Chapter 28: Daddy’s Dirty Little Secret: Chapter 28

I was back in the same room, and everything about it felt worse this time. The walls looked cleaner, the sheets were fresh, and someone had laid out a folded towel on the bench like I was staying at some mid-tier resort—but none of that changed the fact that I couldn’t leave. The windows were still locked. The lock still clicked every time someone left, and now I was too sick to pretend I had control over any of it.

I’d thrown up twice already. First in the bathroom, then in the corner wastebasket when I couldn’t get there in time. The food on the tray sat untouched, same as yesterday. Just the smell of it made my stomach curl up. I knew they noticed. I didn’t care.

The maid came in again just after noon. Older woman, mid-fifties maybe, with calm eyes and soft hands. She didn’t speak much, not unless I asked something directly. Today, she carried a tray with a bowl of broth, two slices of bread, and a sealed bottle of water. She set it down on the small table like it was routine and glanced at the untouched plate from the day before.

“You need to eat something,” she said gently.

“I don’t want it.” My voice came out rough, dry at the edges.

“Broth is light,” she added. “Won’t upset your stomach.”

“I already threw up twice. I’m not risking a third.”

She didn’t argue, just picked up the old tray and carried it to the corner. I watched her the way I’d been watching everything lately—careful, waiting for some sign of help that hadn’t come.

“Why are you here?” I asked suddenly. “Why do you stay?”

She hesitated, then straightened the towel on the bench like it mattered. “I clean. I cook. I don’t ask questions.”

“But you know what he’s doing.” I wasn’t shouting, but my voice tightened in my throat. “You see people like me—locked in here, crying, scared out of their minds—and you just walk out like it’s a job.”

She didn’t meet my eyes. She touched the edge of the tray and adjusted the spoon. “Mr. Hayes pays me well. I mind my business. That’s how people stay safe around here.”

I sat up straighter, nausea still turning in my gut. “Is that what this is to you? A paycheck?”

Her gaze flicked to mine for just a second. There was something there—regret, maybe. Or pity. “If your father does what he’s supposed to, you’ll be fine.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

She didn’t answer. Just turned toward the door and opened it without rushing. “Drink the water,” she said, and then she left.

The lock slid into place again, sharp and final. I sat still for a long time after she was gone, breathing slowly, trying not to let the fear crawl too far up my spine. I didn’t know how many more days I could survive like this, but I knew one thing for sure, if no one came, I wasn’t getting out.

The third time I threw up, it left my throat raw and my skin clammy. I leaned over the wastebasket, gripping the edge like it could steady me. Nothing came after the first heave, but my body kept trying anyway. I stayed on my knees for a while before I forced myself up and rinsed my mouth out with water. The taste lingered.

The tray of food sat untouched on the table. I didn’t look at it for long. Even the thought of broth or bread made my stomach churn. The only thing I could get down was water, and even that only stayed down through sheer will.

My hands trembled as I sat on the edge of the bed. I had stopped crying hours ago, not because the panic had gone away, but because there were no tears left in my body, no moisture. I waited. I counted every second by the ticking of the clock across the room. At some point, I stopped believing someone would come for me.

Then the door opened.

Two of Hayes’s men stood in the hallway. They didn’t speak, but one of them motioned for me to follow. I stood slowly, taking a breath to keep myself from swaying.

They led me down a different hallway than before. The temperature was colder here, and the ceilings felt lower. Every surface was spotless. At the end of the corridor, they opened a door into a room that looked like it belonged in a magazine. Dark wood floors, leather seating, a table set in the center with a silver case on top.

My father was already there. He stood when he saw me, and I could tell he’d been crying. He crossed the room in three strides and pulled me into his arms. I didn’t hesitate. I leaned into him, pressing my face into his jacket. He held me tighter than I expected.

“You’re safe now,” he said. “It’s over.”

I didn’t know if I believed him, but I didn’t let go.

Victor Hayes poured himself a drink behind the bar. He glanced at the suitcase but didn’t touch it. One of his men stepped forward and flipped it open. Inside were clean stacks of cash. Each bundle was neatly wrapped in bank sleeves, indicating the value of each stack.

“This is the full amount?” Hayes asked without turning around. For a man so hell bent on getting what was owed him, he seemed uninterested in this part.

My father nodded. “Half a million, all in cash. Nonsequential, unmarked.”

Hayes raised his glass but said nothing. One of the guards scanned the serial numbers. Another examined the bundles under a blacklight. I stayed beside my father. He hadn’t let go of me, and I didn’t want him to.

Hayes gave a slow nod, then tilted his head toward the case. “Count it.”

One of his men stepped forward, pulling a small machine from a black duffel. He set it on the table next to the cash and plugged it into the outlet along the baseboard. The other man began removing the stacks one at a time, peeling away the bands and feeding the bills into the counter in batches. The machine whirred to life, steady and loud, ticking through the notes at a pace that almost drowned out the sound of my heartbeat.

A third man pulled out a digital tally sheet and began logging totals. Another walked in with a second machine, smaller and sleeker, and set it next to the first. They moved with practiced coordination, no wasted motion, no spoken instructions. This wasn’t the first time they had processed a payoff.

I stayed rooted beside my father, one arm looped through his, the other pressed protectively against my stomach. He didn’t speak. He just watched them work, jaw tight, shoulders stiff.

Hayes poured another drink and turned toward us. “You want one?” My father didn’t answer. Hayes lifted the second glass anyway and extended it toward me. “You look like you could use something to settle your nerves.”

I shook my head. “No.”

He gave the slightest shrug and took a sip himself, then walked over to stand behind the men at the table. The machines clicked and spun, counting down to silence, one stack at a time. It took nearly ten minutes for them to finish. When the final total appeared on the display, the man with the tablet nodded once.

“Verified. Five hundred seventy thousand. Clean.”

Hayes exhaled through his nose and set his glass down. “Good. That’s what I like to hear.”

I could feel my father’s body relax half an inch, just enough to tell me he’d been holding his breath. I leaned against him a little more, trying to breathe normally. I didn’t. My heart was racing, and my thoughts had started to tangle again.

I knew Xander had paid. This wasn’t warehouse money or something my father scrounged from wrecking his car. This was Xander stepping in and handing over half a million dollars without blinking. He knew what was happening here, the shame of what my father had gotten himself into, and instead of calling the police, he decided I was worth something. I just didn’t know why.

I didn’t know what he was thinking now. I didn’t know what this meant for us, or if he even wanted to see me again. But he had done this. He had saved me.

My father cleared his throat and looked Hayes squarely in the eye. “It’s done. This is finished.”

Hayes looked at him for a long time before answering. “You’re lucky it is.”

He stepped away from the table and walked toward us, hands in his pockets, expression flat.

“You took from me. Then you ran. You ignored my calls. That isn’t just business, Laurence. That’s betrayal.”

My father’s jaw tightened. “I paid.”

“You paid late.” Hayes’s voice sharpened, but only slightly. “And if it weren’t for that extra twenty, I wouldn’t be so generous.” My father opened his mouth, but Hayes cut him off with a gesture. “I don’t want an apology. I want you to understand what this was. You borrowed, you defaulted, and someone else had to clean up after you. That doesn’t make you a man, Laurence. That makes you a coward.”

My father didn’t argue. He just nodded with slow control.

Hayes turned his attention to me. “And you,” he said, voice measured. “You’re lucky he still matters to someone.”

I didn’t say a word. We were done with all of this. All I wanted was to get out of here.

Hayes motioned toward the door. “Take your daughter. Get out of my house.”

No one moved to stop us. The men at the table returned the counted stacks to the case. One closed the lid and locked it. Hayes didn’t spare us another look.

My father guided me toward the exit. I held his arm tighter than before, keeping one hand against my stomach. I didn’t speak until we were outside, and even then, I wasn’t sure I could.

We stepped out into the fading light, the door clicking shut behind us. The temperature had dropped, but the air still felt dry against my skin. I stayed close to my father, one hand locked around his forearm, the other braced over my stomach like it could shield me from whatever came next.

We were halfway to the edge of the driveway when I saw him.

Xander stood beside a black SUV parked at an angle near the curb. His arms were crossed, and his weight rested back against the driver’s side door. He didn’t move when we appeared. He just stared.

I stopped walking. My father slowed beside me, then turned when he noticed. He followed my line of sight and muttered something under his breath, but I didn’t catch it. My whole body had gone rigid.

Xander was in a dark button-down and black slacks. His sleeves were rolled up. His jaw was locked. He looked like a man trying very hard not to let something crack through the surface.

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what he wanted from me, if he wanted anything at all. He had paid. He had stepped in when no one else could have, and I hadn’t even been the one to ask.

His eyes met mine across the length of the driveway. They didn’t soften.

I forced myself forward again, one foot at a time. My father gave a slight squeeze to my arm before letting go and walking to the door of the SUV. I expected Xander to linger, to say something to me. I secretly hoped he would, but he turned and climbed into the driver’s side, and I was left to swallow the rising bile in my throat.

Nothing was ever going to be the same between us again.