“Jordan,” my mother began carefully, “we heard your firm recently secured a major contract. We were hoping… you might help us. We’re family, after all.”
“We need $20,000,” my father added. “Just enough to keep the bank from taking our condo.”
I clenched my jaw.
After everything they had done, they had the audacity to come here—asking him for help.
I was ready to send them away.
But Jordan spoke first.
“Come in,” he said calmly. “Let’s talk.”
They sat in our living room for nearly two hours, explaining their situation.
Not once did they say, “We’re sorry.”
Not once.
Finally, Jordan stood up and went to his office.
When he returned, he held a check for $20,000.
My mother’s eyes lit up instantly.
My father leaned forward, relief already softening his face.
“You have no idea how much this means,” she said, reaching for it.
But Jordan pulled the check back slightly.
“You can have it,” he said. “But only under one condition.”
They hesitated.
