Chapter 1: The Debt That Drowned Him

On the first day of the new year, my cousin left behind $18,000 in high-interest debt and walked out onto the icy riverbank and never came back.

That morning, the cold January sun had barely crested the horizon, painting streaks of pink and gold outside my kitchen window. The phone rang, slicing through the stillness, and my uncle’s trembling voice spilled through the line. My mug slipped in my grip, hot Folgers splashing over my hand, but I barely noticed as he spoke. The kitchen suddenly felt colder, the world off-kilter. Even now, it seemed unreal—like something you’d read in the Maple Heights Gazette about someone else’s family, not your own.

My uncle said some guys from the neighborhood had called my cousin out to play cards. He didn’t just lose every dime he’d sweated for all year—he walked away owing more, and the kind of interest only crooks charge.

He sounded exhausted, voice cracking in a way I’d never heard before. I could picture his old hands shaking, the way they did after Mom’s funeral. “They called him to that damn card game. He lost everything, and then some. These guys charge more interest than a payday lender in the bad part of town.” He kept apologizing, like any of this was his fault, and I imagined him pacing his cluttered living room, hat in hand, grief weighing down his shoulders.

Then the creditor called, demanding my uncle come up with the money by tomorrow—or else. He was out of options, desperate enough to come to me.

That was how things went around Maple Heights. Everyone knew everyone’s business. The smell of burnt toast from the diner drifted down Main Street, and nothing stayed secret for long. If you owed money, it didn’t take long before someone came knocking—or threatened to put a lien on your house, even if you’d lived there forty years. My uncle’s voice was tight with fear as he relayed the threats: “They said if I don’t have the cash by tomorrow, they’ll take the house—forty years and gone, just like that.”

I told my uncle, “Go home for now. Tomorrow, I’ll take care of it.”

My stomach was in knots, but I forced my voice to sound like the man I wished I was. "Go home, Uncle Ron. Tomorrow, I'll take care of it. I promise."