Cleo had spent two years driving a taxi, encountering all kinds of people—drunk partygoers, anxious families, and guilt-ridden executives. But that rainy November night, everything changed.
Eight months pregnant and aching, Cleo was trying to make it through a few more hours of her shift when she spotted a man stumbling along the rain-soaked road. His clothes were torn, his face bruised, and he looked terrified. Against her better judgment, she pulled over.
“Are you alright? Need help?” she asked.
The man, clearly in distress, asked for somewhere safe. A car sped up behind them, and Cleo immediately drove off, weaving through side streets to escape. As they neared the hospital, he apologized for putting her and her baby in danger, but Cleo simply replied, “Sometimes the bigger risk is doing nothing.”
At the ER, he thanked her before disappearing inside.
Later that day, Cleo awoke to black SUVs lining her street. Her late-night passenger stood at her door, now in a sharp suit, accompanied by two men. The older man introduced himself as Mr. Atkinson, and the younger man, Archie, was the son Cleo had helped.
It turned out Archie had been kidnapped, and Cleo’s timely intervention led to the capture of his captors. The Atkinsons, billionaires with a global tech empire, owed Cleo a debt of gratitude.
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