PART 4
For a long moment, I couldn’t hear anything except my own breathing.
Nine hundred thousand dollars.
Not a mortgage.
Not a business investment.
Not a house.
A debt to private lenders.
I walked to my living room window and looked down at the traffic crawling along the Hudson. People hurried home from work, carrying groceries, laughing into their phones, living ordinary lives. Mine had stopped feeling ordinary sometime around sunrise.
“Emily?” Jackson’s voice trembled through the phone.
“Who are they?”
“They… they’re just lenders.”
“No.” My voice was calm. “Banks are lenders. Venture capital firms are investors. People who demand nearly a million dollars overnight are something else.”
He didn’t deny it.
Instead, he whispered, “Please don’t make me explain this over the phone.”
I ended the call.
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