Not anymore. Not when she’ll end up offering something far more valuable than property deeds and balance sheets.
“These are the property deeds for the bakery building and my home upstairs,” she says, opening the folder to reveal meticulously organized documents. “Plus financial statements from the past five years. As you can see, before the dip in the economy, our profit margins were consistent.”
I glance at the papers without really seeing them. They’re irrelevant. Buildings can burn. Businesses can fail overnight. Paper promises mean nothing in my world. I’ve been in this business long enough to know that true collateral comes in forms that can’t be quantified on spreadsheets.
“Impressive,” I lie, pushing the papers aside. “But not what I’m looking for.”
“What are you looking for, Mr. Russo?” Something in her tone tells me she already knows.
I lean back in my chair, taking a long drag from my cigar. The smoke fills the space between us. “Something that ensures repaying me becomes your highest priority.”
She swallows, the first visible sign of nervousness she’s shown. “I understand the importance of honoring debts.”
“Everyone says that sitting in that chair,” I counter, tapping ash into the crystal tray. “Yet my men stay busy.”
She straightens her spine. “I’m not like your usual clients.”
“Prove it.” I fix her with a hard stare. “What are you prepared to risk to save your bakery, Ms. Brewer?”
The silence stretches between us. Outside, snow begins to fall against the darkening February sky, tiny flakes swirling past the windows of my office. I wait. Patience is a weapon in negotiations like this.
Finally, she speaks. “My daughter.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
My interest sharpens instantly, though I keep my expression neutral. “Which one?”
“Alina.” Sophia’s hands tighten in her lap. “My youngest.”
I lean back in my chair and cup the back of my neck as I consider this. Alina’s a beautiful young woman; there’s no doubt about that. And if the rumors are true, she isn’t off to college. She’ll stay in the bakery, running it alongside her mom.
“Interesting choice.” I take another sip of whiskey, using the glass to hide my sudden spike of interest. “Not the older one?”
Sophia’s mouth tightens. “Sabrina has her own life. Alina is tied to the bakery. It’s her inheritance. Her future.”
A future that might now belong to me. The thought sends a slow pulse of satisfaction through my body.
“Tell me about her.” I keep my voice casual, businesslike.
“She’s eighteen. Hardworking. Responsible.” Sophia’s voice remains steady, but her knuckles have gone white.
“Is she aware you’re offering her as collateral?”
Sophia meets my gaze. “No.”
The single word hangs between us. So much for maternal protection. But then, desperation makes people do interesting things.
I rise from my chair, moving to the window to watch the snow fall over Cleveland. “Let me be clear about the terms, Ms. Brewer. I’ll provide two hundred thousand dollars. The debt is due upon your death or within ten years, whichever comes first.”
Pausing, I give her the chance to object. When she doesn’t, I explain the interest and monthly payment rates. I hear her sharp intake of breath at the numbers, but she doesn’t protest.
“If the debt remains unpaid when due,” I continue, “I will collect your daughter. Not as an employee. Not temporarily.” I turn to face her. “For life.”
Sophia’s face has gone pale, but she nods. “I understand. But I will repay you. Every cent.”
“They all say that, too.” I return to my desk, studying her.
“I have time,” she insists. “The bakery is profitable. With this loan, I can make improvements that will increase revenue. Create a cushion for my daughters.”
“For Sabrina,” I correct her. “Since she’s the only one you seem concerned about protecting.”
