Chapter 1 #2
By 5:00 PM, the adrenaline is wearing off, leaving behind a headache that throbs with every heartbeat. I’m staring at a spreadsheet, trying to find a way to squeeze ten thousand dollars, when the door to my office slams open.
I jump, my heart leaping into my throat.
My father is standing there in the doorway.
I blink, sure I’m hallucinating. I left him locked in his room this morning, seemingly passed out cold.
Arthur Blackwood used to be handsome—the kind of man with charisma and a smile that could charm a room. But the man standing there now is a ghost. His suit is wrinkled, his tie is loose, and his face glistens with sweat.
And his eyes... His eyes are terrifying. They’re wide and wild, darting around the room like he expects someone to jump out at him.
He’s vibrating with manic energy.
He hasn't set foot in the office in months, but he’s still the owner. His name is on the deed, and his fingerprint still opens every lock in the building.
It’s a cruel joke. I’m the manager. I’m the one fighting the banks to hold this company together. He only comes here to bleed us dry.
"Dad?" I stand up slowly, putting the desk between us. "Dad, what’s wrong? Are you okay?"
He doesn't answer. He storms into the office, kicking the door shut behind him. He runs to the window and peers through the blinds before spinning to face me.
"The safe," he murmurs. His voice is rough, like he’s been screaming. "Is there cash in the office safe? The emergency fund?"
I frown.
"What? No. Dad, you know the accounts are empty. Why?"
He ignores me to rush to the painting on the far wall and rips it down to reveal the safe behind it.
"Dad, stop!" I run around the desk. "There’s nothing in there!"
"There has to be!" he shouts, his fingers shaking as he spins the dial. "I know the payroll came in! I saw the notification!"
My blood freezes.
"That’s the payroll, Dad. That’s for the workers. If we don't pay them tomorrow, they’ll quit. And if they leave, the ship doesn't depart."
"The ship doesn't matter!" he screams.
The safe door clicks open.
He reaches inside and grabs the heavy bag that holds fifty thousand dollars in cash. It’s everything we have. It’s the only reason the union hasn't shut us down yet.
"No!" I grab his arm. "You can't take that! That’s theft! Dad, look at me!"
He shoves me back.
He’s never hit me in his life, but he’s desperate now, and stronger than he looks. I stumble back and slam my hip against the desk. My heel catches the rug and my ankle twists beneath me.
I hit the floor with a sharp cry, pain shooting up my leg.
"You don't understand, Helena," he says, breathing hard. He holds the bag tight to his chest.
He looks at me, and for the first time, I see tears in his eyes. Real, terrified tears. "It’s not for me. It’s... I have to pay them. I have to buy more time."
"Pay who?" I yell, tears stinging my own eyes. "Who is it this time? Is it the track? The casino? How much did you lose?"
He shakes his head violently. "It’s not gambling. Not this time. It’s... It’s for protection. For safety."
"Safety?" I step closer, my voice shaking. "Dad, you’re scaring me. Who are you afraid of?"
He focuses on the door, then the floor.
"I can fix it," he whispers, almost like a prayer. "I can win. There’s a game tonight. High stakes."
"A game?" I laugh, but it hurts. "You said it wasn't gambling! You are taking the payroll to a poker game?"
"There’s a new player," he says, his eyes lighting up with a crazy hope.
"A foreigner. A Russian, I think. He’s rich, Helena. A whale. He plays loose. He doesn't know the game. I can take him. I can win enough to cover the debt and replace the payroll before the banks open."
"Dad, please," I beg, reaching out a hand. "Don't do this. Give me the bag. We can go to the police if someone is threatening you."
"Police?" He laughs. "The police can't stop them. No one can."
He backs toward the door.
"I’m doing this for you," he says, his voice cracking. "I promised your mother I’d keep you safe. I promised."
"Dad!"
He turns and runs.
I push off the desk and chase him toward the hallway, but the moment I put weight on my foot, my ankle screams. It twists under me and I stagger, grabbing the wall to keep from going down again.
By the time I limp into the hall, he’s already at the elevator, hitting the button. The doors slide shut just as I get there, giving me one last glimpse of his desperate face through the narrowing crack.
I stand there on shaking legs, breathing hard as the elevator descends.
He’s gone. The money is gone.
I limp back into my office in a daze, falling into my chair and letting the silence crush me.
The empty safe all but taunts me.
“Fuck!”
My hand sweeps across the desk before I can stop myself. Papers scatter. A pen clatters to the floor. My chest heaves like I’ve just run a mile.
Slowly, my eyes drift to a picture on my desk. My mother smiles back at me.
A cold shiver runs down my spine. For once, my father didn't sound like an addict chasing a win. He sounded like a hopeless man with a gun to his head.
Who is he so afraid of?
I turn my chair to face the window again. The sun has set, plunging the harbor into darkness.
Somewhere out there, my father is walking into a room with fifty thousand dollars of stolen money.
He said he was going to find a "whale." A rich foreigner he could trick.
I shake my head, accepting the hard truth that it was just another story. Another excuse to chase a high at any cost.
He truly believes he’s the hunter tonight. He thinks he can outsmart a millionaire.
But I know how the business works. Rich men don't get rich by handing their money to desperate drunks. They get rich by eating people like us alive.
It’s the same hope he had last week. The same hope he had last month.
You aren't going to win, Dad. You’re just going to lose it all again.