When I was sixteen, my father broke his spine at a construction site. The surgery would cost two hundred thousand, but after scouring the house, we only scraped together three thousand eight hundred dollars. Clutching my withdrawal application, I reached the school gates when Summerville stopped me. She was the quietest top student in our class, sitting right behind me. That day, she pressed a bank card into my hand. “Get your dad treated first. I’ll cover the cost. Don’t even think about dropping out.” I told her I couldn’t repay such a sum. She simply said, “I’m not asking you to repay it. Just get into college.” Later, she sent me living expenses every month, with a note that only read: ‘Don’t give up.’ My father survived, and I got into a top university. She never once mentioned the money. Ten years later, I owned three companies with a billion dollars in assets. And Summerville’s name appeared on a court’s defaulters list. “Former shareholder of a tech company, due to joint liability on a guarantee, owes four million two hundred thousand, listed as a defaulted debtor.” I put down my phone and pulled the bank card, long since filled with money, from my drawer. This time, it was my turn to knock on her door.
“What’s with all the banging? Are you trying to kill me?” The rusty security door was yanked open from inside, its hinges shrieking in protest. It wasn’t Summerville who opened the door, but a bald man, bare-chested with a thick gold chain around his neck, reeking of cheap tobacco. I stood outside, my gaze sweeping past his shoulder into the room. The living room was a mess; beer bottles littered the floor, the sofa cover was ripped to shreds, and “PAY UP” was spray-painted in red on the wall. “What are you looking at? Who are you looking for?” The bald man impatiently flicked his cigarette ash. “Summerville,” I said. “Who are you?” The bald man looked me up and down, his eyes lighting up as they stopped on the Patek Philippe on my wrist. “A relative of the debtor? Perfect. She owes our boss one point two million. Are you here to pay it for her?” I ignored him, turning to glance at Casey behind me. Casey had been my assistant for five years — tough and quiet. He stepped forward, pushed the bald man aside, and strode into the house. “Hey, you damn—” The bald man started to curse, but Casey twisted his wrist and pressed it down. The bald man instantly dropped to one knee on the broken glass, gasping in pain. I stepped over the trash on the floor and walked to the bedroom door. It was empty. The closet doors hung open, not even a hanger left inside, and the bed frame was covered in a thin layer of dust. She had moved out at least a week ago. “Where is she?” I turned, looking at the bald man. “How would I know!” The bald man gritted his teeth. “The court already seized this apartment.” “Our boss forcibly pried it open last week to use as a temporary dormitory. She ran faster than a rabbit!” I didn’t speak. My chest felt heavy, like it was stuffed with wet cotton, a suffocating ache. Four million two hundred thousand. To the current me, it was just half a month’s profit from two of my company’s production lines. But for an ordinary person, it was an insurmountable weight that could utterly crush their spirit. A memory suddenly flashed in my mind. That winter, my sophomore year of high school, Pittsburgh had its first snowfall. I couldn’t afford dorm fees and was kicked out by the dorm supervisor. At night, I could only sneak into the utility room under the school stadium’s bleachers. That night, I had a high fever. My body was ice cold, like I was submerged in freezing water, and I didn’t even have the strength to stand up. Then, the iron door of the utility room was pushed open. Wind and snow poured in. Summerville stood at the doorway. She wore an oversized school uniform, her nose red from the cold, holding a glass bottle wrapped in a towel. She didn’t ask why I was sleeping there, nor did she say anything to pity me. She just walked over and pressed the scalding hot bottle into my arms. Then she took out two packets of fever reducers and two steaming hot savory pastries from her pocket, placing them beside me. “Eat it all,” she said, then turned and walked back into the snow. I held that glass bottle all night. It burned my chest red, but it saved my miserable life. I always remembered that warmth. “Mr. Frank,” Casey said in a low voice, releasing the bald man. “Just had someone check the street cameras. Miss Summerville… she went to the South District.” The South District, a notorious lawless district in Pittsburgh, a gathering place for slums, dodgy businesses, and homeless encampments. I shoved my hands into my pockets, my fingertips brushing the worn, old bank card. “Let’s go.” “Where?” Casey asked. I gave the shivering bald man on the floor a cold glance. “South District. Turn the place upside down. Find her for me.”
By the time the car drove into the South District, it was completely dark. Half the streetlights were out, and the air was thick with the mixed scent of cheap takeout food and backed-up sewers. A Maybach stopping in a place like this was like wearing a tuxedo into a pigsty—extremely conspicuous. But I didn’t care. Casey held his phone, pointing to a greasy fast-food joint ahead, its sign too grimy to read. “Mr. Frank, the informant says Miss Summerville has been washing dishes here for the past few days. Sixty a day, meals included.” Sixty a day. I closed my eyes, my jaw clenched tight. Pushing open the car door, I walked straight towards the fast-food place. Before I even entered, I heard a sharp scream. “Are you blind?! This is my brand-new, limited-edition dress!” A woman’s voice came from inside the restaurant. It was familiar, with that deliberately affected, saccharine tone. I stopped outside the glass door. Through the greasy glass, I saw Summerville. She wore a ill-fitting grey waterproof apron, her hair simply tied back with an elastic band, her face pale as paper, her jawline sharp from weight loss. She was squatting on the floor, holding a rag. On the ground was a spilled puddle of mushroom soup, and standing in front of her was a flashily dressed woman. Ulysses, Summerville’s college roommate, and an employee she had personally mentored and promoted. “Ulysses, don’t get so angry. She didn’t do it on purpose.” A man sat nearby, with slicked-back hair, wearing a poorly tailored custom suit, his legs crossed. Wilson, Summerville’s ex-fiancé. “Wilson, I just can’t stand it!” Ulysses leaned into Wilson’s arms, pouting. “I’m usually not one for drama, but today is our company’s IPO anniversary. And she, a dishwasher, spills soup on my leg? Isn’t she doing this on purpose to annoy me?” She deliberately emphasized the word ‘dishwasher.’ Wilson patted her hand, then looked down at Summerville, who was still squatting on the floor. “Summerville, it’s not like I haven’t told you.” He sighed, his tone filled with nauseating condescension. “You insisted on shouldering that debt back then. Why put yourself in this situation?” “Look at you now. You don’t look like a top university graduate anymore.” Summerville didn’t look up. She meticulously wiped the soup from the floor. Her movements were mechanical, numb, as if she couldn’t hear what they were saying. I watched her slender back, another memory unbiddenly flashing in my mind. During the second semester of my senior year, five hundred dollars in class funds went missing. I was the poorest kid then, and everyone pointed fingers at me, accusing me of theft. Our teacher called me into the office and told me to empty my pockets. I didn’t. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my flesh. Just as everyone was convinced I was a thief, Summerville pushed open the door and walked in. She slapped a physics competition registration form onto the teacher’s desk. “He didn’t steal it,” she said, pointing to the time stamp on the form. “From noon to one PM, he was helping the physics teacher organize lab equipment. Security footage confirms it.” Then she turned to face the pointing students, her voice not loud, but incredibly clear. “Being poor doesn’t make you a thief. If you don’t have proof, shut up.” After school that day, she called out to me by the sports field. No comfort, no sympathy. She just looked into my eyes and said one sentence. “Frank, never bow your head.” But now, the girl who once told me ‘never bow your head’ was squatting on a greasy floor, bowing her head in front of a truly disgusting man. “Where’s the owner?! Call your owner out!” Ulysses was still screaming relentlessly. The owner, sweating, rushed out, bowing profusely. “How dare you hire such an untrustworthy dishwasher? Fire her! Or I’ll make sure you get reported every single day!” The owner looked uncomfortable, then turned to Summerville. “Miss Summerville, you see… how about you take your pay and leave today?”
Summerville finally stood up. She untied her waterproof apron, placed it on a nearby table, and offered no excuses, no pleas. “Alright.” Her voice was incredibly hoarse. Casey whispered behind me, “Mr. Frank, should I go in and clear the place?” “Go investigate.” I stared at the couple inside the glass door, my eyes colder than the night wind outside. “Find out exactly how Wilson got her to shoulder that four-point-two-million-dollar debt.” Summerville left through the back door. I didn’t follow immediately. I needed to first understand who had pushed her to the edge of the cliff. Casey was highly efficient. The next morning, a thick stack of documents lay on my desk. I opened the first page, my fingers involuntarily tightening, knuckles turning white. So that was it. What a dirty trick. Three years ago, Summerville and Wilson partnered to start a tech company. Summerville was responsible for core technology R&D, while Wilson handled external relations and finance. A year ago, Wilson claimed he’d landed a big project that required a loan to expand production capacity. He presented a joint liability agreement for Summerville to sign. “What were his exact words?” I stared at the photocopy in the document. Casey impassively recounted the recorded conversation: “He said, ‘Summerville, I’m your fiancé. Would I ever screw you over?’” “‘This project is a surefire profit. Once we clear this hurdle, we’ll get married.’” I sneered. “And the result?” “As soon as the money was deposited, Wilson transferred the funds to a shell company under various pretexts.” Casey turned a page. “The legal representative of that shell company is Ulysses.” I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. No wonder Ulysses was so arrogant in the fast-food place yesterday. So she was using Summerville’s hard-earned money to play the socialite in front of her. “The company’s funding dried up, and Wilson immediately filed for bankruptcy liquidation,” Casey continued his report. “Because Miss Summerville signed an unlimited joint liability agreement, all the debt fell onto her shoulders. Four point two million.” Wilson walked away clean, re-emerging as a ‘senior partner’ in Ulysses’s company. Meanwhile, Summerville became a defaulter, forced to work odd jobs under the radar. “There’s one more thing, Mr. Frank.” Casey hesitated. “Speak.” “Miss Summerville’s mother was diagnosed with end-stage kidney failure last month. She’s currently at Third Hospital.” Casey placed a payment reminder on the desk. “This afternoon, if the twenty thousand dollars for dialysis isn’t paid, the hospital will stop her medication.” Twenty thousand. Again, it was because of twenty thousand. Time seemed to form an absurd, closed loop. My freshman year of college, my father’s follow-up rehabilitation treatments. The hospital issued an ultimatum. I was eighteen thousand short. I even considered selling my blood back then. Then, a twenty-thousand-dollar transfer hit my account. The sender left no name, only ‘Don’t give up’ in the memo. I knew who it was, of course. That month, I secretly returned to Pittsburgh once. From a distance, I saw Summerville in the cafeteria, eating plain noodles for a whole month. I leaned back in the leather chair, my heart feeling like it was being ripped out. Ten years ago, she ate plain noodles so I wouldn’t go hungry. Ten years later, to pay for her mother’s dialysis, she washed dishes in grime and was still treated like dirt. “Frank,” I mumbled my own name. “You’re such a damn failure.”
Ten years. I’d had countless opportunities to come back and find her. But I was afraid I wasn’t successful enough, afraid I couldn’t stand before her. I waited until I achieved success, but she had fallen into hell. “Get the car ready.” I stood up, grabbing the car keys and the old bank card from my desk. “To Third Hospital.” The hospital corridor in the afternoon reeked of disinfectant. As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, I heard an extremely harsh laugh. Following the sound, I saw Summerville leaning against the wall next to the hospital billing department, clutching a payment slip. Wilson and Ulysses stood opposite her. “Summerville, why do you have to be so stubborn?” Wilson, hands in his pockets, feigned a look of deep regret. “Her mother’s illness can’t wait. All you have to do is sign that declaration to fully relinquish your shares, acknowledging that I was the primary developer of all those technical patents.” He pulled a stack of cash, probably ten thousand dollars, from his pocket. “I’ll consider this money a loan to you. You don’t have to repay it. Consider it me being generous for old times’ sake.” Summerville stared at the stack of money, her fingers trembling. “Wilson.” Her voice was soft, as if a breeze could scatter it, but every word was full of pain. “You stole those patents from my computer when my mother was critically ill.” “You transferred assets, engineered a scheme to saddle me with debt, and now you’re even trying to cut off my mother’s last chance at life.” She looked up, her once clear eyes bloodshot. “Aren’t you afraid of facing consequences?” Wilson’s face changed slightly, clearly embarrassed to be called out in public. But he quickly recovered, putting on his indifferent sneer. “Summerville, you need to speak with evidence,” he lowered his voice, his eyes cold and sinister. “It’s in black and white, your signature is on it. You’re a defaulter now, who’s going to believe you?” “If you don’t sign this waiver today, your mother will be kicked out of her hospital room tomorrow.” “Wilson, why are you wasting your breath on her?” Ulysses swayed her hips, reaching for Wilson’s arm. “I told you, Summerville is just too strong-willed. What’s wrong with compromising?” She turned to Summerville, her face a mask of feigned innocence and grievance. “Summerville, don’t look at me like that. I’m doing this for your own good.” “Wilson painstakingly pulled this money from the company’s funds. Hurry up and take it to pay the bill. Don’t make your mother wait.” Hah! The man was a jerk, and the woman was a total bitch. Summerville didn’t look at her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she reopened them, her gaze held a quiet, stark resolve. She slowly raised her hand, reaching for the stack of money. For her mother, she was ready to bend her back, something she’d never done before. Just as her fingers were about to touch the banknotes, a hand reached out from the side and fiercely grabbed her wrist. Summerville’s entire body jolted. She turned her head, startled. I looked at her, at her gaunt face, at the desperation that hadn’t yet faded from her eyes, and a volcano of rage erupted in my chest. I pulled her behind me, turned, and looked at Wilson. “This money,” I said, my voice low, laced with extreme, suppressed fury, “I’ll pay it for her.”
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