Kyle followed her, adjusting his heavy gold watch so the face sat exactly in the middle of his wrist. He was thirty-three, unemployed since the summer, but he wore a tailored linen shirt that still had the crease marks from the store.
“Good evening, everyone,” Kyle said, using his deep, project-manager voice. “We had to take an emergency meeting regarding some regional assets. Very high-level stuff.”
“Sit down, Kyle,” George said, though his voice lacked its usual booming authority. He cleared his throat again, louder this time, and stared at the empty wall behind my head.
Brianna did not look at the food. Instead, she reached into her designer purse, pulled out a tri-folded sheet of paper, and slid it across the table. It slid past the gravy boat and stopped exactly next to my plate.
“What is this?” I asked, looking at the blue logo of Westbridge Motors at the top of the page.
“It is the monthly statement for the luxury SUV,” Brianna said, her nails tapping a faster rhythm on the wood. “The interest rate adjusted.”
“Twenty-five hundred a month, just until I get back on my feet,” Kyle said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table.
“I do not understand why you are showing this to me,” I said, keeping my voice level.
“Because we need you to cover it, Mia,” Kyle said, his tone perfectly flat, as if he were asking to pass the butter.
I picked up the statement, my eyes scanning the figures. The total loan amount was sixty-two thousand dollars, with a monthly obligation that made my throat go dry.
“You bought a sixty-thousand-dollar car three months ago,” I said, my glasses sliding down slightly as I calculated the math in my head. “That is more than my entire annual mortgage payment.”
