Page 54 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
My knuckles flexed along the handles of my chair. She set Rosco down and swung the front door open.
Delilah didn’t understand the accuracy of her words.
I was a bad man.
Sisyphus.
With blood on my hands.
Penance in my future.
Tick.
Tock.
After acquiring my wealth, I realized half the power of money came from possessing it. I could spend it, sure, but I didn’t need to. It was a nuclear weapon. A threat looming over enemy heads.
It said, “I have the power to destroy you. Don’t make me use it.”
Flexing that power became an art I valued.
A way of life.
As natural as breathing.
By the time Delilah took her stance a step from my shoulder, the elevator dinged in the hallway.
The window behind me spanned the length of the room with panoramic oceanfront views, and Delilah and I had positioned ourselves in front, so Brandon had no choice but to look at what my money could buy.
Delilah wore enough jewelry to sink the Titanic, while I leaned back against my seat, shoulders relaxed and my new phone pulled out like I hadn’t a care in the world. I downloaded the Eastridge United app, opened it, and logged in.
Brandon Vu entered. I didn’t bother to glance at him as I read Durga’s messages, noting she’d been up as late as I was last night.
Durga: You know what would be an awful way to die? In a room full of people you don’t know.
Durga: Or worse—a room full of people you hate.
“Delilah Lowell.” Beside me, Delilah reached a hand out to Brandon as I shot a reply to Durga.
I ignored the death portion of her messages. It wasn’t like I avoided death, but I preferred not to think about it. After Dad had died, Ma invoked an unspoken do-not-go-there rule, and I had no arguments.
If I ever went there, I’d drown in the woulda, coulda, shoulda of my life. Death was a mistress approaching her expiration date. To be held at arms’ length, until one day, you forgot about her.
Problem solved.
Not the healthiest solution, but I’d never been the type to eat my vegetables, and even Michelle Obama ate at Shake Shack every now and then.
Benkinersophobia: You’ve never struck me as the type of person who hates people.
Brandon stepped closer, but I still didn’t glance up. “Brandon Vu, S.E.C.”
Durga: What type of person hates people?
I considered it for a moment, but the answer was obvious.
Benkinersophobia: Me.
Delilah’s elbow dug into my shoulder, and I waited fifteen seconds to piss her off before I slid my phone into the inner pocket of my suit and gifted the S.E.C.’s errand boy my attention. “Why are you here, Brandon?”
