The Billionaire's Price for My Salvation

I was a Parsons-trained designer, but with my family drowning in over half a million dollars of debt, I delivered coffee just to survive.

One clumsy mistake—spilling a latte in a corporate lobby—put me on the radar of the city's most ruthless billionaire, Christian Mercer.

A week later, I wasn't fired. I was summoned to his office on the 85th floor, where he laid out a contract.

He knew everything: my student loans, my mother's crippling medical bills, the foreclosure notices piling up on our kitchen table. He offered to wipe it all away, plus pay me five million dollars.