Page 6 of The Protégé

Shit!

Anxiety tightened my stomach. I’d forgotten to make the payment that was due yesterday. This fiasco at work was messing with my head.

“I’m taking my four-week vacation starting right now.” I rose from my seat. “Sorry for the late notice, but this stressful work situation is detrimental to my mental health. I need the extra time to adjust to the sudden changes. You and upper management will have to understand.” I inhaled and exhaled to loosen the knots in my stomach. “If you don’t, there’s a mentalhealth clause in the company policy handbook that would remind you. Check chapter five.”

I didn’t give him time to respond, stalking out of the room and heading to my office. Then I grabbed my purse and the box of folders containing all my research and rushed out to my car. I dumped everything into the passenger seat, rounded the hood to the driver’s side and got in. Once inside, I exhaled a long breath. After a few more breaths, my body calmed.

Switch gears, Elena.

Shrugging off the anxiety as best I could, I switched my focus to bills. Compartmentalizing things had helped me manage my life during stressful moments. I could dump all my concerns into a box, cover it up with a lid, and shove it aside until later.

I didn’t know how I came to that method. It was a personal mechanism birthed from extreme stress.

Opening the list of bills on my phone, I saw two bills that were unchecked, which meant unpaid.

You’re losing it, Elena.

I should have felt bad leaving work early, but right now I didn’t care. Why should I care about ethics when my employer didn’t give a damn about me? I’d worked so hard there, and for what? A false accusation and my show pulled from the air. Money had power. It talked louder than someone like me who was struggling with finances. Who didn’t have powerful family or friends.

I’d use the time off from work to think about what I wanted to do. Should I return to work and do mundane news? Though my heart wasn’t in it, I needed the money. Maybe I’d spend the time looking for another job.

I drove out of the parking garage and headed to pay my bill, which had incurred the massive late fee of five hundred dollars.

“Remain calm. You can do this,” I told myself. “Mamádoesn’t need to see you stressed out. She won’t retire if she knows about your financial predicament.”

The late fee to my phone bill—which included my mom’s mobile phone—was something I could deal with even though the extra money could’ve gone toward the insurmountable debt looming over me like a dark cloud that had just gotten darker.

Only three hundred thousand dollars left. I’d be free after that.

The loan shark was cold and ruthless. I couldn’t negotiate with him without fearing he’d hurt me or my mom. I knew he’d create trouble for my family if I didn’t pay up. The worst of it all? The loan shark was my uncle Carlos, my deceased father’s older brother. Money was blood to him. Everything else was just . . . everything else.

My father had incurred an obscene amount of debt to my uncle, a greedy man who valued money more than his family. Maybe that was why he didn’t have a wife or kids. Who would want to be with a heartless man? The day after my father died from a stroke, Uncle Carlos came to me and my mom asking for the money. The asshole didn’t even have the courtesy to let us grieve. Did he even grieve for his brother?

I’d lied to my mom, telling her everything was taken care of. I didn’t want her to stress about it. She was recovering from a thyroid condition that had made her thin, pale, and losing a lot of hair. Her hair was just growing back. The financial burden would destroy her. She was all I had left.

As a journalist, I’d seen all kinds of people doing all kinds of callous things to each other. But it still shocked me that a family member considered me and my mom as enemies. Money could do that to people—turn their hearts black, their eyes blind, and their emotions cold.

I’d met strangers who were kinder to me.

Even though my momwas officially retired next week, she would continue to volunteer at Wild Roots a few days a week. I didn’t object because it would keep her mind active. She deserved a retirement gift, but there was no extra money for that. I’d used up my savings and my 401k money to pay an enormous sum to Uncle Carlos. These days, I was living paycheck to paycheck.

Should I ask Uncle Carlos to waive the late fee?

Nerves returned as I imagined his harsh reply. “I have a family to feed too, Elena.”

He considered his violent men family. Did my father know his brother was a coldhearted loan shark?

There’s no such thing as a compassionate loan shark, Elena.

Did my father assume Uncle Carlos would be kind to his family and dismiss his debt?

Some days it infuriated me that my dad had left this mess to me and Mom. What could I do but pay it? I couldn’t call the police on Uncle Carlos. My dad had borrowed money from him, signed the agreement. This was a family dispute, and dragging him to court would bring shame to our family. I knew without a doubt Uncle Carlos would send his men to hurt us. Besides, I didn’t want the world to know about my family’s issues.

Bam!

A crunching noise cut through the air.

Holy fuck.

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