The heavy silence in the living room was broken only by the sound of Jameson stepping over the threshold. His leather dress shoes thudded against the creaky floorboards. He ignored Burt's gaping mouth and walked straight toward Debora.
He stopped right in front of her. He reached down, offering a large, long-fingered hand.
Debora stared at it. Her chest heaved. She remembered those hands from the dark hotel room a month ago, but the man attached to them now felt like a complete stranger. Slowly, she lifted her own trembling, sweat-slicked hand and placed it in his.
Jameson's fingers closed around hers. His grip was crushing, pulling her up from the floor with a force that made her shoulder joint ache. It wasn't a gentle rescue; it was a claim.
Marlene finally snapped out of her shock. Her greed quickly replaced her anger. She planted her hands on her wide hips and stepped into Jameson's path.
"Who do you think you are?" Marlene shrieked. "You think you can just walk in here and take the girl we raised? She owes us!"
Burt quickly caught on, stepping up beside his wife. "She's a paroled convict. A liability. If you want to take her off our hands, it's going to cost you."
A hot wave of humiliation burned the back of Debora's neck. She yanked her hand, trying to break Jameson's grip. "I am not a piece of property!" she yelled at Burt.
Jameson let out a low, dark chuckle. The sound held no humor. It made the hairs on Debora's arms stand up.
He didn't release her hand. Instead, he reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket with his free hand and pulled out a leather-bound checkbook and a heavy fountain pen.
He didn't ask for a seat. He slapped the checkbook down onto the dusty television stand, uncapped the pen with his thumb, and wrote a string of numbers in quick, sharp strokes. He tore the check free and held it out to Burt, pinched between two fingers.
Burt snatched it. His eyes bulged as he read the numbers. "One... one million dollars?"
Marlene gasped, leaning over Burt's shoulder. The ugly scowl on her face instantly melted into a sickeningly sweet, greedy smile.
Debora stared at the piece of paper, her mind spinning. She looked up at Jameson's hard profile. "Where did you get that kind of money?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. She thought he was just a regular guy from a bar.
"I recently sold off a niche software patent I developed in college," Jameson said, his voice flat, devoid of any attachment to the fortune he was giving away. "It's the entirety of the buyout. Consider it a dowry."
The lie was smooth, flawless. A heavy stone of guilt dropped into Debora's stomach. He was giving up everything he had for her. For a mistake they made in the dark.
Burt shoved the check deep into his pocket. "Go pack your things, Debora. Don't keep the man waiting."
Marlene grabbed Debora's bicep, her fingernails digging into the skin. She dragged Debora toward the narrow kitchen.
The moment they were out of Jameson's sight, Marlene's fake smile vanished. She leaned in close, her cheap perfume suffocating Debora.
Marlene jabbed a finger hard into Debora's collarbone. "You listen to me. That man just paid one million dollars for you, and you better make sure you serve him well and keep him happy. If he gets bored of you and brings you back here, I will call your parole officer and tell him you've been stealing from us. You'll be back in a cell by nightfall."
Debora's jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. She knew Marlene wasn't bluffing. They had sold her.
She didn't say a word. She pulled her arm free and walked toward the tiny closet that served as her bedroom.
She dragged out a faded canvas duffel bag. She shoved her few threadbare t-shirts and jeans inside. From the nightstand, she picked up the only thing of value she owned: a blurry photograph of her biological mother. She carefully slid it between the pages of a paperback book and placed it at the bottom of the bag.
Debora zipped the bag and walked back into the living room. Jameson was standing by the window, his hands clasped behind his back, looking utterly repulsed by his surroundings.
Hearing her footsteps, he turned. His eyes dropped to her pathetic bag. A flicker of mockery danced in his blue eyes, gone as quickly as it appeared.
He didn't offer to carry it. "Follow me," he ordered, turning on his heel and walking out the front door.
Debora gripped the handles of her bag. She didn't look back at Burt and Marlene, who were already arguing over the check. She stepped out into the cold air, following the broad back of the man who had just bought her life.
