"Linda!" the man's voice echoed down the wooden steps.
I bolted upright on the futon. The door at the top of the stairs swung wide open, casting a long, sharp shadow across the concrete floor.
"It's Thomas," Sarah's husband called out. He held a large stack of thick quilts against his chest, his face barely visible over the top. "Sarah wanted me to bring these down before I left for my night shift."
I exhaled, my racing pulse finally slowing down. "Thank you, Thomas. Leave them on the bottom step."
He dropped the bedding and retreated, pulling the door shut behind him. I grabbed the blankets, wrapped myself up on the thin mattress, and stared at the exposed ceiling beams until exhaustion pulled me under.
Morning light eventually broke through the narrow, dirt-streaked window near the ceiling. I sat up, my back aching from the rigid springs of the futon.
The basement door creaked open again.
"Are you awake?" Sarah asked, stepping carefully down the stairs. She carried two ceramic mugs. Steam rose from the dark liquid.
"I am now," I said.
Sarah handed me a mug. "Black coffee. Two sugars. As you like it."
"You're a lifesaver."
Sarah sat on the edge of the plastic storage bin opposite my bed. "Daniel left early to grab some pipe fittings. He said you were hauling heavy boxes around last night."
"I needed to clear a space."
"You needed to rest," Sarah corrected, her brow furrowing. "I stayed up waiting for you to come upstairs. Mark called my house phone four times."
"Did you answer?"
"Of course not. I unplugged the receiver from the wall."
I took a sip of the hot coffee. The bitter taste grounded me. "He's going to be furious."
"Let him be furious," Sarah scoffed. "He humiliated you in front of three hundred people. I still can't believe Caleb went along with it."
"Caleb only cares about the optics. Rebecca looks good in photos."
My phone started vibrating hard against the concrete floor.
I set my mug down and picked up the device.
Fourteen missed calls. Ten from unknown numbers. Four from Caleb.
The screen flashed instantly. Another incoming call from a local number.
"Is it Mark?" Sarah asked, leaning forward.
"No. Unlisted."
I swiped the green icon and put the phone to my ear. "Hello?"
"Am I speaking to Linda Dawson?" a woman's sharp voice demanded.
"This is she."
"My name is Brenda. I'm the billing coordinator for the Grandview Ballroom. We have a severe issue regarding your son's wedding reception."
I kept my voice flat. "The event ended hours ago."
"And the final invoice remains unpaid," Brenda snapped. "Fifteen thousand dollars. That covers the extended open bar, the overtime staffing, and the broken fixtures in the bridal suite."
"Broken fixtures?"
"Someone threw a champagne flute through a decorative mirror. But that is beside the point. We attempted to run the credit card Caleb provided at midnight. The charge was declined."
"Then you need to contact the groom."
"I did contact him," Brenda argued. "He yelled at my staff, claimed you were handling all the finances, and hung up the phone."
"I handed him the vendor contracts yesterday evening. I am no longer the point of contact."
"Mrs. Dawson, you signed the initial deposit paperwork."
"I paid the twenty-thousand-dollar deposit in cash. The remaining balance falls to Caleb."
"He doesn't have the funds! The card is maxed out."
"That sounds like a personal problem," I said.
"Excuse me?" Brenda gasped.
"You heard me."
"Mrs. Dawson, we provided a luxury service. We expect immediate compensation."
"And I expect the groom to pay his own debts."
"If you do not process this payment immediately, I will send this account to our collections agency. We will ruin your credit."
"My name is not on the final authorization form. Caleb signed that yesterday morning. Check your files."
Silence stretched over the line. I could hear papers shuffling in the background.
"He told us to call you," Brenda finally said, her tone losing some of its bite.
"He lied. Do not call this number again."
I ended the call and tossed the phone onto the mattress.
Sarah stared at me, her eyes wide. "Fifteen thousand dollars? What did they do to that suite?"
"I don't know, and I don't care."
"Caleb's card bounced?"
"He probably maxed it out paying for the honeymoon upgrades," I said, picking up my phone again. "Mark always bails him out. Let Mark pay for the broken mirror."
I tapped the blue banking icon on my home screen.
"What are you doing?" Sarah asked.
"Cutting the final string."
The app opened to the joint accounts page.
Checking: $4,200.
Savings: $85,000.
I stared at the five-digit number.
"Is that the joint account?" Sarah asked, peering over my shoulder.
"Yes."
"How much is in there?"
"Eighty-five thousand."
Sarah whistled. "Mark's annual bonus check?"
"No. My savings," I said, my grip tightening on the phone. "I worked double shifts at the diner for five years while he took night classes. I clipped coupons. I bought second-hand clothes for Caleb. Mark never contributed a single dime to this specific fund. He demanded his name be on it for 'security' purposes."
"Then take it all. He owes you for the dress alone."
"I'm going to."
I tapped the 'Transfer' button.
Destination: My private checking account. The one Mark didn't have the password to.
Amount: $85,000.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Sarah asked, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Once you move that money, there's no going back. Mark will notice immediately."
"I want him to notice."
I typed in my four-digit security pin.
The screen flashed a warning. Transferring the full balance will leave this account at $0.00. Proceed?
I hit confirm.
The loading wheel spun for three agonizing seconds.
Transfer Successful.
My chest felt lighter. The crushing weight I had carried since yesterday afternoon began to dissolve, replaced by aclear sense of purpose.
I clicked on the account settings tab. I scrolled down to 'Linked Users'.
Mark Dawson.
I pressed the red 'Remove User' button.
Are you sure you want to unlink this account? This action cannot be reversed online.
"Goodbye, Mark," I muttered.
I tapped 'Yes'.
The screen refreshed. The digital tether vanished. The account now belonged solely to me.
A violent screech pierced the quiet morning air.
Tires skidded against the pavement right outside the narrow basement window.
I flinched, dropping the phone onto the futon.
Sarah jumped up from the plastic bin. "Who is driving like a maniac in my neighborhood?"
Heavy footsteps pounded against the concrete driveway above us. A car door slammed shut with enough force to rattle the glass in the window frame.
Sarah hurried up the wooden stairs. She pushed the basement door open and disappeared into the hallway.
I stood up, my fists clenching at my sides. I waited in the dim light, listening to the muffled sounds from the floor above.
Seconds later, Sarah reappeared at the top of the stairs. She gripped the doorframe, her face pale.
"Linda," Sarah yelled, her voice tight with panic. "Mark's car is in the driveway, and he looks pissed."
