The Rise Of Nicholas Hensaw

"Hello, is this Nicklaus Henshaw?" A deep, gravelly voice spoke from the other end of the phone.

"Yes, who is this?" Nicklaus asked, his grip tightening on the device.

"This is Dr. Stevens from General Hospital. You need to deposit the payment immediately, or your sister will not receive treatment." Before Nicklaus could respond, the line went dead.

Nicklaus stared at the phone in shock, his mind reeling. Everything was happening too fast. With trembling hands, he dialed his wife Stella's number.

The phone rang endlessly, but there was no answer.

"God, Stella, please pick up!" Nicklaus whispered, his hands shaking so badly he nearly dropped the phone.

He called again and again, but Stella never answered. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he shoved the phone back into his pocket.

"I know she's looking at her phone right now," he muttered bitterly. "This has become her habit lately, and it's not helping anyone."

Nicklaus walked down the street like a man in a daze. He had no one to ask for money, no place to secure a loan.

"A loan," he paused, the word sparking an idea. Maybe Stella's father could lend him what he needed.

Stella's father worked at a pharmaceutical laboratory, and his family business was one of the leading companies in the market. It was worth a shot.

With only a dollar bill in his pocket, Nicklaus hailed a taxi, hoping that by the time he reached Stella's father, he could secure the money to pay for both the ride and his sister's treatment.

The taxi driver navigated directly to the address Nicklaus provided.

As Nicklaus stepped out of the car, the driver said, "That'll be four dollars, sir."

"Four dollars?" Nicklaus asked, his heart sinking.

"Yes," the driver replied firmly.

Nicklaus reached into his pocket and pulled out his lone dollar bill, his face falling.

"I don't have that much. All I have is one dollar, and honestly, the distance wasn't that far," Nicklaus said, causing the driver to frown.

"If the distance wasn't far, then why didn't you walk? Pay me my four dollars so I can get out of here," the driver demanded, but Nicklaus simply didn't have the money.

"I don't have it. If I had the money, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Please, sir," Nicklaus pleaded. He wasn't embarrassed—he'd been in worse situations before.

The taxi driver refused to listen. All he wanted was his full fare, and he was beginning to cause a scene.

"Well, well, if it isn't Nicklaus the loser," a tall, well-built man said as he approached where Nicklaus stood with the taxi driver.

Nicklaus turned toward the familiar voice that had tormented him throughout college. "Frederick," he muttered under his breath, mentally cursing his luck. The last person he wanted to see right now was standing right beside him.

"What's going on here?" Frederick asked, turning to the driver with feigned concern.

"I drove this man from Fifth Street to here, and he's trying to pay me just one dollar," the driver complained.

"One dollar? My God, that's insulting. How much is the actual fare?" Frederick asked.

"Four dollars, and this man refuses to pay it," the driver said angrily.

"Nicklaus, pay this man his money so he can leave," Frederick said, knowing full well that Nicklaus was broke.

"Come on, pay him. Stop making this poor man shout," Frederick added with mock sympathy.

"I... I don't have the money. I already explained that," Nicklaus stammered. He could see this was exactly what Frederick wanted—another opportunity to humiliate him.

"What? A grown man like you doesn't have four dollars? My God, I knew you'd end up poor, but I didn't think you'd be this pathetic," Frederick said, then turned to the driver. "How much did he actually pay you?"

"Just one dollar," the driver responded.

Frederick reached into his pocket, pulled out a ten-dollar bill, and handed it to the driver. "Keep the change," he said magnanimously. The driver took the money, glared at Nicklaus one final time, and drove off.

Feeling deeply ashamed, Nicklaus turned to Frederick and said quietly, "Thank you."

He turned to leave, but Frederick stopped him.

"Where do you think you're going? Did you think I just paid that money out of kindness? You owe me now. Besides, we were never friends, remember?"

Nicklaus's eyes narrowed. "Get lost, Frederick. I have serious problems to deal with right now, and I don't have time for your games."

As Nicklaus took a step forward, Frederick grabbed his arm. "What's your problem? You're still as stubborn as you were back in school! Whether you like it or not, the moment I paid that taxi driver, you became indebted to me."

Nicklaus sighed, knowing Frederick would persist and waste precious time he didn't have. "What do you want me to do?"

"It's simple—the same thing you used to do back in school to keep pocket change," Frederick said, gesturing toward his spotless car parked in the company lot. "You're going to wash my car as payment."

Nicklaus shook his head firmly. "No. I have something urgent to handle..."

"That's not my concern, Nicklaus. You're going to wash my car, and you're going to do it now."