I set the duffel on the table in front of Truth.
Unzipped it.
Her mouth dropped open.
Fifty thousand dollars in cash. Stacked in neat bundles. Wrapped in rubber bands.
“What—” Truth’s voice cracked. “What is this?”
“Your first payment,” I said. “Fifty thousand.”
“But I’m not pregnant yet.”
“You signed the contract. That’s confirmation enough for me.”
Truth stared at the money like it might disappear if she blinked.
“I can’t—” She shook her head. “I can’t just take this.”
“You already did. You signed.”
“That’s not what I mean.” She looked up at me, her eyes wide. “I can’t just drop everything because you dropped some cash on me. I have responsibilities. I have bills. I have?—”
“I know,” I said, cutting her off. “And I respect that. I would never try to take away your independence. But with everything you’re about to go through—IVF, hormone treatments, pregnancy—you can’t keep working here. It’s not safe. It’s not practical.”
“That may be true,” Truth said, her voice firm. “But I can’t just walk away from my life because you decided it’s time.”
I studied her.
Most women would’ve taken the money and run.
But not Truth.
She was pushing back. Holding her ground.
I respected that.
“Fair enough,” I said. “But either way, you can’t have fifty racks on you. And you sure as hell can’t get on the bus with that type of cash. So, you need to tell whoever you report to that you’re done for the day.”
Truth opened her mouth to argue.
Then closed it.
She looked at the money again.
Then at me.
“You’re serious.”
“I don’t joke about money.”
She let out a long breath. Ran her hands over her face.
“Okay,” she said finally. “Okay. I’ll tell my supervisor I’m leaving early.”
“Good.”
She stood up, grabbed the duffel, and zipped it closed.
