The phone rang just as I was heading out for my shift. The doctor’s voice was tense:
“Your father is in critical condition. Without emergency surgery… he may not make it.”
The world tilted under my feet. The surgery cost more money than I could ever dream of having. I was a waitress barely scraping by. No savings. No family to help. Still, I begged my manager for an advance — she gave me two months’ pay. It wasn’t even half of what I needed.
I tried working my shift, but tears kept threatening to fall. I didn’t realize a customer was listening.
Hours later, outside in the cold drizzle, a sleek black car rolled to a stop beside me. The window lowered, revealing a man in a sharp suit.
“I have an offer for you,” he said.
Every instinct screamed at me to walk away — but desperation anchored me to the spot. When he invited me into the car, I hesitated only a second before sliding into the warm leather seat.
“My name is Andrew,” he said calmly. “I overheard your situation. I can pay for your father’s surgery. All of it.”
My breath caught in my throat. “What do you want in return?”
He looked at me, eyes dark and unreadable.
“A favor. You’ll attend a charity event hosted by a business rival of mine. You must retrieve a flash drive from his private office. Do that, and I’ll wire the money immediately.”
I stared at him. “You’re asking me to commit a crime.”
“There is risk,” he admitted. “But no one will suspect a waitress.”
Images of my father, weak and fading, made the decision for me.
“Half the money first,” I whispered.
“Deal,” he replied.
The funds arrived the next morning. I secured the hospital’s approval for the surgery — relief and guilt twisting together inside me.
The night of the gala, Andrew coached me through every detail. Dressed in borrowed black, pretending to be staff, I moved through glittering halls filled with wealth and laughter that felt like another world entirely.
When the clock hit 9:15, Andrew’s voice murmured through the earpiece:
“Go. Second floor. Study. Behind the books.”
My heart pounded as I found the flash drive — but voices approached. I hid behind the desk, trembling, as two men entered.
“Keep your eyes on Andrew King,” one warned.
“He’s dangerous.”
My blood turned to ice. Who had I trusted?
When they left, I slipped away, practically running toward the garden exit. Andrew emerged from the shadows. I handed him the flash drive — he handed me the final payment confirmation.
“You’re done,” he promised. “Go take care of your father.”
Dad survived the surgery. I sat by his bedside for days, grateful for every breath he took. When he asked how I paid… I lied.
Andrew disappeared from my life, and I hope it stays that way. I don’t know what I helped him do — and I’m afraid to find out.
But my father is alive.
And if I had to choose again…
I think I’d make the same choice.