Chapter 4 - THE DEBT THAT NEVER SHRANK
Clara's father called at noon.
She was still in the hospital when his name appeared on her phone.
She hesitated before answering.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Clara, sweetheart. Did the money go through?”
She closed her eyes.
“Good afternoon to you, too.”
He laughed nervously.
“I'm sorry. The bank sent another notice.”
“What kind of notice?”
“The loan payment. They say if I don't make it by Monday, they'll begin foreclosure proceedings.”
Clara gripped the phone.
“How much?”
“Six thousand.”
She stared at the hospital ceiling.
Six thousand dollars.
She had transferred nearly every paycheck she earned at the estate. She had stopped buying coffee on the way to work, stopped replacing her worn shoes, and stopped visiting friends because she couldn't justify the cost of train tickets.
Yet the balance never seemed to change.
“Dad, I sent you money last Friday.”
“I know.”
“Where did it go?”
Silence.
“Dad?”
He sighed.
“There were other expenses.”
“What expenses?”
“Clara, please. I don't want to argue.”
She sat up too quickly and felt dizzy.
“I'm not trying to argue. I'm trying to understand why I send you money every week, and every week you tell me we're about to lose the house.”
Her father began to cry.
It was a sound she hated more than anything.
“Your mother would never have let this happen.”
Clara's throat tightened.
Her mother had been dead for three years.
She had left behind a modest home outside Chicago, a small life-insurance payment, and a husband who seemed unable to make a decision without borrowing money.
Clara had taken responsibility because someone had to.
She had not realized responsibility could become a trap.
“I'll call you later,” she whispered.
After ending the call, she sat very still.
A knock sounded at the door.
Tony stood outside holding a paper bag.
“May I come in?”
She nodded.
He placed the bag on the table.
“Soup. Bread. The hospital said you could eat normally if you felt up to it.”
“Thank you.”
He noticed the phone in her hand.
“Bad news?”
“Family business.”
He accepted the boundary.
Then he pulled out a chair.
“I wanted to ask you something about the estate.”
Clara's expression tightened.
“If this is about returning to work—”
“It isn't.”
She waited.
“Have you been sending money to someone every week?”
Her face changed.
“How do you know that?”
“Your payroll records show regular transfers from your salary account. I noticed them when the accountant prepared the medical-leave paperwork. I shouldn't have looked beyond what was necessary, and I won't ask for details unless you want to discuss them.”
Clara looked down.
“It's my father.”
Tony said nothing.
“He borrowed money after my mother died. First for the mortgage, then for repairs, then to cover another loan. I thought I could help until he got back on his feet.”
“And he hasn't?”
“No.”
Tony leaned back.
“Do you know exactly how much he owes?”
“Fifty thousand dollars, according to him.”
“According to him?”
Clara looked up.
Tony's expression was careful.
“I'm not suggesting he's lying. I'm suggesting you deserve to see the documents before sacrificing your life to a number.”
She swallowed.
“I can't abandon him.”
“I'm not asking you to.”
He stood.
“I'm asking you to protect yourself while you help him.”
At the door, he paused.
“One more thing. The estate will cover your treatment and paid leave. You won't owe me anything for it.”
Clara studied him.
“Why are you doing this?”
He looked back at her.
“Because you were employed by me when someone put your life in danger. Taking responsibility is the least I can do.”
May you like
Then he left.
For the first time in months, Clara wondered whether there might be a way to help her father without losing herself in the process.
