Chapter 1 - THE THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS
The most feared mafia boss in Chicago was holding my baby's bottle when I woke up, and the first thing he asked me was why his restaurant manager had stolen three hundred dollars from me.
I should have been terrified.
Instead, I was staring at the clock above his shoulder, calculating how many minutes remained before another woman might call child protective services and tell them I had abandoned my son.
"Please," I whispered. "I need to go home."
The man didn't move.
He sat in the corner of a private office, dressed in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than everything I owned.
My faded canvas bag rested on his lap.
Beside him, on a polished wooden desk, stood a small plastic baby bottle with a blue cap.
Sam's bottle.
The last formula I had been able to afford.
"Your name is Norah Davis," he said.
I swallowed.
"How do you know that?"
"Your bills have your name on them."
He looked at the bottle.
"And your son is waiting for you."
Something in his voice made my chest tighten.
"Then please let me leave."
"First, tell me what happened downstairs."
I tried to stand.
The room tipped sideways.
I grabbed the arm of the leather sofa and barely managed to stay upright.
"Sit down," he said.
"I can't."
"You're going to fall again."
"My babysitter leaves at six thirty."
His eyes flicked toward the clock.
It was six twenty-two.
Eight minutes.
Eight minutes before Mrs. Higgins decided I was irresponsible again.
Eight minutes before someone might decide my son would be better off without me.
I had spent the last year surviving on eight-minute decisions.
Eight minutes to catch the bus.
Eight minutes to wash Sam's bottles before my next shift.
Eight minutes to decide whether I could afford groceries or diapers.
And now eight minutes to save what little remained of my life.
The man stood.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair combed neatly back and a face that seemed carved from something harder than flesh.
I recognized him.
Everyone in Chicago knew Ethan Hayes.
People whispered his name in laundromats and grocery stores.
They said he owned restaurants, construction companies, private clubs, and enough secrets to make powerful men disappear from public life.
I didn't know which stories were true.
I only knew that he was standing between me and my baby.
"Mr. Hayes," I said, forcing myself to meet his eyes, "I didn't come here to cause trouble."
"I know."
"I only wanted the money Gregory owes me."
"Three hundred dollars."
I froze.
"How did you know?"
He raised a folded sheet of paper from my bag.
It was the handwritten record I had kept of every shift.
Every hour.
Every filthy floor.
Every evening I had left Sam crying with Mrs. Higgins so I could scrub grease out of a kitchen that served meals costing hundreds of dollars.
"You kept records," Ethan said.
"Because Gregory told me he would pay cash."
"And he didn't."
I shook my head.
"He fired me by text."
"Why?"
"He said I wasn't reliable."
"Were you?"
The question struck harder than I expected.
I felt my face burn.
"I worked every shift he gave me."
"Then why did he fire you?"
I stared at the floor.
"Because I asked when I would be paid."
For several seconds, Ethan said nothing.
Then he placed my bag on the desk.
"Who is watching your son?"
"Mrs. Higgins. She lives downstairs."
"Does she have a phone?"
I nodded.
"Call her."
"My phone died."
He took his own phone from his pocket and held it out.
I hesitated.
"Use it."
My fingers trembled so badly that I entered the wrong number twice.
When Mrs. Higgins finally answered, her voice was sharp.
"Norah, where on earth are you?"
"I'm sorry. I fainted at work."
"Again?"
"I haven't fainted before."
"Well, I can't keep doing this."
I closed my eyes.
"Please. I just need a little more time."
"Sam's been crying for nearly an hour."
My stomach dropped.
"Is he sick?"
"No. He's hungry. You left almost nothing for him."
"I know."
"Norah—"
"I know."
The words came out broken.
"I was trying to get money for formula."
Silence.
Then Mrs. Higgins sighed.
"I can stay another twenty minutes. That's all."
"Thank you."
I ended the call and handed the phone back.
Ethan was watching me.
Not with pity.
That would have been easier.
He watched me as though he had just heard something that required an answer.
"You haven't eaten," he said.
I looked away.
"That's not important."
"When did you last eat?"
"Yesterday."
"What?"
"Half a piece of toast."
His jaw tightened.
"Why?"
I laughed once.
It was an ugly sound.
"Because my son needed the rest."
He looked at the baby bottle.
Then at the overdue utility bills.
Then at me.
For the first time, something changed in his expression.
It wasn't softness.
It was anger.
But not at me.
He crossed to the office door and opened it.
A man in a black suit stood outside.
"Find Gregory," Ethan said.
"Yes, sir."
"And bring something for her to eat."
I shook my head immediately.
"No. Please. I can't stay."
Ethan looked back.
"You won't."
"Then why—"
"Because we're going to get your money."
My breath caught.
"Tonight?"
"Tonight."
I stared at him.
Nobody had said anything that certain to me in a very long time.
Not the landlord.
Not the utility company.
Not Gregory.
Certainly not the people who told me to be patient while my baby went hungry.
"Why would you help me?" I whispered.
Ethan didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked at the bottle again.
"Because someone in my restaurant watched a mother collapse from hunger and called her crazy."
His voice grew colder.
"And I want to know what else he's been doing."
A knock sounded at the door.
The bodyguard returned.
"Mr. Hayes, Gregory says there's been a misunderstanding."
Ethan gave a humorless smile.
"Of course he does."
The bodyguard hesitated.
"He's also claiming the woman threatened him."
My head snapped up.
"What?"
The man continued.
"He says she demanded money she never earned."
My hands curled into fists.
I had scrubbed his floors until my knuckles split.
I had cleaned the freezer while my fingers went numb.
I had carried garbage bags heavier than my son.
And now Gregory was telling the most dangerous man in Chicago that I was a liar.
Ethan looked at me.
"Norah."
I lifted my eyes.
"Do you have proof?"
I swallowed.
Then I reached into my bag.
Past the bills.
Past the broken wallet.
Past the packet of crackers.
And pulled out my old phone.
The screen was cracked.
The battery was dead.
But inside it were four weeks of messages.
Four weeks of shift assignments.
And one final text from Gregory.
YOUR SERVICES ARE NO LONGER REQUIRED. DO NOT RETURN TO THE RESTAURANT.
I held it out.
"Everything's in here."
Ethan studied the phone.
Then he looked at his bodyguard.
"Get a charger."
He turned toward the door.
"And tell Gregory he's not leaving."
For the first time that evening, I felt something other than fear.
But it disappeared when Ethan paused and asked one final question.
"Norah, did Gregory know you had a baby?"
I nodded.
"Yes."
"Did he know you needed the money for formula?"
My throat tightened.
"Yes."
Ethan looked down at Sam's bottle.
His face became utterly still.
Then he said something I would remember for the rest of my life.
"Then this wasn't a misunderstanding."
May you like
He opened the door.
"It was a choice."
