Sharp, sudden, and followed by the front door blasting open. And there stood Bill Carver in full suit and tie, looking like he’d taken a wrong turn and landed in hell.
I pushed myself upright. “Don’t you knock?”
“That was the knock,” he said, stepping inside, his eyes sweeping the place with pure disgust. “Did you actually think Michelle would live in… this?”
I forced a half-smile. “Not exactly planning on moving her in today.”
He ignored that and took another step as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a checkbook. “Let’s get this over with. Five thousand dollars. You never see or speak to my daughter again.”
I laughed, assuming it was a joke. Bill didn’t crack a smile.
“Wait, you’re serious? You’re actually trying to pay me off?”
“If that’s what it takes to remove your filth from her life, yes.”
His arrogance lit my fuse. Treating Michelle like she was merchandise, and me like I had no integrity. I stood and took a step toward him.
“You think you can buy me?”
His gaze didn’t budge. “Yes, I do.”
“Well, you’re wrong.”
Bill sighed, almost bored. “Everyone has a price, Mr. McKallister.”
“Not me.”
“Ten thousand.”
My foot faltered. Ten thousand? The thought of what that money could do for me, for MGM. It could change our lives. But then I heard my mom’s warning in my head:Don’t ever trade your soul for a shortcut. And that money? That was a shortcut.
“I’m not for sale.”
“Consider what you’re giving up. You have a son, don’t you?”
My fists curled. “Leave him out of this.”
“I assume you want what’s best for your child. And I want the same for my daughter. But you, Mr. McKallister, are not what’s best for Michelle.” He gestured around my sad little space. “Nor is this god-awful place. Really, after seeing this, I might as well put my checkbook away. I could wait it out. Michelle wouldn’t last a week here.”
“Yes,” I said. “Put it away.”
He smiled, but there was nothing friendly about it. “She thinks she’s in love, but she has no idea what it is to struggle. Look at you, barely surviving. How do you plan to take care of her?”
“We’d find a way.”
Bill studied me, the faintest flicker of frustration cracking his otherwise polished mask. “You’re playing with my daughter’s future,” he said, the words slow, cold, and final. “You’re the jar. She’s the butterfly. And you’d watch her die rather than let her go.”
My lip twitched. I hated this man. I hated his words. But I feared there was some truth in them. He must’ve sensed my hesitation. He stepped forward, pulled a pen from his pocket, and wrote something quick. He tore out the check and laid it on my makeshift table. Fifteen thousand dollars.
“I highly suggest you take this. If you don’t, I have other ways to force your hand. And believe me, you don’t want to find out what those are. You really want to risk your family? Your son? And for what? Michelle will forget you by Christmas. Take the money. Walk away. Do it for your kid.”
That stopped me cold. Bill had the power to destroy me, and he knew it. I looked at the check. At the clean black ink. Fifteen thousand dollars. More than I could afford to refuse. MGM’sface flashed—gap-toothed grin, trusting eyes, the way he still climbed into my lap like the world hadn’t taught him yet that dads could fail. Bill didn’t just threaten me. He threatened the one person I’d die before letting down.
I picked it up. “Fine. You win. Now get the hell out.”
“Finally, some sense.” He turned toward the door. “Good day, Mr. McKallister.”
He stepped out, only to be replaced by a wall of muscle that ducked through the doorway. Bill’s henchman was big. Not gym big. Construction site, break-you-in-half big. He came at me fast. No warning or words. One hit to the stomach doubled me over. Another cracked across my jaw and lit fireworks behind my eyes. I swung back wild, fist connecting with pure cement. He scoffed, amused, like I’d tickled him. I lunged for my surfboard leaning against the wall, swung it hard—caught him square in the ribs with a satisfying crack that knocked him back a step, off balance. For half a second, I thought maybe—then fury replaced the smirk. He charged again, faster this time. A fist slammed my temple, ringing my skull like a bell. The punches kept coming, relentless. I staggered, arms up too late. The table crashed sideways; the check fluttered down like a fallen leaf. I hit the floor hard, tasting blood and defeat.
