Gemotions

The antique writing desk, a prized possession of my late grandfather, gleamed under the soft light. My brother, with a forced smile, tapped his foot restlessly.

"I need the money, you know?" he said, his words rushed.

I noticed the worry etched across his face, the slight tremor in his hands. It looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

I took a deep breath. "Don’t worry about it," I said, with a reassuring tone. “Let me see what I can do. I have a friend who is a loan officer. We’ll figure something out.”