Nathan watched Marcus’s jaw tighten, watched his hands curl into fists at his sides. “I said I’ll manage,” Marcus repeated, his voice harder now. Frank opened the folder and pulled out several documents. “Your payment is due in ten days, eighteen thousand four hundred sixty-two dollars and seventeen cents. You got that kind of money lying around?”
“Not yet, but the rest of the field is still good. When it comes in—” “When it comes in won’t matter if you can’t make the payment on time. That’s what due date means, Marcus. You’re either on time or you’re in default.” Frank leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “Course, if you can’t pay, I’ll have to start foreclosure proceedings. Bank policy, nothing personal.”
“The hell it’s not personal,” Marcus said, his voice low and dangerous. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? Waiting for any excuse to take this land.” “I don’t need to wait for excuses. You’re poor, Marcus. You’ve been poor since your wife died and left you with all those medical bills. You were barely hanging on before the fire. Now?” He shook his head. “You’re dreaming if you think you can still send that girl of yours to college. Maybe it’s time you faced reality.”
Nathan saw Marcus take a step toward Frank, saw the violence coiling in his shoulders, and stood up quickly. “Mr. Doyle.” Frank turned to him, eyes narrowing. “And who the hell are you?” “A friend.” “Friend?” Frank’s lip curled. “You the one who crashed that fancy car into his field. Bet you feel real guilty about it. Guilty enough to help old Marcus out with his money problems?”
Nathan opened his mouth to say yes, he absolutely would help, but Marcus cut him off. “We don’t need your charity,” Marcus said, his voice sharp. “Either of you. I’ll figure this out on my own.” “Marcus,” Nathan started. “I said no.” Marcus turned to face him, and his expression was harder than Nathan had seen it. “I appreciate you wanting to help, but I don’t take handouts. Never have. Not going to start now.”
Frank laughed, a harsh sound. “Still so proud. You know what your problem is, Marcus? You think being poor is noble. You think suffering makes you better than people who actually have money. Well, newsflash, it doesn’t. It just makes you poor. And in ten days it’s going to make you homeless, too.” He gathered up his papers and headed for the door, pausing to look back. “Ten days, Marcus. Then this place is mine.”
After Frank left, the kitchen was silent except for the ticking of the wall clock. Marcus stood with his back to Nathan, his shoulders rigid, and Nathan could practically feel the shame and anger radiating off him in waves. “Marcus,” Nathan said carefully. “Let me help. I have money, more than enough to cover your mortgage and then some. It would be nothing to me.”
“That’s exactly why I can’t take it.” Marcus turned around, and his eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Because it would be nothing to you, a rounding error. But for me, it would mean I saved your life because I expected to get paid for it. It would make me someone who does good things for profit instead of because they’re right.”