He handed the phone to Rita. She read it twice. Neither of them had any leverage left to make me come back. And they still needed a ride. Normally Gordon would have ordered a premium car service and charged it to one of my accounts — but while I was at the clinic, I had called the bank and canceled every supplementary card and digital wallet linked to him.

That option no longer existed. He checked the credit on his own card; after the failed boutique charge and the balance he already carried, there wasn’t much left.

He skipped the luxury rides and picked the cheapest rideshare available.

About ten minutes later, an older compact sedan pulled up. Gordon and Rita squeezed into the back seat — clean but cramped, barely enough legroom, an air conditioner struggling against the humid afternoon.

The trip took nearly an hour in traffic, and during the drive they turned on each other.

“What kind of grown man has a card with such a low limit?” Rita said.