Back in the cramped rental, I didn't turn on the lights.
By the glow of the streetlamp outside the window, I sat on the couch and kept scrolling through the old phone.
Noah must have been in too much of a hurry when he switched to his new phone, or maybe he figured I didn't understand any of this tech stuff. He hadn't even signed out of his cloud account.
I opened his cloud drive.
Inside was a folder called "Debt Transfer."
When I opened it, there was a scanned agreement.
I zoomed in and read the words on it clearly.
It was a joint and several liability guarantee, for three million.
In the guarantor's field, my name was signed.
My hand shook before I could stop it.
Three years ago, the project Noah was in charge of had a serious accident. He pulled several all-nighters in a row and nearly collapsed and died at the construction site.
I got the call and rode the hard-seat train through the night, more than ten hours, to reach his city.
At his hospital bedside, he held my hand and cried like a child.
"Jules, I'm going to prison. The company wants me to pay back three million. Where am I supposed to get that kind of money?"
It broke my heart. I emptied out every bit of savings I had and borrowed from everyone I could.
Later he told me the company had agreed to let him pay in installments, but they needed an immediate family member or a fiancée to sign as guarantor.
I signed without a second thought.
I thought I was saving his life.
Looking back now, it was a death warrant.
The folder also had a few bank statements and screenshots of internal emails.
So it turned out there had never been any accident on that project at all. Noah had teamed up with the contractor and pocketed the three million himself.
He'd shifted the debt onto my head, and he himself, with that money in hand, became the "promising young talent" in Miss Pruitt's eyes.
The phone suddenly rang. A video call from Noah.
I took a deep breath and pressed accept.
On the screen, Noah wore a well-tailored suit, his tie knotted without a single flaw.
He sat in a luxurious hotel suite, a huge floor-to-ceiling window and the glittering city night behind him.
"Baby, are you home yet? Why don't you have the lights on?" His voice was as gentle as ever.
"Just got in. A little tired," I said calmly.
"Did you have fun at the reunion? Did all your classmates envy you for having such a good husband?" he asked, smiling, his eyes full of self-satisfaction.
"It was fun." I looked at that hypocritical face.
"Good. That two hundred thousand I just sent you, hold onto it for now. Buy whatever you want, don't be so frugal."
He paused, and his tone turned a little rueful.
"I'm still with a client on my end. Tonight might be an all-nighter. Get to bed early, be good."
"Okay, don't wear yourself out," I said, going along with him.
"Oh, right, Jules." He suddenly lowered his voice.
"That installment repayment from three years ago, there's a hundred thousand due this month. All my money's tied up in the project right now. Could you cover it for now with the two hundred thousand I just transferred you?"
I looked at him and felt a wave of nausea.
He'd not only saddled me with the debt under my name, he wanted to use the money he'd tossed me as a handout to fill the hole he'd dug himself.
"Fine, I'll go to the bank tomorrow and transfer it," I said flatly.
"Baby, you're the best. Once this project's done, I'll make it up to you, I promise." He blew a kiss at the camera.
The call ended.
I sat in the dark, listening to the wind howling outside the window.
Make it up to me?
What are you going to make up for my six years of youth, and the three million in debt on my back?
I opened my laptop, packaged up all the evidence from the old phone, and sent it to my personal email.
Then I dialed a number I hadn't called in a long time.
"Hello, is this Lawyer Finch? I have a joint and several liability guarantee I need you to look at for me."
The sound of pages being flipped came from the other end.
I looked at the night outside the window, my eyes cold as ice.
