Archie’s POV
Three missed payments—the number sits in my mind like a countdown, like a ticking bomb I can't defuse.
Each deadline passed adds another layer of interest, another impossible sum to the total.
The debt has ballooned past anything I could pay even if I liquidated everything I own. Sold my car, my furniture, emptied every account, cashed in every favor.
It wouldn't be enough, not even close.
I've been living in a state of sustained panic for weeks now. Every phone call makes my heart rate spike.
Every unknown number could be Vincent with another threat, another deadline, another way to tighten the noose around my neck.
I wake up at three in the morning drenched in sweat, mind racing through scenarios that all end the same way—me losing everything.
The call from gate security comes mid-afternoon while I'm reviewing patrol schedules. Jenkins' voice carries a note of uncertainty I don't usually hear from him.
"Sir, we have a situation at the main gate."
My stomach drops. "What kind of situation?"
"There's a man here. Won't identify himself, but he's refusing to leave. Says he's waiting for you specifically. He's been very clear he's willing to wait as long as necessary."
Jenkins pauses. "He's not on any of our lists, but he's also not making threats. Just... standing there. Smiling."
Vincent.
My hands go cold, the monitor in front of me blurs as blood rushes in my ears.
"I'll be right there." I manage to keep my voice professional, like my entire world isn't crashing down around me. "Keep visual on him but don't engage."
"Yes, sir."
I grab my keys with hands that want to shake, force them steady through sheer will. Walk to my car like this is routine, like I'm not about to face the man who's been systematically destroying my life for the past two months.
The drive to the main gate takes three minutes. Three minutes of my mind racing through every possible scenario, every way this could end badly, every consequence I've been trying to avoid.
Vincent is exactly where Jenkins said he'd be. Standing just outside camera range—deliberately positioned where our security footage won't capture his face clearly. Hands in his pockets. Smiling like a man who's already won.
I pull up to the gate, get out of my car. Jenkins watches from the guard station, hand near his radio, ready to call for backup if needed.
"Archie." Vincent's voice is pleasant. Conversational. Like we're old friends meeting for coffee rather than predator and prey. "I was hoping you'd come personally."
"What do you want?" I keep my distance. Keep my voice low so Jenkins can't hear the specifics.
"Just checking in." He pulls one hand from his pocket, examines his nails like he has all the time in the world. "You've missed our last few appointments. I'm starting to think you're avoiding me."
"I told you I need more time."
"And I told you time isn't something you have, but I'm a reasonable man." His smile never wavers.
"So here's what I'm offering: one final deadline. End of this week. Friday at midnight. You bring me everything you owe—principal plus accumulated interest, we're talking about one point two million now—or I go to Xander Hale with everything."
One point two million. The number is so absurd I almost laugh.
"I don't have that kind of money."
"Then you better find it." Vincent's voice hardens slightly. "Or I walk into that house Friday night and tell your employer you yourself know what."
My jaw clenches. "You're bluffing. You have no proof—"
"I have documentation." He pulls a folder from inside his jacket. Thick. Professional.
"Death certificates. Gambling debts in your father's name. Financial records showing the collapse. Police reports from your brother's death—ruled suicide after investigation. Witness statements from people who remember your family's spiral."
He opens the folder just enough for me to see. Pages and pages of evidence. My entire past was compiled and weaponized.
"I've also got witnesses who'll testify about our arrangement. About the money you've paid me. About the conversation where I offered you an alternative to cash, Hale family information, and you refused."
Vincent closes the folder with calm finality.
"So when I tell Xander that his head of security has been hiding a million-dollar debt and actively negotiating with a criminal, he'll have every reason to believe me."
The words land like physical blows. He's not bluffing. He has everything he needs to destroy me. To position me as compromised, desperate, dangerous to the family I've sworn to protect.
"Friday at midnight," Vincent repeats. "One point two million. Or I come back with lawyers and documentation and witnesses who'll ensure you lose the only family you have left."
He steps back, starts walking toward a car parked down the road, just visible around the curve. Pauses, turns back.
"Oh, and Archie? That pretty girlfriend of yours—Maya, right? It would be a shame if she got caught in the crossfire when this all comes out. When Xander learns his head of security has been lying about debts and his assistant has been... well. Let's just say her secrets are interesting too."
The implication hangs in the air. Vincent knows about Maya's late-night searches, her file access. Something about her that makes her as vulnerable as I am.
Then he's gone. Walking away with the casual confidence of someone who knows he's already won. His retreating figure is a countdown timer, each step marking seconds until my life detonates.
I stand at the gate for several minutes after Vincent disappears. Jenkins calls asking if everything's okay. I tell him yes, just a confused visitor, nothing to worry about.
The lie tastes like ash.
I drive back to the house on autopilot. Park in my usual spot. Walk to my office like nothing's wrong. Review security reports like my hands aren't shaking. Like my entire foundation isn't crumbling beneath my feet.
That night, I sit alone in my apartment staring at my phone.
Xander's name is in my contacts. One call—that's all it would take. Tell him everything before Vincent can. Admit the debt, the vulnerability, the fact that I've been hiding something that makes me a liability to the family's security.
Maybe if I come clean first, if I show honesty rather than waiting to be exposed, there's a chance Xander will understand. Will let me work off the debt. Will keep me on despite the risk I represent.
Maybe.
Or maybe he'll fire me immediately. Cut all ties, treat me exactly like the security risk I've become.
My thumb hovers over Xander's name. I could call him right now, get it over with, rip the bandaid off before Friday's deadline forces Vincent's version of events.
But I can't make my thumb press the button, can't make myself initiate the conversation that will destroy everything I've built.
Tomorrow. I'll do it tomorrow. Wake up early, catch Xander before his morning meetings, lay it all out—the debt, the threats, the vulnerability. Before Vincent can.
The phone sits heavy in my hand, Xander's name glows on the screen. Tomorrow. First thing.
I set the phone down, lean back against my couch and stare at the ceiling of an apartment I'll probably lose along with everything else when this falls apart.
Three days until Vincent's deadline or three days to find the courage to tell the truth before the truth finds me.
I'm out of time, out of options, out of lies that will hold. I close my eyes, try to sleep but fail.
The countdown continues. Friday at midnight. Seventy-two hours. And I'm completely, utterly, catastrophically out of moves.