was salvation. And it was poison.
Men like Alessandro Romano didn't give thirty thousand dollars away out of kindness. They gave it to create debts. They gave it because once you took their money, you belonged to them.
At 7:00 AM, after ensuring my mother had her morning medication and that the home health aide had arrived, I put the money back into the linen envelope. I slid it into my inner coat pocket, zipped my jacket over it, and walked down to the bus stop.
I took the line that ran straight into the financial district, where the old stone bank buildings gave way to gleaming glass towers.
The Romano Headquarters occupied the top three floors of the St. Charles Commerce Building. The lobby was lined with white marble, guarded by three men in dark suits who looked far more like private mercenaries than corporate security.
I walked up to the high marble desk. The young woman sitting behind it looked at my faded jacket and worn sneakers with polite condescension.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I’m here to see Alessandro Romano,” I said.
“Mr. Romano does not take unscheduled visitors. Do you have an appointment?”
“Tell him Clara from Rosie’s Diner is here to return his envelope.”
The secretary blinked, her fingers hovering over her keyboard. She looked at me, then at the guard standing near the elevators. She pressed a button on her desk phone, speaking in a low, rushed whisper.
Ten seconds later, the elevator doors chimed open.
Victor Russo stepped out, dressed in a flawless navy suit. He walked straight across the marble lobby toward me, his silver eyebrows arched in quiet surprise.
“Miss Davis,” Victor said, his voice deep and raspy. “I didn't expect to see you here this morning.”
I pulled the heavy linen envelope from my coat pocket and held it out to him in the open lobby. “Take this back.”
Victor looked at the envelope, then smiled faintly, shaking his head. “Mr. Romano doesn't take refunds, Clara.”
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“I don't take bribes,” I replied flatly. “Take it back, or I leave it on this counter.”
Victor looked at me for a long moment, then stepped aside, gesturing toward the open elevator doors. “He’s on the thirty-second floor. Tell him yourself.”
