His Debt

Prologue

Prologue

Debt

"AH, MR. KLINTON, please have a seat." Mr. Emmanuel Leonhardt—The CEO of Leonhardt publishing—pointed toward the vacant seat across him.

        He obliged.

        He didn't know why he was called. For the president to ask directly for him, the matter must be something consequential. He had heard about those employees who were called directly by the president—about how they were forcibly terminated from their job, due to their incapacity and lack of skills. Will he face the same fate as they?

        He suddenly felt nervous. He didn't want to get terminated, not now. If he'd have to beg in order to remain on the job, he would.

        You're not getting a job a termination, you're doing great with your job, he told himself. He tried his best to comfort himself with that thought.

        The president was in his mid-50s, but despite his sterile age, he bore an aura of superiority and confidence. He had a vigorous appearance. If a person would give him a glance, one would immediately respect him in an instant. Despite his wrinkled skin and aged body built, he was still handsome.

        "I have something important to tell you," said the president with his business-like tone. He tapped his pen on the desk, eyeing him solemnly.

        "If it's about my termination . . . ," he started, "I beg of you sir, please do not remove me from the job." He stared at the man pleadingly.

        "Job termination?" he asked, furrowing his brows in bewilderment. "It's not about that, Mr. Klinton."

        Nathaniel heaved out a sigh of relief. He looked at the president quizzically. "Then what is it about, sir?"

        "Your family is indebted to the company."

        His mouth gaped open by what he had heard; he had no idea about his family's debt. He did not even remember his late parents owing anything to anyone. If he had known earlier, maybe he'd find a way to pay whatever it takes before the situation gets dire. "W-What do you mean, sir?"

        "Your late father was my friend and I found out that he had a two-million dollar debt prior to his death. In order to prevent any scandal coming out, I decided to pay for it in his stead. I honor your father's name and I don't want it to get stained now that he's dead."

        He gulped. What he found out took him aback. Every debt needs a payment and he knew what the president was implying. "H-how can I repay you, sir?" he blurted nervously.

        An amused smirk made its way to the man's lips. "I want you to look after someone."

        "Huh?" He couldn't fathom what he said. If he meant baby-sitting, then, it'll be hard for him to do such work. On his twenty-seven years of existence, he had no idea how to put anyone under his care. Hell, he never even succeeded in taking care of his pet dog—which, by the way, died because of his lack of care.

        He was a responsible person, but to be given the responsibility of taking care another person, that's a different case.

        "I want you to look after my daughter . . . Devon Gale Leonhardt . . ."

        He didn't have the guts to refuse; he didn't have a choice. He wanted to protest, but he knew that doing so wouldn't change anything.

        There's no turning back now.

(Edited: 07/29/15)