Piss Off, This Is My Money

3

Jace shot the chief one last disgusted look and pushed out of the office. He checked the credit alert again. $38 million. Real? Fake? No way to know. The universe had already proved it was unhinged today.

A quiet sob drifted from down the hall. A kid. Jace turned and saw a tiny thing, maybe ten, wiping his face with his sleeve.

“Hey,” Jace snapped, “if you wanna cry, go do that outside. The cops aren’t gonna give a shit about you in here.”

The boy looked up, eyes red. “Please… can you help me? My brother was—”

“—caught with drugs or alcohol?” Jace cut in.

“He had an argument with—”

“Lead the way.”

No patience. Never had any. Especially not with cops breathing the same air.

The kid hesitated but then led him back to one of the stalls where a cop stood, arms folded like he owned the building.

“How much is the bail?” Jace asked, jaw clenched.

“Who are—”

“How much?” Jace repeated, voice dropping with that don't test me edge.

“Two thousand dol—”

Jace already sent it before the cop finished. His phone pinged. Money gone. Okay, the $38 million wasn’t a hallucination. Good to know.

He patted the kid’s back — the most affection he’d shown anyone today — and turned to leave.

At the exit, he nudged a recycle bin that was out of place, because the universe was chaotic enough already.

Outside the building, a deep vibrating sound rolled across the sky. A chopper.

Coming.

For him.

“Oh, this shit is real,” Jace muttered.

The helicopter landed a few feet away, wind blasting hard. Men in black suits jumped down and beelined toward him. All bowed in sync, mouths moving, but he couldn’t hear a damn thing over the roar.

He’d only ever seen choppers in movies until he came to this rich-kid-infested college six months ago. Arrogant trust-fund brats.

Jace felt something spark in his chest the moment he stepped inside the chopper. Forget the five-dollar Walmart shirt he had on—right now he felt like the lost son of the richest man alive.

The seats were soft, the air smelled expensive, even the damn oxygen tasted richer. It was like breathing Detroit fumes your whole life and suddenly inhaling straight-up heaven. The Blue House type of air.

He slid toward the window, eyes wide. He’d dreamt about this feeling his entire life.

“If I jump out from here, will I survive?” he asked nobody in particular, leaning forward like an idiot.

“As long as you have a parachute, sir, you will land safely,” one of the men replied.

Jace glanced at him. Sir.

First time anyone had ever called him that without sarcasm. Something tightened in his throat—some emotion he didn’t even recognize.

“What’s your name?” Jace asked the guy.

The man looked startled, like he had never been asked that before.

“Relax if it makes you uncomfortable,” Jace added with a lazy wave. “I just like your vibe, man.”

The chopper jerked suddenly. For a second Jace thought it had done a full somersault, but the men didn’t even flinch. So he pretended he wasn’t scared either.

Moments later, they touched down smoothly.

One of the men hopped out, pulled down the ladder—or whatever the hell that thing was—for Jace to climb out.

Jace took a breath, stepped forward, and felt the universe shifting beneath his feet.

The hospital didn’t even look like a hospital. The damn place had marble floors, gold railings, and chandeliers. If not for the memory of that video call, Jace would’ve sworn he’d walked into a five-star hotel by mistake.

“I’m your uncle. We even share the same surname,” the man was telling him when they got inside. Jace barely listened.

Because one thing was certain:

There’s no fucking way his parents had a rich relative and hid it.

Those two? The same people who complained about the price of toothpaste? No way in hell.

But he didn’t argue.

When you’re eighteen…when your life has just been broadcasted to millions…when you’ve been slapped, humiliated, arrested, dragged, mocked—and suddenly the universe throws you a lifeline?

You don’t argue.

You take it.

You hold it tight.

And you use it to pay every one of those motherfuckers back in ways that make them beg for mercy.

Jace’s lips twitched into a dangerous smile.

Time to go back to school.

Time to make them choke.