Chapter 13 #2
I sighed, crumpling the note. It was fine. We had the cliff. We had the memory of the car.
I got up and went to the kitchen.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: Time is up, Georgia. We need the rest. Friday. Or we pay Leo a visit.
My stomach dropped.
Friday. Three days.
I checked my bank account. $4,000. Nowhere near enough.
I paced the kitchen. Think. Think.
I could sell the jewelry. The Cartier bracelet. The vintage Chanel bag.
It wouldn't be enough.
I needed a miracle. Or I needed to sell a lot of art very quickly.
I grabbed my coat and headed for the Boathouse.
I spent the day painting like a woman possessed. I poured all my fear, all my love, all my desperation onto the plywood. It was ugly. It was raw. It was the best work I had ever done.
At 5:00 PM, my phone rang.
It wasn't the loan sharks.
It was my father.
I stared at the screen. Daddy.
I hadn't spoken to him since the Gala.
I took a deep breath and answered.
"Hello?"
"Georgia," his voice was smooth, polished. "How is the bohemian life treating you?"
"I'm fine, Dad. What do you want?"
"I want to have dinner," he said. "Tonight. The Club. 7:00 PM."
"I'm busy."
"Make time," he said. "It concerns your... situation. And Mr. Kincaid's future."
My blood ran cold.
"What about Toby?"
"7:00 PM, Georgia. Don't be late. And dress appropriately. We have guests."
He hung up.
I stood there in the freezing Boathouse, the phone shaking in my hand.
Guests.
This wasn't a dinner. It was an ambush.
And I had to walk right into it.
I didn't tell Toby.
I couldn't. He was already drowning in pressure. If I told him my father was summoning me to threaten him, he would storm the country club and get himself arrested. Or worse, he would confront the GM and get cut from the team.
So I put on the black dress—the sophisticated one—and I went alone.
The Club was quiet. My father was waiting at his usual corner table.
He wasn't alone.
Sitting next to him was a man I recognized instantly.
Markus Thorne. Toby's father's lawyer.
My heart stopped.
This wasn't just my father. This was the alliance. The two patriarchs, joining forces to crush the rebellion.
"Georgia," my father said, standing up. "You look... acceptable. Sit down."
I sat. I kept my back straight. I channeled every ounce of Sterling arrogance I possessed.
"Mr. Thorne," I nodded at the lawyer. "I assume you're not here for the crab cakes."
"Sharp," Thorne noted, a thin smile on his lips. "William said she had spirit."
"Cut the crap," I said. "Why am I here?"
My father sighed, swirling his scotch. "We are here to offer you a deal, Georgia."
"I don't make deals with terrorists."
"You make deals with loan sharks," Thorne said smoothly.
I froze.
Thorne pulled a file from his briefcase. He slid it across the table.
It was a dossier on Leo. Photos of him in Chicago. Copies of his debts. Transcripts of the threatening texts I had received.
"We know everything," Thorne said. "We know about the brother. The debt. The anonymous art sales."
"We also know," my father added, leaning forward, "that you don't have the money. And that your brother is in very real danger."
"What do you want?" I whispered.
"We want Toby focused," Thorne said. "William is... concerned. The boy is distracted. His stats are slipping. He is jeopardizing the Kincaid legacy."
"And I want you back in line," my father said. "Away from this... phase."
"Here is the offer," Thorne said.
He placed a check on the table.
It was a cashier's check. For one hundred thousand dollars.
"This covers the debt," Thorne said. "With enough left over for Leo to start fresh. Somewhere far away."
"And in exchange?" I asked, staring at the check. It was my brother's life. Right there on the table.
"In exchange," my father said, "you leave."
"Leave?"
"You break up with Kincaid," my father clarified. "Tonight. You tell him it was a fling. You tell him you were using him for his money. You tell him whatever you have to tell him to make him hate you. To make him focus on hockey again."
"And then," Thorne added, "you leave Duluth. You transfer. New York. Paris. Anywhere but here."
I felt like I was going to be sick.
"You want me to break his heart," I said. "To save his career."
"We want you to save him from himself," Thorne corrected. "If he stays with you, his father will cut him off. No trust fund. No inheritance. He'll be a pauper, Georgia. Is that what you want for him? To drag him down into your mess?"
"I love him," I whispered.
"Love doesn't pay debts," my father sneered. "And it certainly doesn't win championships."
He pushed the check closer.
"Take the money, Georgia. Save your brother. Save Toby. Be the martyr. It's the only useful thing you can do."
I looked at the check. I looked at the men.
I thought about Toby's face in the moonlight. I will catch you.
But he couldn't catch this. This was an avalanche.
If I stayed, Leo would be hurt. Toby would lose his fortune. He would hate me eventually for costing him everything.
If I left... he would be heartbroken. But he would be free. He would have his career. He would have his money.
And Leo would be safe.
It wasn't a choice. It was a sacrifice.
I reached out with a trembling hand.
I took the check.
"Done," I whispered.
My father smiled. It was a cold, victorious smile.
"Smart girl."
I stood up. I felt hollowed out. Empty.
"I'll do it tonight," I said. "But know this, Dad. I'm not doing it for you. And I will never forgive you."
"I can live with that," he said, taking a sip of his scotch.
I turned and walked out of the club.
I walked into the night.
The fairy tale was over. The cabin in the woods burned down. Puck the dog ran away.
All that was left was the lie.
And tonight, I had to deliver the performance of a lifetime.