"You're... joking, right?" Bella's stared incredulously at the man behind the desk, a befuddled smile playing on her lips. "You have to be joking."
"I am entirely serious, Mrs. Vander." Moran reached below his desk and produced a briefcase, which he slid towards her. "It's a simple proposition. You cut off your left hand, and I will fund your husband's operation."
Incredulous, Bella opened the briefcase. Inside was a contract, a pen, a set of towels, some bandages- and a machete. Her jaw dropped. She reached out a tentative finger and touched the edge of the blade- it was sharp. Very sharp. She looked back up at Moran, at a complete loss for words.
"The blade is sterile, I assure you," he said, disturbingly nonchalantly. "No need to worry about any infections. And my assistant here is medically trained, so you won't be losing too much blood."
Bella's mind reeled. "But... why? That's... I don't even know what to say! What do you even get out of having my hand?"
"Oh, nothing at all. You see, Mrs. Vander, it's not about what I gain. It's about what you lose." A wicked grin spread across his face. "I'm your husband's only chance. I want to see just how desperate you are. It's time to choose, Mrs. Vander. What will it be?"