The Chairman's Tramp

Two.

Atticus struggled to find something acceptable to wear to the upscale restaurant. He was forced to resort to Walmart, which ended up somehow less helpful than his closet. Therefore, Atticus showed up for lunch in the same cheap slacks and worn-out button up he wore the previous day. He simply hoped Mr. Blackwood was not an observant man.

He stepped into the dining establishment and immediately felt out of place. The Falcon was, after all, a five-star restaurant on the most expensive side of town.

"What can I do for you today, sir?" cheered the hostess.

Atticus hesitated, uncertain of what to do. He hadn't thought ahead this far. "Um..." He quickly checked the time on his phone. Three minutes early. "Is there a table for Blackwood?"

"Of course. He was seated a few minutes ago. If you will follow me, please?"

Atticus nodded and followed the woman blindly. She led him between tables topped with elegant clothes and candles that had not been lit yet. As it was still early in the day, there were only a few small groups scattered about. Alexander was seated in the most isolated corner, facing the open room. He did not rise to meet Atticus when he approached.

"Thank you for meeting with me, sir."

Alexander nodded. "Sit. We will order first and then we will discuss."

Atticus glanced at the menu, nearly choking on his own saliva when he saw the price of one of the dishes. Sixty-three dollars. He skimmed some other prices; his head felt light. Fifty-seven. Seventy-two. Eighty. The least expensive entree price he could find was still forty-nine dollars.

The waiter came. Alexander ordered some cut of steak Atticus hadn't heard of before and a bottle of wine. Atticus decided on a small side salad and water.

Once the waiter left, the boy pulled out some pieces of paper folded in half. "I brought my paystubs for the last month to prove I can pay you back..."

Mr. Blackwood took them silently and glanced at them. "Your highest wage is ten dollars and seventy-five cents?" He looked to Atticus for confirmation, and he nodded. "Right now it looks like you are working usually just under one hundred forty hours in total per two week pay period. You must be exhausted."

"...I am, sir."

The man pulls a notepad from the briefcase. "Your interest rate will be fifteen percent, compounded continuously. I recommend weekly payments in your financial situation. What would be a preferable time period for you to pay back your loan?"

"Well, as soon as possible."

"I ran some numbers this morning. To payback in five years, your weekly payment would be $1,368.74. Doing some quick math," he pulled out his phone and typed some numbers, "you would need to work over eighteen hours a day, seven days a week, at your highest pay rate, to make enough before taxes."

The man continued speaking as Atticus stared, dumbfounded.

"Make it a ten-year repayment, and your weekly payment is down to $929.62 which would require..." he typed more numbers in, "...just over twelve hours per day, again, before taxes. A twenty-year repayment would bring your weekly payment down to $760.03... then you would be at your average work hours now, again not including tax deductions. Of course, by that point, you would be paying over triple what you borrowed. Expanding the payment to fifty years would only bring your weekly payment down about forty dollars." Mr. Blackwood paused, looking at Atticus. "Now do you understand what you're getting yourself into?"

Atticus's mouth was very dry, and he was starting to feel sick. He glanced behind him. He could really use his glass of water now... Not being able to find any words, he nodded.