Chapter 50 — Frank's Debt Collectors Arrive
Ten minutes earlier.
Outside 2119 Wallace Street.
A battered pickup truck rolled to the curb.
Behind the wheel sat a wiry man with a permanently twisted grin — the kind of face that only comes from lifelong bad decisions and worse habits.
In the passenger seat sat a mountain of muscle, a hulking brute whose expression alone said violence first, questions later.
They weren't in a hurry.
They stayed inside the truck…
waiting.
Waiting for all the Gallagher kids to leave for school.
Even hired enforcers have rules — no point dragging family into it if it isn't necessary. And besides, they were just employees. Doing a job.
---
Inside the house.
Fiona rushed around the kitchen, packing lunches for each sibling. Another morning of her doing the job of five adults by herself.
Just as everyone was about to head out, Carl slid a crumpled sheet of paper into her hand.
"Teacher said to give you that."
And then Carl immediately tried to flee.
"Wait! What did you do at school this time!?"
Carl stared straight ahead. "Nothing."
Fiona opened the note.
Her forehead instantly pulsed with veins.
"It says parent conference — this Friday.
TODAY IS WEDNESDAY, CARL!"
Carl — already showing early signs of the future Carl Gallagher menace — didn't stop walking. He simply kept moving toward the door like she didn't exist.
Fiona could only snatch the baseball bat from his backpack.
"You're not taking a bat to school!"
Carl didn't argue — which meant the situation was bad — and stepped out.
---
Outside, the two men in the truck quietly counted heads as each Gallagher kid left the house.
The tall musclebound one shook his head.
"Catholics… look at them. Breeding like rabbits. If the Pope just legalized condoms, I might actually consider being baptized."
Then he turned to his partner and added with disturbing sincerity:
"I really do love Catholic mass."
The driver stared at him for a full second.
"…I'm thrilled to know that. Truly.
Now can we go get this over with?"
He opened the door and stepped out.
---
Present moment.
Fiona opened the front door — and froze.
The two men filled the doorway like a wall. Predatory. Expressionless.
She instinctively backed away and reached for the baseball bat on the table.
The smaller man — the one with the twisted smile — didn't move to stop her. In fact, he barely acknowledged her as a threat.
"Frank forgot to pay us back."
He said it politely.
Almost kindly.
Fiona didn't care.
She raised the bat and shouted through gritted teeth:
"Get out of my house. NOW."
"We're technically not in your house yet, ma'am."
The man pointed casually at the strip of threshold beneath his boots.
He wasn't wrong.
Under U.S. trespassing law, they weren't inside.
Fiona knew it too — which only made her angrier and more afraid.
"Frank doesn't live here anymore," she snapped.
She wanted them gone. She wanted the door shut. She wanted this problem to disappear.
The debt collector raised an eyebrow.
He wasn't expecting that answer. He paused, thinking.
Finally, he spoke again.
"Maybe he doesn't live here, but I'm sure you know where he is."
The hulking enforcer cut in, voice like gravel:
"Put the bat down.
Pick up your phone.
And tell Frank to pay the six thousand dollars he owes."
Six thousand.
The number hit Fiona like a truck.
Her grip on the bat loosened. Her brain blanked.
Frank owed six thousand dollars?
And his creditors were standing in her doorway.
Six thousand dollars.
For the Gallaghers, that wasn't just a lot of money —
that was an entire universe of money.
"What!?" Fiona blurted out.
The smaller debt collector didn't flinch.
"Or he can return the car."
The tall psycho chimed in, voice calm and casual — which somehow made it worse:
"Otherwise, we'll be back.
Next time, maybe that baseball bat actually gets used.
On you."
A naked threat.
Delivered as politely as reading a weather forecast.
The two men didn't wait for Fiona's reaction.
They simply turned around and walked away.
---
This Fiona wasn't the one from the original timeline.
After being broken in by William, something fundamental in her had shifted.
The old Fiona would've grabbed Liam, stormed across the South Side, and hunted Frank down like a bloodhound.
But not today.
After the things Frank had screamed yesterday
— about her worth, her body, her past —
she couldn't bring herself to see him.
So she did the only thing her rewired brain allowed.
She called William.
---
Meanwhile.
William was sleeping spread-eagled in Bianca's king-size bed.
Bianca — naked, hair messy, breathing softly — curled against his shoulder.
Bzzz bzzz bzzz bzzz.
His phone buzzed.
Enhanced reflexes snapped him awake instantly.
He answered without hesitation — not bothering that Bianca was right beside him.
"Who the hell is calling this early…" Bianca mumbled, half-asleep. Fortunately, her voice was too quiet for Fiona to notice.
On the line, Fiona quickly explained everything —
the debt collectors, the car, the six thousand dollars, the threats.
She didn't beg.
She didn't cry.
She just asked him.
Which, for Fiona, already meant everything.
---
And then the system chimed.
[Ding!Mission detected: Help Fiona solve Frank's debt problem. ]
[Reward: Spanish Language mastery.]
The words dried up the refusal sitting on William's tongue.
Spanish.
In America, that was practically a cheat code.
Of all the languages to master, Spanish opened the most doors — legal and illegal.
He rubbed his temples and exhaled.
"Fine. I'll deal with it. I'll find Frank first."
He didn't want to. He didn't care about Frank. He cared about the reward.
But Fiona didn't know that.
To her, William's immediate agreement felt like a miracle.
She thought he had every reason to walk away — they weren't even officially a couple.
And yet… he chose to help.
Her heart melted.
"Thank you, William."
Her voice trembled — hopeful, grateful, devoted.
She hung up with a decision already forming: Tonight, she'd reward him. She knew William liked games — extreme ones —
and Veronica & Kev were practically experts in that field.
She'd ask V later for advice.
She'd make him happy. She'd make him proud to choose her.
---
Back in Bianca's apartment, William carefully slid her arm off his waist and got up.
He didn't go straight to Alibi to pick a fight with Frank.
He went to Brad's auto shop to return the borrowed motorcycle, exchange a few polite words, and pick up his BMW 3-series — now fully repaired, no trace of the beating Lip gave it weeks ago.
Brad's craftsmanship was flawless.
William paid, pocketed the receipt, and drove off.
---
A short time later.
Outside The Alibi Room.
William parked, stepped out, shut the car door.
And immediately heard a familiar voice across the lot:
"Nice ride.
Is that really your car?"