Breaking The Rules

Chapter 11

Tony went dead. He just sat there, staring at my face as if I were speaking a foreign language. Then, a dry, bitter laugh escaped his chest.

“Sandra, this is a terrible time for jokes. And a horrifying topic to joke about. God.”

“And who said I'm joking?” I pulled up the image on my screen, holding it out to him. “He said he tried calling you over and over, but you weren't picking up. He sent the bank transfer receipt directly to me. Look!”

Tony snatched the phone from my hand, his thumbs frantically zooming in on the digital document, scanning the line items to verify every single detail.

“Yesss!” he roared, a sudden burst of electric adrenaline hitting him as he grabbed me by the waist, lifting me completely off my feet and swinging me around the living room.

“Put me down!” I laughed through my tears, clinging to his shoulders.

After the initial burst of celebration subsided, reality crashed back into the room. I gently gripped his arm, grounding us both. “We only have two days left to raise the other half, Tony.”

Remembering our earlier strategy, I added, “Lest I forget, have you secured the right media outlet to handle the exposure once we have the full amount?”

“Yes, of course,” he explained, dragging a hand across his face as frustration crept back into his expression. “I managed to book the most popular media platform in the region. You know this story had to go viral the second we hit publish to clear my name. The remaining money is the only thing holding us back from pressing start.”

I looked at him expectantly. “You haven't told me what Lucas said.”

“Just what I feared,” Tony muttered, avoiding my eyes. “He can't help us right now. It's a bad time to ask him for that kind of liquid capital. He’s already tied up all his assets in another major investment overseas.”

“What?” The air was sucked straight out of my lungs. “He was our last resort!”

Panic surged back into my bloodstream, thick and suffocating. I had placed every remaining grain of my hope into Lucas, and into Deborah. Now both safety nets were utterly destroyed.

“We don't have time!” I cried out, grabbing his shirt. “Tony, what are we going to do?”

Tony slowly turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a heavy, unreadable intensity.

“What?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper under his piercing gaze.

“Haven't you noticed anything strange since we started scrambling for funds to fix this?” he asked, his voice chillingly quiet.

I narrowed my eyes on him, a chill creeping up the back of my neck. “Something like what?”

“This whole thing . . . I have a sinking feeling someone is deliberately behind this,” he said, his brow furrowing deep with dark suspicion.

“Oh, really?” I feigned ignorance, though my stomach churned. Harrison was my prime suspect, the mastermind pulling every hidden string. But the heavy, terrifying truth choked me; I couldn't dare utter his name without opening a Pandora's box of questions I had no answers for.

“Now, listen to me. Whoever is doing this isn't just an outsider,” Tony explained, his voice dropping low. “It has to be someone very close to me. Someone who has studied my life, tracked my habits, and monitored my movements for a long, long time.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked, genuine confusion breaking through my panic.

“The timing. The strategy. It’s too precise.”

I shook my head slowly, still failing to connect the dots.

“Babe! Put one and two together. Okay? Why couldn't I secure a loan or a bailout from any of the usual channels?” he asked, his patience fraying.

I looked back at him, bewildered, as if the answer should have been obvious. “Because you don't have that kind of liquid cash on hand right now.”

“And why don't I?”

“Because . . . because you already tied up your capital in investments. This is the exact time of year you always lock your funds into property and stocks!”

“Bingo. Exactly.” Tony pointed a finger at me, his eyes wide. “Now, think. What happened when you asked your parents for help? What was their reason for almost turning you down?”

My breath hitched.

“When I asked my own parents . . . when I asked Lucas . . .”

The pieces slammed together in my head with the force of a freight train, and I gaped at him, the horrifying truth dawning on me.

“Exactly the same reason,” Tony whispered grimly. “Whoever engineered this knew our financial calendar inside and out. They timed this trap down to the exact month, knowing that, at this point every single year, neither I nor anyone in my immediate circle keeps liquid funds sitting around.”

The room seemed to spin. Now that Tony mapped it out, the malicious brilliance of it was undeniable. But an even more terrifying thought clawed at my brain: How on earth did Harrison find out so much intimate detail about our financial cycles?

“So . . . what's the plan now?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“I'm done.”

“What?” I gasped, stepping forward.

“You heard me.”

“Why? How can you say that? You can't just give up everything you've built like this!”

“I can. And I already have.”

“Tony, please—”

“Look, I have tried!” he roared, finally snapping, standing up and pacing the length of the living room. “We have only two days left on the clock. Where the f**k am I supposed to pull a million dollars out of thin air?”

“We will find a way! You can't give up, not now, not when we're this close!” Tears pricked my eyes. I knew Tony better than anyone. This contract wasn't just a deal; it was his life's blood. He had sacrificed years for it. Right now, numbness and exhaustion were talking, but the moment he surrendered, the crushing regret would break him into pieces.

“What way, Sandra? We have exhausted every single option we have!”

“No, we haven't!” Desperation forced a massive lie out of my mouth. “Deborah . . . Deborah said she would talk to some influential people she knows through the hospital network who might be able to help us!”

Thank God, a thousand times thank God, I hadn't confessed to him yet that Deborah and I had just engaged in a screaming match and torn our friendship to shreds.

Tony shook his head tiredly, his shoulders slumping under the weight of defeat. “Listen . . . just let this go, okay? Let it burn.”

“Please,” I cried, rushing over to grip his arms, playing my final card. “Baby . . . if she doesn't get back to us by tomorrow with some sort of lead, then we will give up. I swear.”

He stared down into my tear-streaked face for a long, agonizing moment before letting out a broken sigh. “Okay . . . Thank you.”

“It's okay,” I swallowed hard, forcing a brittle smile. “Let me go and prepare dinner.”

“Oh. Actually, don't bother yourself about that. I have already ordered something,” he mumbled, waving a hand vaguely toward the kitchen.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Just go freshen up and come back down.”

I nodded numbly, turning toward the stairs. But the second I turned my back, ice flooded my veins.

I need to act fast.

I needed to call Deborah right this second and confess the lie. It wouldn't take long, knowing Tony, he might decide to call her himself tonight just to thank her for stepping up. I had to reach her first, to humble myself, to beg for her forgiveness before Tony ever found out we weren't even speaking.

But wait...

Even if I patched things up with Deborah, where on earth was I supposed to get the remaining million dollars before the clock ran out?

Should I just surrender? Should I pick up the phone, call Harrison, and agree to his vile, humiliating conditions?

No. No, no, no.

I couldn't do that. I wouldn't sell my soul.

Or would I?