“I don’t.”
Daniel crouches again, his face inches from Tom’s. “Don’t lie to me,” he says, voice trembling now. “You inherited your father’s estate. He was a multi-millionaire. I’m not an idiot. You think I didn’t check? I’ve been looking through your files, your laptop. I know it’s there somewhere. Maybe property investments. Maybe hidden accounts.”
Tom shakes his head, desperation creeping in. “Daniel, listen to yourself. You’re talking like — like a criminal.”
Daniel laughs softly. “I’m not a criminal. I’m just getting a share of what’s mine.” He looks past Tom, eyes unfocused, as if explaining to someone else entirely. “When you walked out, you took everything. You left me with nothing but debts I couldn’t pay.”
“Yourdebts. Fromyourgambling, not mine!” Tom screams back.
Daniel ignores that. “I was loyal to you, Tom. I fought for us. You shut the door and pretended I didn’t exist.”
“I didn’t pretend—”
“Yes, you did!” Daniel’s voice cracks. “You erased me. But this—” he gestures around, at the bathroom, the house, all of it—“this is mine too. You don’t get to move on and build a life on my bones.”
The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by the sound of their breathing.
“I need that money. And I need it tonight.”
Daniel thinks about the men he owes and feels his stomach knot, the kind of dread that makes breathing feel like swallowing glass.
They’re not loan-sharks in the cliché sense—no tracksuits or baseball bats—but worse. They wear suits that fit too well, drive cars that don’t look expensive until you check the badge. They call themselves investors, consultants, “private facilitators.”
He met them through an online gambling forum—people who promised fast liquidity when he was already chasing losses he couldn’t name out loud. At first, they were polite, professional even, transferred money within the hour. Five grand here, ten there, and he always swore it was temporary. He’d win it back. He always did—until he didn’t. Now the balance sits at four hundred thousand pounds and time is up.
He’s heard stories about what happens when people don’t pay. A man in Bath, found in his car with two broken hands and a warning carved into his chest with a rusty knife. A man in Manchester had his leg sawn off below the knee while he was pinned down. Another had his ear and nose sliced off. Plenty of others who disappeared entirely—“relocated,” they said, though no one ever heard from him again.
They don’t just ruin lives; they erase them. Daniel thought he was different, smarter. He thought charm and legal know-how would buy him time. But gamblers always think they’re the exception right up until the table eats them whole.
Now every vibration of his phone feels like a countdown, every passing car outside like the sound of fate pulling up to collect. If he doesn’t come up with the money, he’s not just losing his flat or his credit rating—he’s losing his life.
And Tom is his last, desperate roll of the dice.
Daniel pulls his phone from his pocket and scrolls through something. “I’ve been looking for proof,” he says absently. “Emails from your solicitor, confirmation letters, bank balances. Tell me, tell me how much you have stashed away!”
Tom stares at him. “So, youhavebeen breaking into my house?”
Daniel looks at him sharply. “Our house! You paid for this with that inheritance, half of that should be mine – half of this house is mine!”
Tom’s voice rises. “That was my Dad’s money, none of it is yours!”
Daniel slaps him. The sound is small, sharp, shocking even to himself.
Tom’s head jerks to the side, his breath catching. The room tilts with silence again.
Daniel lowers his hand slowly. “I didn’t want to do that.” His voice is shaking. “But you need to stop talking to me like I’m crazy.”
Tom blinks hard, fighting tears. “Youarecrazy.”
His tone softens, cracks. “I just need help, Tom. I’m drowning.”
Tom looks at him then, really looks, and for a moment there’s pity in his eyes. “I can’t help you,” he says quietly. “Not like this.”
Something inside Daniel curdles. Pity is worse than hatred. Pity makes him feel small, powerless.
He crouches again, face close. “You could fix this. Right now. Just transfer me the money now. I’ll get your laptop.”
“I don’t have access to that kind of money!”
