Faking Bankruptcy, First Love Sold Her House to Save Me

Three in the morning, and the villa's living room was dead silent.

Only the phone screen on the coffee table glowed, throwing off a harsh white light.

In the alumni group chat Harbor City High Class of '09, Section 3, the last message still sat from ten o'clock the night before, the class president tagging me, asking whether I could arrange a deputy VP slot at one of my subsidiaries for the old homeroom teacher's son.

I stared at the screen, fingertips trembling a little, and finally typed out a line:

"Everyone, I'm sorry. The company's cash flow has collapsed. Every asset under my name is frozen. Right now I don't just have nothing, I owe the bank 13 million, and tomorrow they might come take me in to assist with an investigation. The money I lent you all before could you pay a little of it back to help me out?"

Tap. Send.

In that moment, I, Jason Dickerson, chairman of a listed group worth 30 billion, spun myself a massive lie in the dead of night.

I closed my eyes and leaned back against the cold leather sofa.

The truth was, the second I sent that line, I already knew what would happen.

But I didn't expect reality to be ten thousand times uglier than I imagined.

In under two minutes, the group blew up.

Not with concern. With people leaving.

"Danny Vaughn has left the group." "Marissa Cole has left the group."

Right after that, the class president, the one who usually called me "Jason, buddy" in the warmest voice, sent a voice message.

I played it. His tone was full of impatience: "Ugh, Jason, what did you do to yourself? Actually, it just came back to me, my wife's about to have the baby and we badly need cash, so that fifty grand I borrowed from you before, can we just forget about it? Call it a gift for the kid. You owe over ten million anyway, what's another fifty grand."

And then he left the group too.

I watched the chat go cold in seconds, and a bitter little smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

Right then the door to the master bedroom on the second floor banged open.

My wife, Antonia, came storming down in silk pajamas, face twisted with anger, phone in hand, screen shoved straight into my face.

"Jason! What kind of insanity are you posting in that group? Bankrupt? Since when are you bankrupt? My brother just put a down payment on a Porsche, and now you're telling me you're broke?!"

What she cared about wasn't whether I'd be behind bars tomorrow. It was her brother's Porsche.

I looked at this woman who'd shared my bed for five years, and my heart went cold all the way through.

I came up from the bottom, in sales.

Those days of wearing a cheap suit in the dead of summer, getting chased out of office towers like a stray dog, I lived that for a full five years.

Then the internet boom hit, and I bet everything, threw my life into it.

Drank until my stomach bled. Answered emails with an IV in my arm in the ER.

It took me ten years to turn a tiny little workshop into a tech group now worth tens of billions.

I had money. I really did.

In this city, when I stamped my foot, whole industries shook.

But I realized I had no life left. I'd become an ATM with no feelings.

Especially where Antonia was concerned.

Antonia and I were high school classmates. Back then I was poor, and she was the prettiest girl in class. We never got together, but after graduation we both came to the same city to make our way, and being from the same hometown drew us closer.

I married her when my career was climbing. I thought she was the good wife who'd live out this life with me.

For the first two years of marriage, she really was.

She'd get up early to make me porridge, and worry over me drinking too much at business dinners.

But as my wealth multiplied, she changed.

Or maybe money was just a magnifying glass, and it brought out the greediest part of her.

"Honey, my mom says the old house back home is too worn out, it's not comfortable to live in, she wants a villa instead." Without a second thought, I wired five million.

"Honey, my brother's getting married, the bride's side wants a dowry, and a car too." I said not a word and took care of all of it.

Somewhere along the way, the look in her eyes lost its love. All that was left was sizing me up and doing the math.

She no longer cared whether my stomach hurt. Only whether the balance in my accounts was big enough.

Just yesterday, going over the books, I found an unusual expense.

Three million.

The memo said "household expenses."

But I had finance trace it, and the money ended up in the account of an underground casino.

I didn't have to think about who did it. Antonia's good-for-nothing brother, Ned Lawrence.

I took the statement home and confronted Antonia.

She was sitting there with a thousand-dollar sheet mask on her face, lazily admiring her manicure. "Oh come on, Ned just doesn't know any better, he lost a little money and he's scared someone's going to break his hands. You're so rich, three million is pocket change to you, right? Do you really have to yell at me over it?"

"Pocket change?"

I choked down my anger and slapped the statement on the table. "Antonia, that's three million, not three hundred bucks! And this is the third time he's gambled! You're not helping him, you're destroying him!"

Antonia ripped off the mask and glared at me. "Jason, you've changed. You didn't used to be like this. Now that you've got money, you've started looking down on my family, is that it? Don't forget, back when you were struggling the hardest to build the company, who was the one cooking and doing your laundry!"

That line again.

Every time I didn't give her what she wanted, she trotted out that line.

But she'd forgotten. Back when I was struggling the hardest, the one who actually ate instant ramen with me, who lived in a basement with me, wasn't her at all.

That was Fern.

The name alone sent a sharp ache through my heart.

Where was Antonia back then?

She was doing admin at a foreign company, worshiping money and despising the poor, all wrapped up in some rich boy with a BMW, never sparing me so much as a glance.

It wasn't until the eve of my company going public, after that rich boy dumped her, that she came running back to me in tears, saying old classmates were the ones who truly knew each other's hearts.

And I was blind back then too. Or maybe, to get back at the boy I used to be, that boy full of self-doubt, I actually let myself end up with her.

"Jason, let me tell you, tomorrow you'd better wire Ned another two million, he's still got some loan-shark debt to clear." Antonia commanded me like it was her right. "Otherwise I'm going back to my parents' place and you can do this alone!"

Looking at that face, every inch of it written over with want, I was suddenly overcome with disgust.

I had 30 billion in wealth, and I couldn't buy a single ounce of genuine care.

And that was the moment I thought of the test.

If I had nothing left, would these people still stay by my side?

I didn't expect the answer to come this fast, this naked.

Ten minutes after I posted the "bankrupt" message in the group, Antonia had already changed her clothes and was dragging two enormous Rimowa suitcases behind her.

She moved so briskly it left me speechless.

"Let's get divorced."

She stood in the middle of the living room and tossed a document that had clearly been prepared long ago onto the coffee table, watching me coldly.

I picked it up.

Divorce Agreement.

The date was actually from a month ago.

So she'd had it ready all along. She'd only been waiting for the right moment. Or waiting to squeeze the last drop of blood out of me.

"Antonia, are you really this desperate?" I looked at her, my voice frighteningly calm. "All I said was that the cash flow snapped. I didn't say it was over. Give me time and I might climb back up."

"Climb back up?" She let out a scornful laugh, contempt all over her face. "Jason, stop dreaming. Thirteen million in debt, and what are you going to pay it with? Sell a kidney? Even if I sold you off you wouldn't fetch that much!"

She walked right up to me and jabbed a finger at my nose, looking down on me. "I'm no heiress, but there's no way I'm spending my life with a broke man buried in debt. I married you because I thought you had potential. Now you're useless. Why would I hang myself on a crooked tree like you?"

"Then what about your brother's loan-shark debt?" I asked.

"That's your debt. What's it got to do with me? Besides," she lifted her chin, pleased with herself, "I already talked to a lawyer. This is corporate debt. As long as we divorce right now, I'm not on the hook for any of it. And the house and car under my name? You gave those to me as gifts. Don't even think about getting them back!"

Listen to that. So shrewd.

This was the woman who shared my bed.

My phone was still buzzing.

It was that alumni group chat.

A lot of them had left, but a few who hadn't were still typing.

"Jason, honestly I'd like to help, but money's tight for me too right now, I'm stuck holding stocks." "Yeah, times are hard for everyone, don't take it too hard, worst case you can always make a living doing food delivery." "Don't come asking me for money, I've already blocked you."

Looking at these brothers who used to pound their chests over drinks swearing we'd share every good fortune, I just found it laughable.

"Sign it." Antonia tossed the pen at me. "Don't waste my time, I called a car."

I watched the finality in her back as she turned, and the last trace of hesitation in me dissolved.

"Fine."

I picked up the pen and signed my name on the papers.

In that moment, I didn't feel grief. I felt released.

Antonia snatched the papers, checked them over, and a triumphant smile spread across her face.

"Jason, don't ever come looking for me again. I don't know you."

With that, she dragged off her two suitcases stuffed with luxury goods and slammed the door without a backward glance.

The huge house fell dead silent again.

I went to the liquor cabinet, opened a bottle of expensive whiskey, and took a long pull straight from it.

The sharp liquid burned down my throat, but it couldn't warm a heart this cold.

This was human nature.

When you're riding high, everyone around you is a good person. Only when you hit the bottom can you see who's human and who's a devil.

I thought I'd be furious, that I'd smash things to vent.

But I didn't.

I just sat there quietly, watching the sky outside slowly brighten.

In one night I'd lost my marriage and lost my so-called friends, and yet I felt lighter than I ever had.

By the time the sky was fully bright, the hangover headache forced me to close my eyes.

Just as I was drifting off, the phone I'd thrown onto the carpet suddenly rang.

Not a message tone. A call.

Who would be calling me at this hour?

A debt collector? Someone wanting a laugh at my expense?

I fumbled for the phone and squinted at the caller ID.

In that instant, half my drunkenness burned off.

Two words flashed on the screen, a name buried at the very bottom of my contacts, one I hadn't dared to dial for ten whole years.

Fern Pruitt.

The phone kept ringing, insistent, like some urgent call.

I took a deep breath and pressed answer with a trembling finger.

"Hello"

My voice came out hoarse and dry, like I'd swallowed a mouthful of sand.

There were a few seconds of silence on the other end, and then a familiar, slightly trembling woman's voice.

"Jason is that you?"

It was Fern.

Ten years without seeing each other, and even through the static, I knew her voice at once.

Still so gentle, soft in that way from her hometown, only now with a thread of urgency and exhaustion in it.

"It's me." I gripped the phone, my heart racing for no reason I could name.

"Where are you? Are you okay?" she asked, urgent. "I I saw the messages in the group."

I gave a bitter laugh.

So it turned out bad news travels fast. The screenshots from that group had probably already spread through every alumni circle.

"I'm fine, not dead." I tried to keep my tone light. "What, you here to laugh at me too?"

"What are you talking about!" Fern's voice suddenly rose, an edge of anger in it. "Am I that kind of person?"

There was the sound of her rummaging through something on the other end, paper rustling.

After a moment, she took a deep breath, and her tone turned utterly serious.

"Jason, listen to me. I don't know exactly how much you owe, but I I've pulled some money together here."

"You pulled money together?" I froze.

"Mm." Fern spoke fast, as if afraid I'd refuse. "I did an emergency sale of the two apartments in my name, and the place I'm living in now too. The prices were low because I sold in a hurry, but with my savings from these years, it comes to nine million four hundred thirty thousand."

Nine million four hundred thirty thousand.

The number hit me like a hammer, slamming hard into my chest.

I went rigid all over.

"It's not enough to clear your debt, but it should get you through the worst of it." Fern's voice went on, careful now. "I've already wired it to that old card of yours ending in 8889, your salary account. That one shouldn't be frozen, right? Use it first, and the rest I still owe I'll figure it out. I can borrow, and if it comes to it I can work a job"

"Fern!"

I cut her off, my eyes going red in an instant.

Something was lodged in my throat, aching and raw.

It wasn't just a number.

It was everything Fern had.

For me, an "old classmate," for me, the ex-boyfriend who had "abandoned" her back then, she'd sold every property she owned and hadn't even kept a place to live?

The memories came rushing in like a tide.

Ten years ago, the girl who was always in a white dress, the girl who handed me a bottle of water on the field, the girl who ate at roadside stalls with me and laughed the whole time.

We had loved each other so much once.

Back then I was dead broke, but I swore I'd give her the best life.

Reality was too cruel.

Her parents looked down on how poor my family was, on me being a nobody with no background.

"Jason, what can you give Fern? That mouth of yours? If you really love her, leave her!"

Her mother knelt in front of me, threatening to kill herself.

Fern cried her eyes out, clinging to my hand, refusing to let go.

But I looked at those red, swollen eyes of hers, watched her tear herself apart from her family for me

Living in that leaky rented room, my heart went soft, and I turned into a coward.

I didn't want her to suffer along with me.

So I said the cruelest thing I could, and drove her away.

Later, I clawed my way up in this city, and by chance I ran into Antonia, who was fighting for her own place here too. Antonia was forward about it, practical about it, and it made me think maybe that was just what life was.

I assumed Fern had married long ago, had a kid, and settled into a steady, comfortable life.

But I never once imagined that today, the day I was "bankrupt" and abandoned by everyone, the one person who would give up everything to save me would be her.

"That's your house, that's everything you own! Aren't you afraid I'll take the money and run? That I won't be able to pay you back?"

The other end of the line went quiet for a long time.

Long enough that I thought the call had dropped.

Then I heard her let out a soft sigh.

"Jason, money's gone, you can earn more. A house is gone, you can buy another. But if something happened to you, then I really would have nothing left."

That line shook me more than any love confession ever could.

The hand holding the phone was trembling hard, and the tears I'd been holding back finally spilled over.

I wanted to tell her I wasn't bankrupt.

I wanted to tell her I had thirty billion, that I could buy her ten thousand houses.

But the words came to my lips, and I held them back.

I wanted to see her.

I wanted to see what this foolish girl had become now.

And I wanted to give her, and give myself, a chance.

"Fern," I wiped away the tears, and my voice turned unusually gentle, "this money I'll take it. Consider it a loan. I swear I'll pay you back, every cent plus interest, and I won't let you down."

On the other end, Fern seemed to breathe easier.

"No interest as long as you're okay." She paused, her voice dropping very soft. "Then you take care of yourself. Call me anytime you need to."

"Okay."

I hung up and looked at the string of unread bank texts on my screen.

Your savings account ending 8889 has received a deposit of 9,430,000.00. Balance

I stared hard at that string of numbers.

For money, Antonia could throw me away without a second thought.

For me, Fern could throw away money without a second thought.

What a bitter comparison.

For half my life, I, Jason Dickerson, had really wasted it on the wrong people.

I took a deep breath and dialed my assistant.

"Mr. Dickerson?" There was surprise in his voice. "Aren't you off today?"

"Look someone up for me." My eyes went sharp. "Fern Pruitt. I want to know everything about the last ten years of her life, especially her relationships. And find out who she sold her house to. I want to buy it back."

I set the phone down and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the bustling city.

The sun was coming up.

The Jason Dickerson of yesterday was dead.

The Jason Dickerson of today would live for the people who deserved it.

That afternoon, Antonia really did show up.

She brought a lawyer and a freshly printed copy of the divorce papers, terrified I might change my mind.

"Hurry up and sign, let's get it done." Antonia kept her sunglasses on, wouldn't even spare the mansion a second glance, as if the place were crawling with bad luck.

I sat on the couch, watching that face of hers so desperate to get away, and the last ripple of feeling in me went still.

"The house is yours, the car is yours, the savings are yours." Antonia jabbed a finger at the terms. "The debt is yours."

Legally, she couldn't really wash her hands of marital debt so cleanly, but I didn't argue.

For the man I was now, any problem money could solve wasn't a problem.

The important thing was that a little money could buy out every last tie between her and me. More than worth it.

I signed without hesitation and pressed my thumbprint.

The moment she saw me sign, Antonia visibly relaxed, and even let a mocking little smile show.

"Jason, don't blame me for being cold. Husband and wife are birds in the same forest, and when disaster strikes they each fly their own way. That's wisdom the ancestors handed down." She gathered up the papers and stood, chin high. "I hope you sort yourself out from here on. Don't end up on the street and come begging me for scraps."

I looked at her and said flatly, "Relax. Even if I'm out begging, I'd never come begging at your door."

Antonia clicked away on her heels, hips swinging.

In under two hours, the divorce certificate was in hand.

The moment I walked out the doors of the county clerk's office, I looked at the dark-red booklet in my hand and drew in a deep breath of free air.

Just then, a somewhat old white Volkswagen Polo pulled up at the curb.

The window rolled down, revealing a plain but still gentle face.

It was Fern.

She was a little thinner than I remembered, with faint lines at the corners of her eyes, but those eyes were as clear as ever, full of worry.

She wore a simple beige trench coat, hair loosely gathered at the back of her head, a sharp contrast to the head-to-toe designer, tacky-as-ever Antonia I'd just left.

"Jason!"

She pushed the door open, got out, and walked quickly toward me.

When she saw the divorce certificate in my hand, her steps hitched, a flash of shock in her eyes that quickly turned to deep, aching pity.

"She she really divorced you?"

I lifted the booklet with a bitter smile. "Divorced. Turned off by the bankruptcy, scared of the debt, ran faster than a rabbit."

Fern bit her lip, her eyes going red.

"As long as you're still here, there's still hope."

I looked at her, up close, at this face that had haunted my dreams.

"Fern, thank you."

"Thank me for what." She lowered her head, a little shy. "Get in. I'll I'll take you to eat something. You must not have eaten all day."

Sitting in her little car, the faint scent of jasmine around me, I felt a calm I hadn't known in years.

"Fern, these past few years have you been doing okay?" I asked carefully.

Her hands tightened on the wheel, then she gave a deliberately light little laugh. "I've been fine. Work's steady. I don't make much, but it's enough to get by."

"And you did you get married?"

I held my breath, waiting for the answer that felt like a verdict.

Fern went silent.

The car stopped at a red light.

She turned her head and looked at me, her eyes complicated.

"No."

Two simple words, and my heart started pounding.

"Why?" It came out before I could stop it. "You're so wonderful. There must have been plenty of men after you."

Fern lowered her lashes, and their long line trembled.

"Maybe my standards were just too high." She gave a self-mocking little smile. "Or maybe I was waiting for some fool to smarten up."

My heart felt like a gentle hand had suddenly clamped down hard on it.

She'd been waiting for me.

All these ten years, she'd been waiting for me.

Even after I married, even after I became another woman's husband, she'd kept guarding that memory, alone.

And me, I'd lost myself all that time in the so-called world of fame and money, and let a girl this good slip past.

"Fern."

I looked at her, my eyes hot. "What if... what if that fool wanted to start over now? Would there still be time?"

The light turned green.

The car behind us started honking.

Flustered, Fern turned back to face the road and drove, but I clearly saw the flush spreading fast up to her ears.

"That depends... on how that fool behaves."

Her voice was soft, but it fell like a shaft of sunlight, lighting up my gray world.

The next two weeks were the happiest days I'd had in ten years.

I didn't tell Fern the truth.

I stayed in an ordinary budget hotelI lied and told her the house had been repossessed by the bankand every day I wore my old T-shirts, rode around in Fern's little Polo, went grocery shopping with her, cooked for her.

Our relationship warmed fast, as if we'd slipped back across ten years into those green, awkward school days.

Fern never brought up the money, and never asked when I could pay her back.

She was always finding ways to save, taking me to hole-in-the-wall diners, to parks that were free.

She said, "Jason, we don't have money right now, but as long as we're together, things will get better."

Watching her count every penny and still stay full of hope, the urge to give her everything grew stronger and stronger in me.

That weekend came.

I wanted to take her somewhere nice.

"Come on, I'm taking you out for seafood today." I took her hand.

Fern shook her head. "Don't waste the money. We can buy some shrimp at the store and boil them at home, it's the same thing."

"No. Today's your birthday." I wouldn't budge. "I already made a reservation. That place down by the river, Tidewater Grille."

She couldn't talk me out of it, so she gave in.

At the door of the restaurant, Fern looked at all that gleaming decor and hesitated. "Jason, this place looks really expensive... should we go somewhere else?"

"Don't worry, I've got a group-buy voucher, it's cheap." I lied.

The truth was the restaurant was one of my own properties, but I didn't want to scare her.

We took a table by the window. We'd just finished ordering when a shrill, grating voice cut in from beside us.

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Dickerson, the big bankrupt boss."

I frowned and turned my head.

It's a small world for enemies.

Antonia stood there on the arm of a paunchy middle-aged man, looking at me with pure contempt.

She was in a brand-new Chanel suit, a huge diamond ring on her hand, all but writing "I have money" across her forehead.

"What's this? You're broke and you still dare to eat at a place like this?" Antonia looked me up and down in my cheap clothes, then glanced at Fern beside me in her plain outfit, and let out a sneer. "Oh, isn't this the first love you dumped back in the day? Fern, right? What, picking through the trash now? Just divorced and already shacked up with this pauper. You two really are a perfect match. A pair of penniless nobodies!"

Fern's face went red. She stood up and put herself in front of me. "Antonia, watch your mouth! Jason may be broke, but he's a thousand times better than someone like you who'd sell out anyone for a profit!"

"Ha? Better than me?" Antonia looked like she'd just heard the biggest joke in the world. "My husband now does major construction projects. He's worth tens of millions! And Jason? He's tens of millions in the hole! Fern, is your brain waterlogged? Stick with a loser like this and you can wait to go sleep under a bridge with him!"

As she spoke, she deliberately shook the arm of the thick-jowled man beside her. "Honey, look, that's my useless ex-husband. I hear he's out conning people for money lately. You'd better watch out, don't let him latch onto us."

The heavy man had been looking down, replying to a message. At her words he lifted his head lazily, the flesh of his face quivering. "Oh? So this is the Dickerson guy..."

But the moment his gaze landed on my face, his voice cut off.

For that one instant, the look on his face was something to see.

From scorn, to confusion, to sheer terror.

His pupils contracted hard, his face went white in a heartbeat, and the cold sweat broke out on his forehead all at once.

Antonia hadn't noticed a thing wrong with the man beside her, still babbling on. "Jason, take my advice and get lost, don't ruin my appetite. You think a place like this is for the likes of you? And these waiters, honestly, letting any stray cat or dog in here..."

Smack!

One crisp slap, and the whole restaurant went silent in an instant.

Antonia held her cheek, staring at Fern in disbelief.

Fern's hand was still trembling, but her eyes were rock steady.

"I won't let you insult him!" Fern was shaking with rage. "So you have money, big deal? Money means you can trample on someone's dignity? Antonia, you make me sick!"

"You... you dare hit me?" Antonia shrieked and lunged forward like a fishwife. "Fern, you bitch! I'll rip your mouth off!"

"Honey! She hit me! Go teach this pair of dogs a lesson!" Antonia screamed and yanked at the heavy man.

I watched all this coldly, just about to rise and shield Fern.

Instead I saw the heavy man wrench his hand free of Antonia's grip like he'd been electrocuted.

The next second, he did something that left both Antonia and Fern completely stunned.

He hurried over to me, bent at the waist to a full ninety degrees, his voice shaking with the most groveling eagerness to please.

"Mr.... Mr. Dickerson?! How... how are you here?"

That one "Mr. Dickerson" came out utterly heart-wrenching, dripping with sincerity.

Antonia froze, the hand over her cheek stiff in midair.

Fern froze too, staring blankly at the fat man who'd been so unbeatable a moment ago and now stood in front of me like a lapdog.

I gave him a flat glance, picked up my teacup, and took a sip. "You know me?"

The heavy man wiped at his cold sweat and stammered, "Knowknow you! Of course I know you! I'm Fergus Whitney, of Whitney Construction! At the last company gala I was lucky enough to catch a glimpse of you from the back row! Thatthat three-billion new campus project of yours, I even put in a bid..."

Three billion.

The number was out, and Antonia's eyes nearly popped out of her head.

"Fergus, are you sure you've got the wrong man?" Antonia shrieked. "He's bankrupt! He's thirteen million in the hole! He's a penniless bum!"

"Shut up!!"

Fergus spun around and backhanded Antonia with a ringing slap.

That blow was far harder than the one Fern had just landed. It knocked Antonia flat to the floor.

"You money-burning wench! You trying to get me killed?!" Fergus roared, every ounce of flesh on his face trembling. "Mr. Dickerson's company just doubled its share price last month! Market cap broke a hundred billion! Bankrupt? All of Seattle could go bankrupt before Mr. Dickerson does! Talk another word of nonsense and I'll divorce you on the spot!!"

06.

The air seemed to freeze.