Piss Off, This Is My Money

2

What’s the first thing that comes to your mind after having the worst day of your life?

Yeah, that’s what Jace should be thinking.

But fuck that.

Of all the shit that just happened, the only thing grinding his brain was… his shorts.

Those damn boxers with holes in them — the ones he always wore under his jeans whenever Maya used his bathroom or came over.

And now?

How many fucking eyes saw those boxers?

He slammed his fist into the wall at the exact moment the lock clicked open.

“You guys executing me?” Jace asked, because honestly, that had to be the only reason they’d come back. “Or you got more fucking livestreams to run? Need more followers, yeah?”

The cop at the door stared at him. His lips twitched, like he wanted to curse Jace out.

But then — for some twisted, stupid, unbelievable reason — the cop bowed. Bowed.

“Please come out, sir,” he said.

Jace laughed, sharp and ugly. “Where are the fucking cameras this time? Huh?” He stepped forward, voice rising. “You cops can’t survive on your dead salaries so now you gotta do livestreams too? Gotta grind for followers?”

“I’m sorry, sir. Please—”

“What the hell are you saying to him?” the chief of police barked at the junior officer.

Jace frowned. He knew this dude from TV. No way a chief of police was part of some Livestream circus. That didn’t make sense.

“I’m very sorry on his behalf, sir,” the chief said, bowing toward Jace. Bowing. “Please forgive him.”

Jace’s face twisted into an irritated scowl. “What the hell do you want?”

“Please follow us, sir,” the chief said, still refusing to lift his head. Same with the other cops — all of them suddenly acting like he was the damn mayor.

Jace followed, confused and pissed, straight into the chief’s office. They sat him down like a VIP. Someone even brought him coffee.

He glared at the cup, then at the chief, who was now holding out a tablet like it was some holy relic.

Jace snatched it out of his hand with visible disgust. His nerves were already shredded; he had no patience left. “What the hell is this supposed to be?”

“Jace Prescott!” a voice boomed from the screen.

Jace looked at it again — a man in hospital scrubs, lying in a bed with tubes and machines hanging off him like Christmas decorations.

“I’m your uncle, Jace. I’m sure your parents must have told you about me.”

“What the fuck do you want from me?” Jace snapped. “And my parents didn’t tell me shit about any uncle. Maybe you’ll piss off?”

“Jace, calm down. They must have. Think—”

“I asked what the hell you wanted!” Jace roared, loud enough to make both the chief of police and the half-dying man on the tablet flinch. He didn’t care. Pacifying strangers wasn’t on today’s to-do list.

“Jace… I’m your uncle. And I want you to inherit my company,” the man said quietly.

“What?” Jace barked out a scoff. “Yeah, sure.”

“I just sent you some money. Check your phone. My name is on it too.”

Jace patted his pockets until he found his phone. Funny how he still had it — the universe must’ve been drunk. The cracked screen flickered, then loaded.

Credit alert:

$38,000,000

Jace stared, then slowly lifted his gaze back to the man on the screen.

“You’re my uncle? For real?”

“Yes, Jace. Do you believe me now?”

“Fuck no,” Jace said. “But I believe this money. If you’re really my uncle and you’re really this rich, send a chopper. I need to be sure you’re not some AI scammer.”

He tossed the tablet onto the table and stood up.

The chief of police looked like he wanted to speak. Jace narrowed his eyes.

“Any shit you wanna say?”

The man shook his head so fast it almost blurred.

“I’m released, right?” Jace asked.

“Yes, sir,” the chief said, voice tight and trembling.