Clara
The letter from First City Financial arrives on a Tuesday, wedged between a flyer for discount pet food and another past-due notice from a surgical supply company. I almost throw it away. The red border on the envelope feels like a warning, another nail in my clinic’s coffin.
I slice it open with my thumb, my stomach already in a tight knot. I scan the dense legal text, my eyes jumping to the bolded words. Account balance. Foreclosure warning. My breath catches.
But the words are wrong. They’re not the words I expect.
“Mortgage Obligation Satisfied.”
“Balance: $0.00.”
“Paid in full.”
I read it again. And a third time. It’s a mistake. It has to be a mistake. I snatch the phone from the counter, my fingers fumbling as I dial the number for the bank’s commercial loan department. My heart is a frantic drum against my ribs.
“First City Financial, this is Brenda speaking.” The voice is professionally bored.
“Hello, my name is Clara Hayes. I’m calling about the mortgage for my business, Hayes Animal Care. I just received a statement that says it’s been paid off, and that can’t be right.”
There’s a soft clicking of a keyboard on the other end. “Let me see here… Hayes Animal Care. Account number ending in 4821?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“Well, congratulations, Ms. Hayes. The records show the remaining balance on your loan was paid yesterday via a wire transfer.”
My knees feel weak. I sink onto the stool behind the counter. “Paid? By who? I didn’t authorize any payment.”
“The payment was made by a third party, ma’am. From an anonymous trust account.”
“Anonymous? You can’t tell me who paid off my half-a-million-dollar loan?” My voice is a high, panicked squeak.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Hayes. The benefactor specified complete anonymity. As far as the bank is concerned, your account is settled. Think of it as a clerical error in your favor. Have a nice day.”
The line clicks dead.
I stare at the phone in my hand. A clerical error. An anonymous benefactor. This isn’t real. This doesn’t happen in the real world. I feel a chill crawl up my spine. My hand goes to my pocket, my fingers finding the cold, heavy shape of the wolf-crested lighter. A silent thank you. This feels like more than a thank you.
Before I can process it, the bell over the door jingles. A delivery man stands there, holding a vase of flowers so large he can barely see over it. It’s an explosion of white. Casablanca lilies, dozens of them, their scent instantly filling the small room. They are my favorite flower. A detail I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone, not even Mark.
“Delivery for Clara Hayes,” the man grunts, setting the monstrosity on my front counter. It takes up the entire surface.
“Who are they from?” I ask, my voice a whisper.
He shrugs, handing me a small, thick envelope. “No idea. Just the address.”
I open it. The card inside is blank.
I’m staring at the lilies, my mind a blank slate of confusion and fear, when the bell jingles again. It’s Mark. He stops short when he sees the flowers.
“What the hell is all this?” he asks, his eyes narrowing. “Did a florist shop explode in here?”
“They were just delivered.”
“For you?” He walks closer, a suspicious frown on his face. “Who are they from? Another one of your sad-eyed charity cases paying you in weeds?”
“I don’t know. The card was blank.”
He scoffs, a disbelieving little sound. “Right. A secret admirer. Let me guess, the old guy whose poodle you de-wormed last week?”
“I have no idea who sent them, Mark.”
“Sure you don’t.” He circles the vase, running a finger over a petal with a look of distaste. “Well, whoever it is, they have expensive taste. This must have cost a fortune.”
Just then, my phone rings. It’s a number I don’t recognize.
“Hello, Hayes Animal Care.”
“Hi, is this Clara Hayes?” a cheerful voice asks. “This is David from Med-Tech Dynamics. I’m just calling to confirm your delivery for this afternoon.”
“My delivery? I haven’t ordered anything from you.” Med-Tech Dynamics is top of the line. Their equipment costs more than I make in a year.
“Oh, well, it’s all been paid for. We’ve got a digital radiography system and a new V6 ultrasound machine for you. Our truck should be there in about an hour.”
I stop breathing. A digital X-ray machine. An ultrasound. I’ve been trying to get a grant for that equipment for two years. It’s a hundred thousand dollars worth of machinery. At least.
“Paid for by who?” I manage to choke out.
“An anonymous grant, it says here. For exemplary small veterinary businesses. Congratulations.”
I hang up the phone without saying goodbye. My hands are shaking. The lilies, the mortgage, the equipment. This is not a clerical error. This is not a secret admirer.
This is something else.
“What was that?” Mark asks, pulling his attention away from the flowers.
“That was… that was a medical supply company.”
“Let me guess,” he says with a sneer. “They’re sending you a free case of flea collars?”
“They’re sending me a new X-ray machine and an ultrasound.”
The words hang in the air between us. Mark’s sneer melts away, replaced by a look of stunned avarice. His eyes go wide.
“You’re kidding me.”
“No.”
He lets out a low whistle. “Holy hell, Clara. That’s… that’s serious money.” He takes a step toward me, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. “It’s happening.”
“What is happening?” I ask, backing away from him. “This is terrifying.”
“Terrifying? Are you insane? This is fantastic!” He grabs my shoulders, his grip a little too tight. “It’s the Henderson deal. It has to be. I told you my influence was growing. The guy is trying to grease the wheels, sending gifts to you to get on my good side.”
“Mark, that makes no sense. Why would he pay off my mortgage? Why would he send me flowers?”
“To show he’s serious! To show he knows what matters to me!” he says, his voice rising with excitement. He’s not listening to me. He’s listening to the story he’s spinning in his own head. “This is how the big boys play, Clara. You wouldn’t understand.”
“I understand that a stranger has access to my private financial information and knows my favorite flower. I understand that I am scared.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” he scoffs, releasing me to pace in front of the counter. “You should be thanking me. This is my win. Our win. This is going to change everything.”
An hour later, the Med-Tech truck arrives. Two men in overalls wheel in gleaming, state-of-the-art machines that make my old equipment look like museum pieces. I just stand there, numb, as they install them. Mark, on the other hand, hovers over them like an expectant father, touching the screens and asking questions about their value.
He doesn’t see the fear in my eyes. He only sees dollar signs.
After the technicians leave, he turns to me, his face flushed. “We need to celebrate. I’m taking you out tonight. Somewhere expensive. You can even wear the red dress.”
“I’m not celebrating, Mark. I’m calling the police.”
He laughs. Actually laughs. “And tell them what? That someone paid off your debts and bought you nice things? They’ll lock you up for being crazy. Just accept it, Clara. For once in your life, accept a good thing when it happens.”
His phone buzzes, and he pulls it out, his expression shifting back to his usual self-important mask. “It’s my boss. I have to take this.”
He walks outside to take the call, leaving me alone with the scent of lilies and the low hum of technology I could never afford. I feel like I’m in a stranger’s life. Nothing feels real.
Five minutes later, another vehicle pulls up. Not a delivery truck this time. It’s a long, flatbed tow truck. On the back of it sits a car. A new one. A sleek, black Audi, so polished it reflects the gray sky like a dark mirror.
The driver gets out and walks toward the clinic. My heart sinks into my shoes. No. Please, no.
He sees me through the glass door and gives me a wave. I don’t move. He opens the door.
“Clara Hayes?”
I can only nod.
“This is for you.” He holds out a single key fob with a black leather tag. “The paperwork is all in the glove box. Title’s in your name. All paid for.”
“Who sent it?” The question is a raw whisper.
“Anonymous donor, ma’am. That’s all they told me.”
He places the key on the counter, gives me a polite nod, and leaves. The tow truck drives away, leaving the Audi parked at the curb, an alien thing of impossible luxury in front of my humble clinic.
Mark walks back in, a scowl on his face. “My boss is a slave driver. I swear, I…” He stops, his eyes fixed on the key fob on the counter. Then his gaze travels through the window to the car parked outside.
His jaw drops.
“No way,” he breathes. “No. Fucking. Way.”
He looks from the car to me, his eyes blazing with a wild, possessive light. “He sent you a car? An Audi?”
“Mark, this has gone too far. I’m scared.”
“Scared?” He lunges for the key, but I snatch it first. His fingers brush mine. “Give me the key, Clara.”
“No. This is not for you.”
“Of course it’s for me! It’s all for me!” he shouts, his face turning red. “He’s sending it to you because you’re with me! It’s a power move! Give me the damn key. We’re selling your piece of junk car tomorrow.”
“Stop it! You aren’t listening!” I clutch the key to my chest. “Someone is watching me. Someone is systematically taking over my life, and all you can see is a new toy!”
“It’s not a toy, it’s a tool! It’s a symbol of my success!” he snarls, taking a step closer. He looks unhinged. “You are so ungrateful. So blind. I am handing you a golden ticket, and you’re crying about it. Give. Me. The. Key.”
“No.”
He stares at me, his chest heaving. The charming mask is gone. All that’s left is the ugly, grasping greed I’ve been ignoring for two years.
“Fine,” he spits. “Keep it. Stay here with your new car and your fancy machines. But don’t come crying to me when you figure out you’re too stupid to manage this on your own. You need me, Clara. You’d still be drowning without me.”
He storms out, slamming the door so hard the bell overhead shrieks in protest.
I’m left in the ringing silence, the key fob digging into my palm. The scent of lilies is suffocating. I look from the impossible car outside to the gleaming equipment inside. Gifts. Curses.
I’m not drowning in debt anymore. I’m drowning in something else entirely. And I am utterly, terrifyingly alone.
