Chapter 2

Devastated, I stumbled out of the steakhouse, the sounds of their laughter echoing in my ears. I got back in my truck, my hands shaking so badly I could barely grip the steering wheel. I drove to a deserted parking lot and just sat there, the envelope with the final payment feeling like a brick on the passenger seat.

I pulled out my phone. My fingers were stiff and calloused, clumsy on the screen. There was only one person I could call. Dr. Annabel Clarkson, my old professor and mentor from Juilliard. The woman who believed in me more than anyone.

She answered on the second ring, her voice warm and familiar.

"Caleb? Is that you? It' s been so long."

My voice was rough, broken.

"Dr. Clarkson. That fellowship... the one with the Berlin Philharmonic. The one you offered me five years ago. Is it... is it still possible?"

There was a pause, then an audible gasp of joy on the other end.

"Caleb! Of course! The position is yours. It' s always been yours. But it requires a five-year commitment in Germany, and it' s highly confidential until the official announcement. Are you sure?"

I looked down at my hands. They were scarred, the nails chipped, the skin tough as leather. These were not the hands of a concert pianist. But they could be again.

"Yes," I said, my voice firm for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. "I accept."

I hung up, took a deep breath, and started the truck. I drove back to the steakhouse. I had one last thing to do.

I walked straight into the private dining room. The laughter stopped. All eyes turned to me.

Gabby feigned surprise, a look of concern on her perfect face.

"Caleb! You' re here! I was so worried."

Wesley sneered, looking me up and down.

"Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. Here to offer the debt collector some other... services?"

The debt collector played along, snatching the envelope from my hand. He then pulled out a fresh piece of paper. The new, two-million-dollar IOU.

Gabby stood up, putting a hand on my arm as if to defend me.

"Stop it, Wesley. He' s been through a lot."

She then turned to me, her voice a low, apologetic whisper.

"Honey, why don' t you go back to the rig? Wesley is the manager now. Maybe if you beg, he' ll give you your job back."

The word "manager" hit me. It was all connected. Wesley, the debt, the rig. It was their shared game.