"Tell me exactly what you want—three million, tonight." "I told you." Imelda's voice was smooth and sharp. "Three million by midnight or my husband signs his life away." A plate slid on the table. My hand stayed on it. "That's impossible," someone muttered. Matilde's laugh sounded thin in the cramped kitchen. "I'll go," I said. Silence snapped into motion. Robert's fork clattered to his plate. "Ami, you can't," he said. His voice came out small. "I'm—" "Don't talk," Imelda cut in. "This is between adults." "You're not paying me to be an adult," Matilde said. "You never have." "I told you I'm going," I repeated. "Call the police if you must, but I'm going." Imelda looked at me the way a finisher looks at a runner who refuses to quit. "You? You think you can—" "I'll go," I said again. My words were steady. I set my palm on the table like it anchored me. "You'll what? Walk into a hotel lobby and charm a loan shark?" Matilde leaned back in her chair and smirked. "You live above a bakery. You don't belong in Meridian." "I belong anywhere I decide to go," I said. I heard my voice soften, then sharpen. "I'm done letting debt decide my family." Imelda's phone buzzed. She pulled it out like it was a weapon. "Three million," she mouthed at the screen, then answered. "Talk." A man's