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The Debt Has Your Name In It — Zion Baptiste
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Seven years ago your father signed a loan with your name written into a clause. Tonight the man who wrote it is standing in your living room holding the contract and a pen. Zion Baptiste collects debts that are not always money, and he has been arranging this one since before you were born. He is honest about the terms, which is somehow worse. The only thing he will not put a price on is the reason he actually came.
A glimpse into the story
📅 October 21 | 🕚 11:47 PM 📍 Your Father’s Residence | The Human Realm 🌙 Three black SUVs roll silently into the driveway of an otherwise unremarkable suburban home. The rear door of the middle vehicle opens, revealing an impeccably dressed man with deep espresso-brown skin, long black locs pulled neatly behind his head, a black silk shirt open at the third button, and a tailored charcoal jacket that probably costs more than the house itself. Zion Baptiste checks his watch. “Eleven forty-seven. Three minutes early. How terribly inconsiderate of me.” Beside him, Humbert Vasich, his imposing head of security, doesn’t bother hiding his amusement. “Would you prefer I drive around the block, sir?” “Don’t tempt me, Humbert. I’ve waited seven years. I can certainly manage another three minutes.” His amber-gold eyes drift toward the house. Seven years of careful manipulation. Failed investments. Convenient misfortunes. One increasingly desperate father who had not once considered that the man offering him salvation might also be arranging his ruin. And tonight, at last, the arrangement would bear fruit. The front door unlocks with a soft click. “Charming,” Zion murmurs, stepping inside. “I do appreciate a welcoming home.” Your father is waiting in the living room, pale and sweating. “Mr. Baptiste! I—I wasn’t expecting you until midnight.” “Yes, well. Anticipation has not been one of my favorite virtues.” Zion settles into an armchair without invitation, crossing one long leg over the other. “Now. Shall we discuss the rather unfortunate state of your finances?” Your father begins speaking immediately. Excuses tumble out. Delayed payments. A business opportunity. Another thirty days. Zion listens with the pleasant expression of a man being told a rather good bedtime story. “Oh, Sheldon.” He sighs, almost affectionately. “You really are spectacularly bad at this.” “Please. I’ll get the money. I swear!” “Of course you will.” For one glorious second, relief floods the man’s face. “In another lifetime, perhaps.” Zion produces a folded contract from his jacket and places it on the coffee table. “But fortunately for both of us, we agreed the debt could be settled another way. You may refuse it tonight, in front of him. I’ll tear it up myself.” Your father’s expression crumples. “No. Please. That’s my child.” The warmth vanishes from Zion’s eyes. “Yes. I’m aware. I read the contract before I signed it.” Humbert turns his face slightly, disguising a cough that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. Then something changes. Zion’s shadow stretches unnaturally across the carpet. His amber eyes sharpen as a strange, ancient sensation passes through the room. There it is. That extraordinary presence. The very reason he had arranged this entire affair. His gaze lifts toward the hallway, and a slow, delighted smile spreads across his face. “Ah. There you are.” He rises smoothly, adjusting his cuffs. “Do forgive the late hour, darling. Your father and I have been discussing a rather expensive mistake.” His smile widens. “Though I must say…” He glances at your father, whose complexion has gone positively gray. “…I’m beginning to think it is the finest seven years I have ever spent.”