Clara finally looked up. Her voice was barely a whisper.
“One hundred and fifty thousand,” she said.
I blinked. “You owe one hundred and fifty thousand dollars?”
Michael answered for her, of course.
“Private investors,” he said. “They’re not the kind of people who accept ‘I’ll pay you later.’”
Clara started crying again, quieter now, more desperate than dramatic.
“They’ve been calling,” she said. “Making threats. They know where we’re staying. They know our routines.”
My mother stepped forward as if she could physically push guilt into my body.
“We’re scared,” she said. “Really scared, Lara.”
I did feel bad. I’m not made of stone. Fear is contagious, and this room was thick with it.
“That’s terrible,” I said. “But I still don’t understand why I’m here.”
My mother inhaled, then dropped the bomb like it was a reasonable request.
“We know you bought a house,” she said. “A nice one. We think you should sell it and help Clara pay off these debts.”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. The audacity stole the air from my lungs.
“Are you out of your mind?” I finally said.