Page 66 of Negotiating Tactics

As I walked, that silly smile still on my face, my phone buzzed. That smile kicked up brighter when I saw my father’s number.

Even though I hadn’t spoken to him since before my birthday, Noah had kept me distracted. So I was happy to hear from him.

That happiness was short-lived when I read his message.

Call now. 911.

I returned the call without thinking, my heart racing a million miles an hour as a thousand possibilities—none of them good—galloped through my mind.

The last time I’d gotten a call like this, my mother had been gone.

I couldn’t help but fear the same thing now.

“Alex?” my father said, having answered before the phone had completed the first ring.

I had stopped in the center of the sidewalk, breathless as I forced out words. “Daddy, what’s wrong?” I asked.

“It’s…one of the boys. He…” My father sounded panicked, and when he trailed off, then gulped, my worry increased.

“Did he get hurt?” I asked.

“He needs help,” my father said.

It was my turn to gulp. “What can I do?”

“I need you to transfer six thousand dollars to my account,” he said.

I was so distracted, I didn’t even see the person standing in front of me when I started to walk.

“Sorry,” I said, stepping to the side after I bumped into the annoyed-looking man.

I put the phone back to my ear, confusion—hurt—making my movements shaky.

“What?” I asked.

“We need six thousand. The boy’s in trouble, and he needs it quickly. I’ll have it back to you in thirty days,” he said.

I started to lean against the building, the cold of the bricks seeping through my jacket, though the shock of the cold was nothing compared to the shock of what my father was saying.

“If you’re going to have it back in thirty days, you shouldn’t need it now,” I finally said.

“Alex! I don’t have time for this. He needs help, and I don’t know what else to do. If you can’t help, hang up, so I can stop wasting time with you and find someone who can.”

He wasn’t yelling, he was seething, and the disdain I could feel oozing across the line cut me deeply.

In the space of that sentence, I felt the years of his rejection all over again.

Would do anything to make that feeling go away, even though the little voice in the back of my head whispered that this wasn’t right.

That voice lost to the urgent need to help him—the need to prove that I was worthy of his love.

I pulled the phone away from my ear, my hands trembling as I pulled up my banking app.

“What’s the account information?”

The weak, feeble voice that came out of my mouth didn’t even sound like mine, but my father didn’t seem to notice.

He hurriedly gave me the information, and with the click of a button, I completed the transaction.

---