The video on Fleer's screen chattered, went blocky, then began to clear. Fleer turned up the volume to hear over the celebration in the rec room.

The grim visage of his creditor stabilized.

"I'm afraid you misunderstand, Mr. Fleer. The full amount must be paid by the deadline, no exceptions. While Crediture appreciates your partial payment, it does not extend or modify the deadline."

"But that was 200,000 credits!" Fleer cried.

"The amount is immaterial, unless it is the full amount due."

"That's ridiculous! We gave you all this money! Doesn't this prove we can pay you back?"

"It does not. Your business is a poor risk, just as it was the last time we spoke. You have not expanded your client base. You have not improved operations. You have not increased your marketability. The partial payment changes none of those things. Both you and Crediture are still in the same situation, except that now Crediture stands to lose slightly less money than before."

Fleer slammed a fist down on his desk.

"We're a real business! We can do this! Just back off of us for one minute!"

"I did," Pearce said in his steady, bloodless tone. "And I gave you six more weeks. If I give you another six, you'll be back again asking for more time. One more month. One more week. And in the end, you will still go under."

"How do you think you'll get your money back if we're defunct, huh?"

"It is not my money," Pearce corrected, "it's Crediture's money. We will take what we can out of your remaining assets. If you're wise, and declare bankruptcy, this will be a civil and orderly process. If you insist on continuing with this foolishness, the whole matter will be brought into arbitration. And please don't harbor any notions of hiding or selling off assets. Everything leaves a paper trail, and arbitration will go especially poorly for you. I've known a number of bankruptcy mediators, and they are all quite humorless in this regard."

Fleer fumed. 200,000 credits, and he could have done all kinds of things with that money, and instead he had flushed it down the debt-hole. How could he have been so dumb? Why didn't he check before putting that money against the debt?

Carefully gathering together what was left of his temper, Fleer forced calmness into his voice.

"So perhaps if we were able to make another payment, to bring us up to--

"No. You fail to understand. You act as though you and your business are a special case, but I assure you I have seen this play out more times than you can imagine. I did not give you an extra six weeks to pay back the loan, I gave you six weeks to get your affairs in order. I do not harbor any delusions about how this will end. You should not either. It's time to put these childish dreams behind you, Mr. Fleer."

Fleer drew a shaky breath.

"Can I have the money back, then?"

Pearce gave him a level stare that lasted far too long to be comfortable. Fleer smiled insincerely. Pearce's image was so still that Fleer nearly checked to see if the video had frozen again when Pearce finally spoke.

"It is outside policy for Crediture to return funds that have been paid for a legitimate debt."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"Look, you have to give me something, here! I have to run a business to pay you back! Then Crediture wouldn't lose any money. Wouldn't that be better?"

"Better is not relevant," Pearce said. "Statistically speaking, the chances of Riotfish ever paying this debt-- even so much as the majority of this debt-- are absurdly low."

Exhausted, Fleer sagged in his seat. Throwing arguments at Pearce was like throwing eggs at a tank.

"We'll... come up with the rest of the money, then."

"I appreciate the sentiment, even though that outcome is astronomically unlikely."

The video blipped off, leaving Fleer staring dumbly at the spreadsheets that had seemed so hopeful just an hour ago.

----------------------------------------

D'khara stepped away from the door on rubbery legs. He had come to tell Fleer dinner was ready, but he had accidentally overheard part of Fleer's conversation with Pearce instead.

D'khara was no businessman, but he could add and read a calendar.

At least he didn't have to worry about his 90-day evaluation any more. You can't be fired from a company that's out of business.

He wandered back to the party with a deeply troubled expression.

----------------------------------------

Fleer held his head in both hands. With a slow, dragging slide he let his head fall forward and thud heavily into the desk.

The hard wood pressed into his forehead. He tried to think through the numbers, but they kept slipping away, sucked into a dark hole of despair that yawned wider every time he circled his options.

310,000 credits. Four weeks.

They had succeeded, with the Adler job. They'd gone for the spec work and they'd succeeded beyond any reasonable measure. Getting any money out of spec work was like hitting five numbers in the lottery, and making the full amount was hitting all six. Making above the rate was absolutely unheard of-- much less making more than two and a half times the rate.

They'd done all that, risked so much, earned above and beyond, and it wasn't enough.

It wasn't enough.

He kept trying to think his way around it, but two thoughts kept swimming back to the forefront of his mind.

They couldn't earn the money. They just weren't good enough.

He wasn't good enough.

He'd been a fool to ever think he was.

Maybe Adler was right. Fleer did everything wrong.

He dragged himself up to a standing position. He stood there for a long moment, willing his feet to move. Eventually, he overcame inertia and forced one foot in front of another, trudging into the rec room with no clear plan. The team needed to know.

The energy of the celebration had died down a bit, and everyone was taking their ease and chatting.

"Boss-man, we got a solid score," Little Timmy said. "Any chance we're getting a new holopad?"

Fleer's brain rolled around, trying to make sense of Little Timmy's question. Buy a holopad? Why not buy the moon while they were at it?

"Don't be silly," Oliver answered. "We still need to be mindful of the budget!"

"Pff. We could be mindful of the budget with a new holopad. Just saying."

"But Little Timmy, isn't it wonderful to be out from under the shadow of failure? Now things can go back to normal. We're not contending with an existential threat any longer!"

"Whatever. I guess."

"I agree with Mr. Oliver," Mrs. Meade chimed in. "Riotfish has meant so much to me over the years, and I'm very pleased that we've weathered the storm. I knew you boys could do what it took to save us. Especially Mr. Fleer. He did such a wonderful job with everything." She tottered over and wrapped him in a generous hug.

Fleer stood trapped, like a deer locked onto the oncoming headlights of an eighteen-wheeler, with forty tons of doom hurtling toward him.

"Well, uh, I... thank you, but..."

"So what's next, David?" Oliver asked.

Fleer grinned uncertainly. Everybody looked at him, waiting, faces eager and eyes aglow.

"Well, Oliver... we... will..."

"Yes?"

"We can go back just to the way things were, of course." he finished in a watery voice. "We'll pay more attention to our debts with Crediture, naturally. No sense in antagonizing Mr. Pearce, is there? Ha ha."

D'khara's mouth dropped open.

"That's very true, very true," Oliver said, grinning with all his huge wide mouth. "Well, I'm quite relieved that all that's behind us. It will be good to get back to work."

"Ha ha, yes. Well, I'm going to go wrap up some paperwork. You all enjoy yourselves. Good night." So saying, he walked back to his office on stiff legs.

D'khara, his face crumpling into a grimace of disapproval, stormed back to his bunk.