The low hum of the engines faded, replaced by the high-pitched whine of reverse thrust that pushed me back into the leather seat. The questions, my constant companions, surfaced in the sudden quiet. Was it my fault that I ended up in this mess? That I was now an accessory to whatever sin Avery was about to commit? Shall I be blamed for someone else's transgressions, simply because I stood by and watched? The answers were immediate, bitter pills on my tongue. Yes, and yes. Am I engaging my mind through these useless, circular thoughts to cover the simple, ugly fact that my own greed has brought me to my end? Yes. A thousand times, yes.
Machiavelli once wrote, "People are so simple and so much creatures of circumstance that the deceiver who has designs on his victim will always find someone who will listen to him." But it was another quote, a darker one, that felt more fitting: "People are so greedy that in order to satisfy their fleeting lust, they forget the evil that comes immediately." He could have been describing my immediate situation, my pact with a devil in a designer suit. Soon after the plane's wheels kissed the tarmac of a country whose name I couldn't properly pronounce, the hiss of the cabin door depressurizing sealed my fate.
"Wake up, dummy." Avery's voice was a sharp whisper, cutting through my self-pity. She didn't turn to look at me. Her gaze was fixed on the shimmering heat rising from the asphalt outside. "I didn't whisk you across an ocean in a tin can so you could take a nap. I brought you here to show your worth. Don't make me regret it."
"Yes, ma'am," I responded, the words automatic, conditioned. I unbuckled my seatbelt, my travel clothes feeling like a burlap sack against my skin compared to the sharp, tailored lines of her blazer.
Multiple times in my life I had been visited by this specific, cold dread. One time, back in my sophomore year of college, I'd botched a crucial paper. Instead of facing the music, I hid my half-finished, plagiarized draft in a jock's locker, planning to "find" it later and claim sabotage. As I snuck through the school's silent, cavernous hallways that night, my gut wrenched and twisted with every step. Each locker was a silver tooth in a giant's mouth, and the security light at the end of the hall cast long, grasping shadows. I ignored the feeling, the primal scream of my own conscience, and dropped the manila envelope in the slot anyway. I was caught two days later. I didn't just fail the semester; I was disqualified for 'assessment malpractice,' a black mark that followed me to every job interview.
This was one of those times. The same sickening lurch, the same cold sweat on my brow. But the stakes were infinitely higher than a failed semester. I didn't know Avery, not really. Our relationship had almost always been master and servant, a dynamic I had fallen into for the promise of scraps from her table. Now that she was exceedingly successful, a titan in a world I only read about, the gap between us had become a chasm. It didn't get any better; it just got more expensive.
She stood and smoothed her skirt, a gesture of such effortless control it made my stomach clench. "The car is waiting. You will be briefed on what you have to do"
I was here because I wanted a taste of her world, and now the bill was due. The bad feeling wasn't just a premonition anymore; it was a receipt.
The air was was a barrage of guilt that raised my awareness to my mistakes. It provoked my thought. Everything I have ever done has contributed to this gnarly ending. Every choice of meal, every laugh, every shower and all the times I spent loafing of my father's fortune.
Walking down the jet stairs was a reminder of my failure to my lineage. Each step was decorated with strips of gold. The name 'Avery' was engraved on every step in bronze. Each step alone could account for the mountain of debt that medical school has put me through, and more. Before I could lose my thought any deeper, a big, black and long van pulled up right beside us. Avery got inside with style signaling for me to enter with a wave of her palm.
The ride was silent, a thick, suffocating blanket woven from money and power. The leather of the seat seemed to swallow me whole, and I kept my eyes fixed on my own scuffed shoes, fearing that if I looked up, I would be devoured by Avery's tiger-like gaze. She wasn't even looking at me; her focus was on the tablet in her lap, but her presence filled the limousine, pressing down on my chest. I looked down, questioning the entire architecture of my life. How could someone my age possess this much—this effortless, quiet wealth—while I was still two years away from even making my first real deposit into a bank account that was perpetually overdrawn? The chasm between her world and mine wasn't just a gap; it was a continental divide.
Suddenly, she spoke, her voice a blade that sliced cleanly through the silence. Her eyes remained glued to her phone, but after all that I had seen, I was certain I wasn't worth the full, undivided attention of Avery Shaw.
"There's been a change of plan," she said, her tone flat and final. "You'll be spending the night with me."
The thought of that dreadful night didn't fully register yet. My mind, a frantic hamster on a wheel, skipped over the immediate, personal horror and latched onto the larger implications. What could possibly stop the momentum of a cooperation involving billionaires from across the world? It had to be the government. Interpol. But then, that made less sense. What on Earth could they be doing that would arouse negative attention from international police? Better yet, the specific government of Italy? How was I involved? How was Avery involved? The word jail echoed in the hollows of my mind, a stark, concrete word in a world of abstract wealth.
"No, you won't go to jail," she said calmly, her eyes never leaving her screen. I know what you're thinking. If you're smart enough to find out about the secret parties, I'll bet you've figured out what happened. Nothing bad has happened, and nothing illegal is going on. Yet. It's all under our paws." She made a subtle, clawing gesture with one hand, a cat toying with a captured mouse.
Her fingers furiously tapped the phone screen as she spoke, a flurry of silent commands. Soon, the only other sound in the chamber of the limousine was the sharp, rhythmic snap of her teeth as she chewed gum.
Looking to my left, I noticed a small, silver container on the seat between us. My mind slowly recalled that she had taken it out of her purse earlier. That's the gum. I want one. It was a stupid, pathetic thought, a desperate desire for a small piece of her world, a tiny act of normalization in a situation that was anything but.
As I reached out my arm, my fingers hovering over the container, she looked up at me. My arm was halfway into the tub as she reprimanded me, her voice dropping to a near-audible whisper. "Didn't your parents teach you not to touch what's not yours?"
A spark of rebellion, stupid and suicidal, flared in my chest. Out of sheer defiance, I wiggled my arm free and plucked a single, foil-wrapped square from the container.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," she muttered, turning her attention back to her phone as if I were no longer worth the effort.
I unwrapped it and popped it in my mouth, starting to chew. The flavor was intense, a burst of exotic fruit and mint. The more I chewed, the sweeter it got, the more I chewed, the better it felt, a warm, pleasant buzz spreading through my limbs. Then a zap went through my body, an electric jolt that started in my jaw and shot down my spine. Was it pleasure, or pain? I couldn't tell. Either way, I could feel my consciousness fading, the edges of my vision blurring into a soft, grey static.
"The gum is stronger today," Avery noted, her voice sounding distant and warped, as if from underwater. "Must've been the jet lag."
Then it clicked. These aren't just--
Everything went black.