The High Price Of Father's Freedom

"Miss Wynn?"

The professor's voice snapped like a whip. Abbey jerked in her seat, her pen skidding across her notebook.

"I asked you about the Rule Against Perpetuities regarding the Woodward Trust case study," Professor Miller said, peering over his spectacles.

The class tittered. Of course. The case study was about his family.

"I..." Abbey's throat went dry. "The... the vesting period is contingent on the life in being plus twenty-one years, unless... unless there is a specific clause regarding direct lineage."

"Adequate, but barely," Miller scoffed. "Try to join us in the present, Miss Wynn. The real world won't wait for you to daydream."

Abbey sank lower in her seat, her cheeks burning. She wasn't daydreaming. She was calculating how many shifts she needed at the coffee shop to cover the interest on her dad's legal fees.

When the lecture ended, she packed her bag quickly, trying to escape before anyone could talk to her. But Sophie and Liz were waiting at the door.

"Look!" Sophie shoved her phone in Abbey's face. It was a digital invitation, black and gold, spinning in 3D. "The Vault. Tonight."

Abbey stopped walking. "The Vault?"

"Liz's new guy, the promoter? He got us on the list," Sophie said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "It's impossible to get in. It's owned by Woodward Group. They say the walls are lined with actual gold leaf."

Abbey felt the blood drain from her face. "No."

"What do you mean, no?" Liz asked. "It's Friday."

"I have to work," Abbey said, clutching her bag strap. "And I have to study."

"You live like a nun!" Liz groaned. "Come on, Abbey. You might meet someone who can actually help you with a job. It's networking."

"I can't," Abbey said firmly. "Have fun."

She turned and walked away, her heart pounding. She couldn't go to Armond's territory. That was suicide.

Her shift at the coffee shop was brutal. The espresso machine was broken, spewing steam every ten minutes. Around 8 PM, a group of girls from her old social circle-before her father's arrest-walked in.

Abbey pulled her cap down low. She took their orders, staring at the register screen.

"Oh my god, is that Abbey?" one of them whispered. Loudly.

"Don't look," another giggled.

When they paid, the girl with the platinum blonde hair tapped the screen. "Keep the change, sweetie. You look like you need it."

She left a fifty-dollar tip on a twelve-dollar order.

Abbey stared at the receipt. It was charity. It was an insult. Tears pricked her eyes, hot and stinging. But she didn't tear it up. She couldn't afford pride. She put the fifty dollars in her pocket. Groceries, she told herself. This buys groceries.

By the time she got back to the apartment, it was midnight. The place was empty. Sophie and Liz were at The Vault.

Outside, a storm had broken. Rain lashed against the windows, rattling the glass. Abbey made a cup of instant noodles and sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. The exhaustion was a physical weight, pressing her down into the cushions.

She drifted off.

Paris. The rain was falling there, too. Armond was standing in the doorway of their bedroom, holding the note she had written. "I can't do this anymore," it said. His face crumpled, then hardened into something unrecognizable. He grabbed her wrist. His grip was iron. "You think you can just leave? You think I'll let you?"

Abbey woke up screaming.

She sat up, gasping, sweat drenching her shirt. The apartment was dark. Thunder rumbled overhead.

Her phone was buzzing on the floor. It was vibrating so hard it was moving across the wood.

Sophie.

Abbey grabbed it. "Sophie?"

"Abbey..." Sophie's voice was slurred, panicked. The background noise was a deafening thrum of bass. "Abbey, help."

"What's wrong? Where are you?" Abbey stood up, the blanket falling away.

"The Vault. Liz is... passed out. These guys... they took her phone. They won't let us leave the booth." Sophie sobbed. "They said we owe them for the champagne. Please."

The line went dead.

Abbey stared at the phone. Her hands were shaking. The Vault. Private club. No cameras allowed. Security that answered only to the payroll. If she called the police, by the time they got a warrant to enter, it would be too late.

She needed someone with access. Someone with power.

She scrolled through her contacts. Her thumb hovered over Miles Sterling.

He was the only one.

She hated herself for it. She hated that she was about to use him. But Sophie was in trouble.

She hit call.

"Abbey?" Miles picked up on the first ring. He sounded surprised, and smug. "Changed your mind about me?"

"Miles," Abbey said, her voice trembling. "I need your help. Now."

"Whoa, okay." The smugness vanished, replaced by curiosity. "What's going on?"

"My friends are at The Vault. They're in trouble. I need you to get me in."

"The Vault?" Miles whistled. "Okay. I'm ten minutes away. Be downstairs."

Abbey hung up. She grabbed her coat and ran out into the storm. She was walking straight into the lion's den. And she knew, with a sickening certainty, that the lion was waiting.