Chapter 2 - The Debt My Husband Left Behind
Claraara didn't answer the door.
The man knocked again.
“Mrs. Bennett. We know you're inside.”
She looked toward the kitchen.
Maya stood frozen beside the table, one tiny hand still resting on the birthday cake box.
Claraara whispered:
“Go into the bedroom.”
“Mama—”
“Now.”
Maya obeyed.
Claraara moved toward the door.
Her heart was beating so hard she could hear it.
“What do you want?”
“Your husband owes money.”
“He isn't my husband anymore.”
“He didn't tell us that.”
“He disappeared three years ago.”
“Exactly.”
Silence.
Then the man said:
“He left obligations.”
Claraara's hand tightened around the doorknob.
“I have nothing.”
“We know.”
The word chilled her.
“We know you owe rent. We know the electric company has threatened shutoff. We know your daughter has asthma.”
Claraara stopped breathing.
“You don't talk about my daughter.”
“We can make the conversation easier.”
“Get away from my door.”
The man laughed.
Then his voice changed.
“Tomorrow you'll receive a notice.”
“What kind?”
“Eviction.”
Claraara closed her eyes.
The footsteps finally moved away.
She waited until the building was silent.
Then she opened the door.
Nobody.
Only an envelope on the floor.
Inside was a photograph.
Her husband.
Michael Bennett.
Standing beside two men she didn't recognize.
On the back:
“Your husband stole from the wrong people.”
Claraara sat on the floor.
Michael had been gone three years.
He had cleaned out their savings.
Taken her mother's jewelry.
Transferred loans into Claraara's name.
Then vanished.
She had spent three years believing he had simply abandoned them.
Now she wondered what kind of man she had married.
Maya came running.
“Mama?”
Claraara quickly folded the photograph.
“It’s okay.”
“Are you crying?”
“No.”
Maya touched her cheek.
“You are.”
Claraara pulled her close.
“I just need to fix something.”
The next morning, somebody left a paper bag outside their apartment.
Inside were inhalers.
A week's supply of medication.
Fresh groceries.
And a handwritten note.
“Use these. No repayment.”
Claraara knew immediately who had sent them.
She threw the note away.
The next evening, she found herself standing outside Lauter's sister restaurant, a more upscale location owned by Gabriel Rossy.
She had gone there to return the money.
The security guard nearly laughed when she asked to see Gabriel.
But minutes later, he appeared.
“You came.”
“I can't accept this.”
“You already did.”
“I mean the medication.”
“Keep it.”
“I don't take charity.”
“I know.”
He looked at her.
“That's why I sent medicine instead of cash.”
She frowned.
“How did you know Maya needed an inhaler?”
“I had someone check.”
“You had someone investigate me.”
“Yes.”
“That isn't normal.”
“No.”
He motioned toward a chair.
“Sit.”
She remained standing.
“Why are you helping me?”
Gabriel looked toward the window.
“Because your husband crossed my path.”
Claraara stiffened.
“What did Michael do?”
“That's what I'm trying to find out.”
“Did you know him?”
“Not personally.”
“But you knew his name.”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I didn't know whether you were part of it.”
Claraara's anger rose.
“Part of what?”
Gabriel looked at her.
“Money disappearing from three companies.”
She went still.
“My husband worked construction.”
“That's what he told you.”
“He wasn't a criminal.”
“I didn't say he was.”
“You implied it.”
Gabriel leaned back.
“Your husband's name appeared in an investigation.”
“What investigation?”
“An internal one.”
“Then tell me.”
He slid a folder toward her.
Inside were copies of financial transactions.
Her husband's name.
Amounts.
Dates.
Accounts.
She recognized some of the numbers.
One account had her name attached.
“That isn't mine.”
“I know.”
“He forged my signature.”
“Probably.”
Claraara stared.
“Why would he do this?”
Gabriel answered quietly.
“Because someone convinced him he could get away with it.”
“Who?”
“That is the part I don't know.”
She closed the folder.
“I don't want your help.”
Gabriel stood.
“Then don't call it help.”
“What should I call it?”
“Protection.”
“I don't need protection.”
“Everyone says that until the wrong man finds them.”
Claraara glared.
“You scare me.”
“I know.”
“Then why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn't.”
The answer surprised her.
“Not yet.”
He walked toward the door.
“But you're going to have to decide who scares you more. Me, or the people looking for your husband.”
She returned to work at Russo's that afternoon.
Albert treated her differently.
He was suddenly polite.
Too polite.
“Mr. Rossy called.”
“About what?”
“He bought the bakery.”
Claraara stared.
“What?”
“Effective this morning.”
She laughed once.
“That can't be true.”
Albert showed her the papers.
The building had changed ownership.
The bakery.
The neighboring laundromat.
The apartment block.
All had been purchased by Rossy Holdings.
Claraara looked at him.
“Why?”
Albert swallowed.
“He said he wanted to make sure his customers got what they paid for.”
“I'm not his customer.”
“You might be.”
That evening, Gabriel entered Russo's.
Everyone went silent.
He looked around.
Then at Claraara.
“You're still here.”
“I need the job.”
He looked toward Albert.
“You're fired.”
Albert's face drained.
“What?”
Gabriel didn't raise his voice.
“You throw food away while children go hungry.”
“That isn't illegal.”
“No.”
Gabriel's eyes hardened.
“But it tells me what kind of man you are.”
He turned toward Claraara.
“Come with me.”
She folded her arms.
“I work here.”
“Not anymore.”
“I don't work for you.”
“You do now.”
“I don't want to.”
“Then consider this your severance.”
He handed her an envelope.
Inside was enough money to pay six months of rent.
Claraara slammed it onto the counter.
“I am not for sale.”
Gabriel picked it up.
“You misunderstood.”
He put it back into the drawer.
“I'm not buying you.”
Then he turned toward the kitchen.
“I'm buying time.”
“What does that mean?”
“For your daughter.”
Claraara's voice weakened.
“What did you find?”
Gabriel looked at her.
“Three years ago, Michael disappeared with twelve million dollars.”
She stared.
“What?”
“And now someone believes you know where he hid it.”
“I don't.”
“I know.”
“Then why are they after me?”
Gabriel's face became serious.
“Because Michael didn't disappear alone.”
He walked toward the door.
“He took someone else with him.”
“Who?”
Gabriel stopped.
“Your husband's younger brother.”
Claraara's blood ran cold.
Michael had no brother.
At least, that's what he had told her.
Or maybe he had.
Maybe she had simply stopped asking questions because she had been too busy surviving.
May you like
Gabriel looked back one final time.
“And that brother may still be alive.”
