permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Visit the author website: http://www.lethalbooks.com
eBook Published by: http://www.telemachuspress.com
ISBN: 978-1-935-67003- 2
Prologue
The small house was old and cramped by furniture that seemed even older. A transaction was taking place at the kitchen table, where the three of them sat. A slightly foul odor seeped in from the living room. Trish didn’t know it yet, but the next few minutes would change her life. She cleared her throat.
“We were hoping to get eighteen thousand dollars,” she said to the loan officer.
The young blond loan officer wore her hair combed back with a part midway above her left eye. “No offence,” she said, “but it took more than eighteen thousand dollars of stress to put those dark circles under your eyes. Not to mention the car in your driveway, the condition of your home, the fact you’ve been turned down by every lender in town…”
Trish swallowed, seemed about to cry.
The loan officer’s face was visually stunning, with flawless skin, impossibly high cheekbones, and sandy blond eyebrows that arched naturally over electric, pale-gray eyes. Her name was Callie Carpenter, and she was wearing driving gloves.
Trish’s husband Rob wasn’t looking at the gloves. His eyes had found a home in Callie Carpenter’s perfectly- proportioned cleavage.
“You know the vibe I’m getting?” said Callie. “Pain. Frustration. Desperation. There’s love in this home, I can feel it. But it’s being tested. I look at you guys and I see the vultures circling your marriage.”
Trish and Rob exchanged a look that seemed to confirm her words.
Trish said, “This sounds all New Age to me. I’m not sure what this has to do with our loan application.”
Callie looked at the chipped coffee cup in front of her from which she’d declined to drink. She sighed. “Let me put it another way: how much money would it take to remove the stress from your lives, allow you to sleep at night and help you remember that the important thing is not other people and what you owe them, but rather the two of you, and what you mean to each other?”
Trish had been quietly wringing her hands in her lap, and now she looked down at them as though they belonged to a stranger. “I’m afraid we have no collateral.”
Rob said, “The banks got us on one of those adjustable rate mortgages that turned south on us. Then I lost my job. Next thing you know—”
Callie held up a hand. “Stop,” she said. “Would a hundred thousand dollars get you through the bad times?”
“Oh, hell yeah!” said Rob.
Trish eyed Callie suspiciously. “We could never qualify for that type of unsecured credit.”
“This wouldn’t be a conventional loan,” said Callie, getting to her favorite part of the story. “It’s what I call a Rumplestilskin Loan.”
Trish’s voice grew sharp. “You’re mocking us. Look, Ms…”
“Carpenter.”
“…I don’t particularly care for your sense of humor. Or your personal assessment of our marriage.”
“You think I’m playing with you?” Callie opened her briefcase, spun it around to face them.
Rob’s eyes grew wide as saucers. “Holy shit!” he said. “Is that a hundred grand?”
“It is.”
“This is ridiculous,” Trish said. “How could we possibly pay that back?”
“It’s not so much a loan as it is a social experiment,” Callie said. “The millionaire I represent will donate up to one
