CHAP 4 — The Debt House
By dawn, Callum’s attorney had read Thomas’s contract twice and called it what it was.
“Coercive garbage,” Evelyn Vance said.
She arrived in a charcoal suit, silver hair pinned back, carrying a leather folder and the kind of calm that made liars nervous.
“But garbage can still frighten people,” she added. “Especially when local notaries, debt collectors, and landlords treat it like law.”
Nola sat wrapped in a blanket near the fire, fighting sleep.
Thomas was locked in the south office with security outside the door. Callum had not gone near him since the hallway.
That restraint took effort.
Evelyn placed copies of the contract on the table.
“Thomas used a private debt company called Harbor Recovery. It buys old medical bills and rent claims. Then it pressures vulnerable people into illegal repayment agreements.”
Nola’s eyes sharpened.
“Harbor Recovery?”
“You’ve heard the name?”
“Thomas said they owned my hospital debt.”
“They don’t. Most of the debt was discharged. Some was never yours.”
Nola’s face went blank.
“What?”
Evelyn’s voice softened slightly.
“He lied about what you owed.”
Nola looked down at her hands.
People imagine relief as a light thing.
Sometimes it lands like grief.
Because freedom proves the cage was unnecessary.
Callum stood behind the chair, silent.
Evelyn continued.
“Thomas also tried to garnish your wages through the staffing agency that placed you here.”
Nola frowned.
“My checks have been small.”
“How small?”
Nola told her.
Evelyn’s mouth tightened.
Callum’s eyes lifted.
The staffing agency was called Silver Domestic Solutions. It supplied temporary night staff to several estates, hotels, and private residences across the city. Callum’s household had used them for overflow work when Mrs. Tierney was short.
Evelyn looked at Callum.
“You know what this means.”
He did.
Thomas had not simply followed Nola to the estate.
He had known exactly where she would be.
Someone at the agency had told him.
Maybe for money.
Maybe out of habit.
Maybe because people like Nola were treated as problems before they were treated as employees.
Callum called his head of security.
“Find the agency owner.”
“Already working,” the man said.
Nola looked overwhelmed.
“I don’t want a war.”
Callum’s gaze returned to her.
“You didn’t start one.”
“I don’t want people hurt because of me.”
Evelyn leaned forward.
“Nola, people are already being hurt. The question is whether anyone with power will finally be inconvenienced by it.”
That sentence stayed in the room.
At eight that morning, Mrs. Tierney entered with breakfast. She was severe, efficient, and had managed the Brennan household longer than most marriages lasted.
She set down toast, eggs, fruit, and prenatal vitamins Dr. Rowan had ordered.
Then she looked directly at Nola.
“I owe you an apology.”
Nola blinked.
“For what?”
“I saw the bruises last week. I told myself it was not my place.”
Nola looked away.
Mrs. Tierney’s face tightened.
“That was cowardice dressed as manners.”
Callum said nothing.
He was beginning to understand his house had not been innocent simply because he had not known.
That realization would become more important later.
Nola pushed the food around her plate but managed a few bites.
Then a guard entered.
“Mr. Brennan. Thomas is asking for you. He says he’ll talk only if Nola is brought in.”
“No,” Callum said.
Nola lifted her head.
“I’ll go.”
Everyone looked at her.
She stood carefully, one hand on her stomach.
“I spent two years being afraid of what he would say if I wasn’t in the room. I want to hear him with doors unlocked.”
Callum studied her.
Then nodded.
“Doors stay open. Security stays inside. You stand behind me unless you choose otherwise.”
Nola’s mouth curved faintly.
“You still give orders like you’re twelve.”
“And you still climb fences after being told not to.”
This time, she did smile.
Small.
May you like
Tired.
Real.
