She had no choice but to get out.
Legs shaking, hands trembling, she clutched her purse tighter to her side and looked between the man and the jet.
“I changed my mind,” she said uneasily. “I want to go home.”
“Mr. Morgan will not like that,” the man replied. “We’ve already discussed the repercussions of displeasing Mr. Morgan.”
He took her by the arm and directed her to the jet. “You need to leave now in order to arrive at the correct time.”
Sabela wrenched her arm away and took her first hesitant step onto the jet’s stairs. It wasn’t because she wanted to, but rather she’d prefer the man in the suit would stop treating her like defiant luggage.
He stood on the tarmac, watching her with a steady, unreadable expression.
“Aren’t you coming?” she asked.
When he didn’t reply, Sabela set her lips and tried again. “Hello? Are you coming?”
“Please board the jet, Ms. Vaughn.”
“Where am I going?”
The man’s face remained expressionless. “To Mr. Morgan. I can tell you nothing more. He’s waiting for you. Now go.”
Traveling on a private jet should have been an exciting experience, but all Sabela could think of was what this Mr. Morgan wanted to do with her, and why he was being so mysterious and demanding about it. Stomach twisting, she climbed the last few steps and entered the jet.
It was time to face her destiny.
The stewardess greeted her kindly and seated her in one of the luxurious seats. The jet was set up with secured couches instead of the tight seats with armrests Sabela saw in the movies. Beyond that, it was fitted with a large screen television bigger than she’d ever seen before.
Sabela sank into the couch and located the seat belt hidden in its cushions. The whole thing was anchored into the floor of the plane, and wouldn’t budge during takeoff or turbulence.
What would her mother think? Would she be proud, or ashamed? Ashamed, of course. Sabela felt the same. She tried not to think about it.
Maybe she was more like her father than she thought. He’d run away from his problems and straight to the bottom of a bottle, and she’d tried to dodge her crippling debt by believing an anonymous benefactor had taken pity on her. She’d failed to take proper care.
And what about Trevor?
Sabela frowned. All her brother cared about these days was whether she had money for him to burn shopping online, or if his sports teams were winning. She’d lost her one living relative to depression and self-hatred, and she had no idea how to cure him.
All of this doubt because of money. What an evil thing it was.
Sabela remembered the turning point like it was yesterday. She had been working at the diner that day, trying to make enough to scrape by and get the rent paid. The money she made waitressing at Pinkie’s Diner wasn’t great, but it put food on the table and kept a roof over their heads.
At least it did until Trevor’s medical bills stacked up and the debt collectors began calling, and eventually came pounding on their door.
Sabela had long since sold their parents’ house to try to pay off Trevor’s hospital bills after the accident, but the house had been mortgaged to the hilt and hardly put a dent in Trevor’s debt.
The rent for the tiny apartment they’d moved into hadn’t been paid for months, and the landlord was initiating eviction proceedings.
Desperate times called for desperate measures, and Sabela was at her wit’s end. Buying a lottery ticket to the largest lottery jackpot in the country’s history was her last ditch effort. If she won, she’d be debt free forever and Trevor would get the best care in the country and be back on his feet again.
There was a feeling in her gut that told her it was the right thing to do. The drawing would be held four years to the day after Pinkie’s thirtieth anniversary, a date that would forever be burned into Sabela’s memory — the day of her brother’s terrible car accident.
For four long years she’d been fighting a losing battle. It was past time for her luck to turn. By the day the drawing was held, Sabela was certain her moment had arrived.
Gathered around the tiny television suspended from the ceiling at Pinkie’s, she’d watched with the other waitresses and a few customers as the winning numbers scrolled across the screen.
The first matched. Sabela held her ticket tighter, unable to hold back her grin.
Then the second matched, as well. That gut feeling hadn’t led her astray. Everything would be okay. Better than okay.
And then the third number wasn’t a match. Her hope collapsed. None of the other numbers matched either. All of her pretty dreams vanished.
She’d dropped the ticket and closed her eyes. If she tried hard enough, maybe she’d wake up from the nightmare.
But there was nothing to wake up from.
Tears had beaded in the closed corners of Sabela’s eyes until they grew fat and rolled down her cheeks. She’d choked out a stifled sob. Where was her happy ending? She’d worked herself to the bone to try to provide for her brother, but she always came up short.
“Hey,” a newly-hired waitress, Diana, whispered. “What’s wrong? Don’t cry.”
Sabela opened her eyes, took a few steps back, and bit down hard on her bottom lip. The tears were growing, and she was trembling all over. There was no holding it back.
Devastated, she let out a wracking sob. That was it. She was finished.
Diana had been quick to sweep her into a hug, and Sabela wept and told her how she thought the lottery would save her. She’d been so stupid, she mumbled again and again.
When Sabela was a little calmer, Diana found their manager to let him know Sabela needed to go home. She tried to tell Diana that she couldn’t afford to go home, but no words came out.
Sabela didn’t know what excuse Diana used, but it worked. Before Sabela knew it, she was in her tiny bedroom, staring at the ceiling.
She’d failed herself, but worst of all, she’d failed Trevor.
What were they going to do now? she’d wondered. It had been a very long, very miserable night.
Then happy fate stepped in, or so she thought at the time.
Chapter Seven
THE NEXT WEEK, DIANA GAVE Sabela a flyer she said she’d found posted outside the diner that morning. It was like the cosmos had heard Sabela’s sorrows and had sent something to apologize. Written on the glossy paper in thick red letters were words she could relate to well.
Are you drowning in debt?
Usually an ad like that wouldn’t have earned a second glance, but it felt too coincidental. Expecting to read anot
her pitch for a consolidation service or a pawn shop, she took a look at the ad.
It wasn’t at all what she’d assumed. It was an advertisement for an organization that provided emergency relief funds for people in need. On the spot, Sabela pulled her phone out of her pocket and called the number.
The woman who answered had a warm, friendly voice. She said everything that Sabela needed to hear.
“I’m so glad you called, dear,” the woman said. “That’s exactly what we’re here for. You’re going to feel so much better soon. Let me get your information.”
The process was strange. The woman asked Sabela about her favorite music, her favorite kinds of flowers, what colors she liked the best, and about food allergies. Sometimes, the questions were so personal that they caught Sabela off-guard.
“What do you need my dress size for?” Sabela asked. “Isn’t this about financial relief?”
“It’s all for statistical purposes, Ms. Vaughn,” the woman said. “We want to know about our applicants so we can better understand where they’re coming from, which will help us offer better service. So what size is it? Oh, and also, what shoe size do you wear?”
On and on it went. When it was over, the woman said Sabela’s relief check would arrive within the week.
And it actually did.
Sabela was floored … and ecstatic. It was a huge amount of money, enough to pay the back rent and keep her and her brother housed for at least another year.
With money like that, it was easy to forget that she’d ever struggled. At that moment, Sabela had promised that she wouldn’t take the money for granted. She’d work just as hard as if she’d never received the money in the first place.
She was sure the aid would dry up soon, and she didn’t want to be caught unprepared.
The next week another deposit appeared in her account. One by one, Sabela placed calls to the agencies she owed, only to find out her debts had already been paid in full. All of her struggles had vanished overnight.
It was a miracle, and she worked hard to never take it for granted.
Now it turned out it wasn’t a miracle after all, thanks to Sabela being desperate and not carefully reading the contracts she’d signed for each of those big checks.