Collection Notice

Martha stood by the **pool**, the midday sun reflecting off the azure surface and momentarily blinding her. She'd come to collect the debt, but Gabriel had other plans.

She spotted him immediately — tan linen suit, Panama **hat** tilted at that infuriatingly confident angle, holding court with three women in their twenties who laughed at everything he said. Gabriel always knew when he was being watched.

He caught her eye and the smile didn't waver. He excused himself with the effortless grace of a man who never truly leaves a room, just allows others to believe he has.

"Martha." He offered his hand, palm up. She didn't take it. "You look tired. The road hasn't been kind."

"I'm not here for pleasantries, Gabriel. The **pool** closes at midnight. You know the rules."

"Do I?" He signaled the bartender. "Two whiskeys. The good stuff." He turned back to her, his eyes studying the lines of her face like a map he once knew by heart. "You always were too literal. That's your problem. You think life's a series of transactions — everything earned, everything owed."

"It is when you're on the losing end."

"Are you?" His hand brushed her arm, fingers lingering on her elbow. "Because from where I'm standing, you've got choices. You just don't like them."

She felt the familiar heat rising — not anger, but something more dangerous. The way he always made her feel like the unreasonable one. The way his **palm** against her skin brought back nights she'd spent years trying to forget.

"The women," she said, changing the subject. "They know you're leaving at dawn?"

"They know exactly what they need to know." He took his hat off, running a hand through hair that was silver now, not the dark brown she remembered. "People see what they want to see, Martha. You should know that better than anyone."

"What do I see?"

"Someone who's been carrying the same debt for seven years." He gestured at the **water** between them, the pool's surface still and deceptively calm. "You could have walked away anytime. But you keep coming back. Maybe it's not the money you're after."

She finished her drink in one swallow. The burn was familiar too.

"Check's in the safe," he said, placing his **hat** back on his head. "Same combination. You always knew how to get what you wanted."

He walked back to the women without looking back. Martha watched him go, suddenly aware that the real debt wasn't the kind that could be paid with money. Some collections aren't financial. They're the things you carry until you finally decide what they're worth — and then you either collect or you walk away.

She stood by the **pool** for a long time, the **water** lapping gently against the tiles, before turning toward the hotel.