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the call button for the private elevator. As I ride it up to my parentsā€™ floor alone, thereā€™s a quiet voice in the back of my head telling me what a shit idea this is, but, like I said, high me is unstoppable. And not in the ā€˜valiant, heroicā€™ sort of way. More so in the ā€˜reckless abandonā€™ meaning of the word.

Yep, thatā€™s me. My comic book name would be ā€˜Super Stupidā€™ or some shit.

The broad, metal doors part and I lay eyes on the polished marble tile of my parentsā€™ foyer. The gleaming white reflects light from the chandelier above. Theyā€™ve left every light on, but thatā€™s typical for them. Why conserve energy when youā€™ve got more money in your bank account than this whole city combined, right?

I step out, thinking Iā€™m on some kind of recon mission, but it isnā€™t until I hear voices that I realize that assumption was dead-ass wrong. My gut tells me to get back on the elevator before they notice Iā€™m here, but the tone and volume of their voices makes this seem more like an argument than a regular conversation. Sheā€™s screaming and, from what I can hear sheā€™s also crying, but I canā€™t make out her words.

So, being your friendly neighborhood Super Stupid, I push forward in the name of justice, orā€¦ maybe itā€™s just blind stupidity.

ā€œYouā€™re saying so much, Vin, but none of it explains what I saw!ā€ Mom yells.

ā€œPam, for the last time, tell me what the fuck you did with it. You have no fucking right to touch my things!ā€

Iā€™m close enough now that I get a glimpse of my parents through the partially open door to my fatherā€™s study. Itā€™s a messā€”papers thrown everywhere, books all over the floor, every drawer and cabinet door open. Even the oil painting over the fireplace is pulled away from the wall. Behind it, the faint green glow of the digits on the safe can be seen. I have no clue whatā€™s gone missing, but I do know Vinā€™s desperate to find it.

His hairā€™s wild and damp with sweat. The top button of his shirt and the bowtie around his neck are both undone. Momā€™s still wearing a long, black formal gown, but the straps from her shoes are dangling from her fingers.

ā€œDammit, Pam! Tell me what you fucking did with it!ā€ Vin shouts again, and with how my heartā€™s pounding in my chest, I nearly rush in there, but something tells me to wait.

So, I donā€™t dismiss that small voice in my head this time, choosing to stay put and listen.

ā€œAll those names and dollar amounts. I donā€™tā€¦ I donā€™t understand. Is it a prostitution ring?ā€ Mom asks, unable to fight the strain I hear so clearly in her voice. ā€œIs that what youā€™ve gotten yourself into? Because itā€™s the only thing that makes sense.ā€

She pauses then and presses a hand to her mouth when she gets choked up.

ā€œNo, none of it makes sense,ā€ she corrects herself. ā€œBecause weā€™ve already got more cash than we could ever spend in a lifetime, so thereā€™s no reason in the world I can think of that explains why youā€™d be doing what I think youā€™re doing.ā€

Vin slams his fist on the desk, and I swear the whole penthouse rattles.

ā€œAlways so fucking self-righteous,ā€ he growls. ā€œWe werenā€™t all born with a silver spoon in our mouths!ā€

ā€œIs that what this is about?ā€ she scoffs. ā€œYou resent me because of where I come from? What my family has? Because last I checked, you benefited from their wealth, too.ā€

He balls his fist again, but this time stops just short of pounding the desk. Instead, he closes his eyes and tries to regain his composure.

ā€œAnd did you ever stop to think that maybe I donā€™t want that hanging over my head anymore? That youā€™ve brought more to the damn table than I have?ā€

ā€œIā€™ve never thrown that in your face,ā€ Mom snaps. ā€œYou have more than done well for yourself, regardless of how and where you started. Which is why I donā€™t understand any of this.ā€

Staring at her, he lifts his hands when a simple answer falls from his mouth. ā€œIf thereā€™s more to take, Pam, why not take it?ā€ he reasons. ā€œIā€™m building a legacy. An empire. Why create a limit when there isnā€™t one?ā€

Momā€™s quiet, like sheā€™s trying to process Vinā€™s words. ā€œShouldnā€™t there always be a limit, though? A line weā€™re not willing to cross just to add a few more zeros to our bank account?ā€

He stares at her with hellfire in his eyes, not saying a word, which says it all.

ā€œGuess that answers my question,ā€ Mom scoffs, staggering back a bit after having the wind knocked out of her.

Vin lowers his head and takes a deep breath. ā€œThatā€™s not what I meant. Of course, there are boundaries.ā€

Mom throws her hand up, clearly fed up with the course of this conversation.

ā€œI knew the moment you got involved with your fucking family again itā€™d be our downfall.ā€

My brow tenses when she says those words, because I donā€™t understand what it means. I set my confusion aside for now, to listen closely and make sure I donā€™t miss anything.

ā€œPam, if you just return my ledger, Iā€™d be glad to have a peaceful, civilized conversation with you about this, but the information you took was important and itā€™s also confidential. You could get me in deep shit if I donā€™t have it back in my hands immediately.ā€

She glares at him and I havenā€™t seen this side of her before. Maybe it just took her eyes being opened for her to come around.

ā€œYouā€™ll get your ledger when I get the truth.ā€

With that, she turns to leave, and I forgot to mention that being high also makes me slow. Which is why my reaction time is for shit right now and Iā€™m caught.

She stops dead in her tracks, staring at me with mascara streaking down her face. Iā€™m frozen there, unsure of what to do, unsure of whether I should explain

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