rose stiffly and walked back into the main house, a ghost in the opulent tomb of her marriage. She showered and stood in front of the bathroom mirror in the guest suite

dy herself. Every penny she had was gone, swallowed by her father's mounting medical bills. The ten million from Clayton was her only hope. She glanced at her watch. 9:30 AM. She had to get that money. Swallowing her pride, her dignity, every last shred of it, she stepped outside into the ambulance bay and dialed Clayton's number. The humiliation was a bitter acid in her throat. He answered, his voice impatient. "What now, Corrie? I'm on my way." "Clayton, please," she begged, her voice breaking. "I need the money. Now. My father... he's in the hospital. He needs emergency surgery to live." She rushed on, the words tumbling out in a desperate torrent. "I'll take anything. Just give me the half-million for the surgery. You can keep the rest. We can change the agreement, I don't care, just please..." There was a beat of silence on the other end. Then, a cold, disbelieving laugh. "Your father?" he sneered. "Wow, Corrie. I knew you were desperate, but to invent a story like that? To use your own father's health to get money? That's a new low, even for you." "And what if he is?" Clayton's voice was cold, devoid of any sympathy. "You think I'm a fool, Corrie? This is just another one of your pathetic attempts to manipulate me, isn't it? Another one of your dramas to get what you want." "I'm not lying!" she cried, tears of frustration and terror streaming down her face. "He's here, at New York-Presbyterian, he's in the ER!" "I don't care," he said, his voice flat. "You made your choice when you decided to leave. You don't get to come crawling back when things get tough. I'm not your ATM, Corr