Chapter 4

The next weekend, I drove back to Havenwood.

The town looked the same, tired and worn down, but the sight of it filled me with a fierce protectiveness.

These were my people. Shuttered factories and broken dreams had hit them hard.

First, I talked to my mom.

Dad was resting; his cough had been worse lately.

"Mom," I said, sitting her down at the kitchen table. "I need to talk to you about something important. It' s about money."

I told her about SwiftLend, framing it as an opportunity.

"I took out a loan, $3,000. It was incredibly easy."

Her face creased with worry. "Kayla, honey, those online loans... they can be dangerous. The interest..."

"I know, Mom. That's the thing." I took a deep breath. "I've done a lot of research. Companies like SwiftLend, a lot of them operate illegally. Their interest rates violate state usury laws, and they break federal consumer protection acts."

I explained it carefully, how the loans were often unenforceable.

"What I'm saying is... we could use this. If we're smart."

I suggested she take out a $5,000 loan. "For Dad's medical bills, for the roof repairs we keep putting off."

She was hesitant, scared. It was a lot of money.

"What if they come after us?"

"They might try to scare us, Mom. But the law, if it comes down to it, is on our side with these specific kinds of predatory loans. I wouldn't suggest this if I wasn't sure. This could be a lifeline."

My conviction, born from the bitter knowledge of my past life, eventually swayed her. She trusted me.

With my parents on board, the next step was the community.

I asked Pastor Miller if I could speak at a special Sunday afternoon meeting at the church.

The turnout was good. Desperation did that.

I stood before them, my neighbors, old Mr. Henderson the retired miner, my aunt Sarah who commuted to the city for her job.

I didn't sugarcoat things. I talked about the foreclosures, the medical debt, the kids moving away because there were no jobs.

Then I told them about SwiftLend. And I told them about the loophole.

"These loans," I said, my voice ringing with confidence I' d earned through death, "are designed to trap you. But their very design, their illegality, is their weakness. We can take their money, and we don't have to be their victims."

There was skepticism, fear.

Then my aunt Sarah stood up. She was always a bit more worldly, a bit more of a gambler.

"I'm in," she said. "I need $7,000 for my car and to help my son with his tuition. If Kayla says it's a way out, I believe her."

Her trust was a spark.

Others started asking questions. I answered them patiently, explaining the legal angles I' d learned.

Slowly, a ripple of hope, then excitement, spread through the room.

That week, Havenwood started borrowing.

A few thousand here for a new well pump. Ten thousand there to keep a small business afloat.

Some, like old Mr. Henderson, took out larger sums, talking about finally fixing up their homes, things they' d dreamed of for years.

I made sure to "refer" them all through Brittany, meticulously logging each one.

She was ecstatic, wiring me my $150 kickbacks, oblivious.

Collectively, Havenwood "borrowed" nearly $1.5 million from SwiftLend.

The money flowed into our struggling town like a revitalizing rain.

For the first time in years, there was a buzz in Havenwood.

And they called me their savior.

I just smiled. The real fight was yet to come.