Chapter 11 - THE TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS I GAVE BACK
Catherine still owed me five thousand dollars.
Technically.
I had kept the first five.
The money sat untouched in an envelope.
Sadi’s braces had not been paid yet.
The temptation remained.
Then Catherine asked to meet.
Public place.
Lawyers nearby.
Good.
She looked smaller without diamonds.
“I brought the rest.”
She placed five thousand dollars on the table.
I stared.
“No.”
Her face changed.
“You earned it.”
“No.”
“I made the deal.”
“I’m not finishing the deal.”
“You already kissed him.”
I almost laughed.
“That does not make this healthy.”
I pushed the envelope back.
Then pulled out the first five thousand.
“All of it.”
Catherine stared.
“You need this.”
“Yes.”
That was the hardest part.
I did.
Rent.
Dental care.
School.
But taking money from the person who had deliberately exploited my desperation felt like allowing the joke to remain a transaction.
I wanted it ended.
Not purified.
Ended.
Catherine began crying.
“What am I supposed to do with it?”
“Pay restitution.”
We arranged through attorneys for the ten thousand to enter the victim-compensation fund tied to Paragon.
Not heroic.
Appropriate.
Then our own financial situation changed.
The fake debt collections were frozen.
Thousands I had already paid became subject to reimbursement.
Our rent arrears were partly caused by fraudulent withdrawals.
Legal aid negotiated time.
Sadi qualified for dental assistance through a legitimate nonprofit unrelated to Ravi.
I cried when the orthodontist showed us the plan.
Sadi asked:
“Can I keep one crooked tooth?”
The doctor smiled.
“If it’s healthy.”
She nodded.
“I don’t want to look like everyone else.”
That hit me.
The same teeth she once hid.
Now hers.
Not a defect that needed to make her worthy.
Treatment for health and comfort.
Not acceptance.
Then Ravi asked me to dinner.
I stared.
“No.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
That was it.
“You’re not offended?”
“I asked.”
“You’re terrifyingly reasonable lately.”
“I’m recovering.”
I laughed.
Then a week later, I asked him for coffee.
His eyebrows rose.
“Coffee?”
“Public.”
“Yes.”
“No bodyguards at the table.”
“They’ll be outside.”
“Fine.”
Our relationship changed slowly.
Not because he paid our bills.
He didn’t.
Not because Dad asked him to protect us.
Dad specifically told him not to own us.
We talked.
Argued.
I learned Ravi had built a life where nobody contradicted him because contradiction often carried danger.
He learned I did not care about that system.
He started dismantling parts of it.
Not “for me.”
I made him say it.
“If I disappear tomorrow?”
“I still do it.”
Good.
Then prosecutors offered Ravi a cooperation agreement.
His foundation records could expose dozens of criminals.
But accepting meant giving up businesses.
Possibly facing charges himself.
He looked at me.
“What would you do?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“No?”
“You don’t outsource morality to a waitress.”
He smiled.
May you like
“Fair.”
He accepted anyway.
