I’ve watched enough T.V. to recognize the sinister click behind my head after closing my car door.

My body stiffens immediately—except for my hands flying up and my eyes darting to the rearview mirror where I see a man with fair skin sitting behind me holding a silver gun pointed at my head.

He’s wearing an oversized gray hoodie pulled over his head, and between that and the lush darkness of night outside, reducing visibility inside the car, I can’t really make out his features properly.

Though my eyes are trained on him, I can still see my lifted hands trembling a bit.

“Mrs. Henfield…” the stranger begins almost cheerfully.

“Ms. Brown,” I automatically correct him, sounding far braver than I felt.

I hadn’t taken my ex-husband’s last name, and at some point during the marriage, I realized it was useless correcting people all the time. Socially, I accepted the assumption, though my official documents remained unchanged.

These days, however, I have no patience with the incorrect address, and I correct people left and right.

“Oh, good—we got a modern, independent woman on our hands. Lucky us.” The man’s lips part in an oily grin revealing a bum tooth. “Your husband owes us a hundred grand and we need to collect,” he continues.

I almost turn to look at him like he’s crazy.

“He’s not my husband,” I say evenly, swallowing my rising outrage. “Well, he soon won’t be anyway—the divorce will be finalized any day now. So I’m not sure how what he owes is my business?”

“Let me help you,” the stranger says in a falsely friendly tone. “You see, you two are still technically married, so you share assets and debts.” I have to hold back a bitter huff at the word ‘assets.’ “And now that your husband’s…hands are tied, his responsibility to us falls on you. Got it?”

I remain silent, unsure what to say next.

He taps my headrest with the pistol.

“Let me make this clearer—if my boss doesn’t get his money, the two of you’ll start paying in other ways, understand? And then, who knows? Maybe we see if you have other family members who can help you pay. We noticed you have a beautiful young sister…”

“Okay, I’ve got it! I’ll… I’ll figure it out. But how am I supposed to do it now? I’m sure you guys know we lost everything; I have zero funds right now. I just had to use the library to use the internet!”

“We know this, and that’s why my boss decided to be merciful and help you out with a payment plan.”

“But all the money I make currently goes to the basics. I have nothing left over!”

Another tap with the weapon—this time, on my neck.

“That’s not our problem,” he says flatly. “It’s up to you to do whatever you need to in order to come up with that hundred and fifty grand.”

“Wait, I thought you said a hundred?”

“That was just the principal—before interest and fees, you see. After the past few months of nonpayment, the amount is now one fifty. And the interest doesn’t stop—the longer you take to get squared, the more you’ll have to pay back. You know how these things work; you’re an educated girl.”

I let out a breath, my mind beginning to work on the figures.

If I get another job and sell the last of my valuables and move to an even shittier apartment to lower the cost of rent, it’ll probably still take at least a year…

“You have one month to pay us,” he says with finality, as if he’s about to leave.

I blink at him through the rearview mirror. “I thought you said your boss came up with a payment plan?”

“He did. Instead of requiring the full amount within the week, you now have a generous timeframe to work with. See how merciful and kind?”

I am speechless; what they’re asking for is absolutely impossible. 

“Your folks are loaded, aren’t they?” the stranger continues, creeping me out a bit more with how much he seems to know about me. “Maybe they can help you out. Especially since both their girls are at risk. Oh, and this goes without saying, but keep your mouth shut about all this. Breathe a word to the authorities or even your parents and you’ll be sorry. Guess you’ll have to be creative with the reason you give whoever for needing the money. In the meantime, I’ll talk to the boss and see if he can offer any other kind of leniency. But I advise you to assume he won’t and be ready to cough up the cash in four weeks.”

I hear a back door open.

“We’ll be in touch,” he says before slipping from my car into the darkness, firmly closing the door behind him.

* * *

It’s a different guy this time waiting for me in the dark, just a few days after the first scare.

I’ve been trying not to be caught outside at night, but some of the jobs I take require night hours.

“Excuse the irony, but you’re a pretty lucky girl,” the guy says from behind me.

I can’t help but huff a laugh at that while keeping my hands up and visible.

“How so?” I ask the shadowed face.

“The boss said he’d give you more time. Fourteen weeks. He even paused the interest! But you need to make weekly payments of ten thousand, starting this Sunday. Payments are due every Sunday after that. If you’re ever late for any reason, we’ll send you a reminder of the stakes. If you’re unable to pay off the final total amount due at the end of the fourteen weeks, interest kicks in again—higher.”

He hands me a burner phone.

“Expect a text with drop-off instructions Sunday morning,” he says before taking off, leaving me wondering what sort of miracle I’m supposed to make happen.