In a moment, I was getting dressed—or what passed for a moment when you've been pushed through a small storm of measuring tapes, murmured options, and the tailoring scissors. The room was all soft light and polished wood, a hush so deliberate it made my old life feel noisy by comparison. I stood in front of a mirror that didn't hate me and watched a stranger button a shirt over ribs still counting old debts.
It was sad to see my old clothes get tossed. They'd been with me through winters that had opinions, summers that bit back, a dozen jobs and twice as many bad ideas. The elbows were thin where I leaned into walls to listen; the knees shiny from kneeling where I shouldn't have been. A seamstress with a pin-cushion wrist lifted the bundle between two fingers the way a museum handler lifts a relic—gentle, but not sentimental—and fed it into a bin stamped with a number that meant "incinerator" in a language that didn't use words.
I managed to convince myself that the money was worth it. Practicality is just grief with a ledger. That amount of money would pay my rent for years to come, and I would still have enough left over for a set of new clothes and something to eat for the month or so—real food, not the kind of meals you apologize to your stomach for.
She gave me a hundred thousand. In cash. Not a promise, not a wire that could be unmade by a keyboard, not a check that could go suddenly theoretical. Cash. Ten stacks banded tight enough to leave pale lines in the paper when the rubber came off, blue security threads winking like little veins, Franklin frowning up at me as if to ask whether I was worth the paper I was holding. Someone had put them in a leather folio the color of old coffee, the kind of thing you pass over a table when you intend to change a life.
As the sweet scent of the mint hit my nose—ink, paper, that faint cotton-linen breath of factories and clean hands—I rubbed the little cotton Benjamins with my thumb and felt the texture rise up like a whisper. A new feeling came over me: protectiveness is what you would call it. The stupid, animal urge to put my body between the money and the world. I tucked the folio against my sternum and it sat there with the dense, reassuring promise of a brick that knows a window. If anyone had tried to take it then, I would have learned how to bite with my elbows.
I spent my entire makeover practically making out with it. Not romantically, exactly—just checking and rechecking, counting the edges with my fingers, learning the weight so if one gram went missing I'd know. I would smooth a sleeve and my hand would drift back to the folio, patting it like a superstitious sailor pats a figurehead. The staff pretended not to notice. Professionals have a way of not seeing the parts of you that embarrass you.
"Smile," someone murmured, slipping a belt through loops.
"You look like a verdict came in and you're still waiting to hear it." Normally, I wouldn't have replied, but I was too in the moment. I was too rich to not have an attitude now.
"Would you be happy if someone held you by the neck? I'm being dragged like dog and you tell me to smile? Please. I've had enough of people telling me what to do"
She stopped dressing me and looked me directly in the eye, as if to say "you're not important". She twisted her lips a little bit, and little by little her frown turned into a smirk.
"If you've got this gall, why dont you speak to Miss Avery about it? Hmm? Let me guess, you wont. Dont get it twisted, none of us are doing this because we want to, including Miss. Just do your part and let us do ours."
After that, it was silence all round. I think I might've spoken a little too boldly, or she just shut me up. It might be both. After a while I was directed to the training room. As soon as I entered, i was astonished by how much of royalty the place exuded. The mirrors were gold, the rom huge and wide, silverware actually made of silver, and the list goes on.
"She's got money to spend doesn't she?"
My head snapped behind. My brain was bewildered. Confused. Betrayed. It was ol' Jeff. He looked spick and span, the buttons on his tuxedo tight, the loafers on his feet sparkling, highlighting the perfectly fitted ankle cuffs. His hair was 'sluck' back behind his ears the shiny luscious strands glowing, just like his white, perfect teeth. His Then the idea came into my mind.
"He got the same treatment as I did? I really am not special. The maid was right after all. It looks like I was way in over my head."
Instead of being envious, instead of scowling, I was happy for the dude. I met him only yesterday, but we came together quite nicely. We were interested in the same comic books, had the same childhood tv crushes, y'know, that sort of thing. Before we had met however, he was like a different person. His head was hung low as he slouched around everywhere, and responded with the same awkward wave to anyone whoever spoke to him, if anyone ever did.
It seemed like in two days though, he had become a different person. The nice, expensive clothes gave him a different vibe, underlining all his attracting features. I waved him over.
"Yo!! How's it going dude? Looking clean today. The red really fits you." I said.
"You think? They put this on me because apparently I stared too long trying to pick a color. Apart form trimming my awesome beard, I dont mind it. Everyone speaks different about the madam because she's a billionaire, but I dont know man, I kinda like her. She didn't force me to do anything, she even called me by name and greeted me with a smile this morning. That woman is an angel. How about you? How'd you end up here?"
It took a while before everything clocked correctly. "She greeted him? Called him by his own name? Didn't force him? Billionaire?!"
Before to long though, We were interrupted. Not vocally, but we could sense her presence from the other side of the room. To our amazement, it was a big woman, as tall as a giant, with brawn to match. She walked with sass and class, striding gracefully to where we were. She was dressed up as we were, only a step higher. She looked us up and down with disdain, as if we worth less than the carpet she stepped on. As beta males, all we did was watch.
A minute of that passed, and she breathed down. She lazily signaled one of the maids close by and soon enough, we found out what they were scurrying around for, why they were locking the door, and why all the maids giggled as they assembled by the wall, keeping their distance form us.
They gave her a whip. She wasted no time cracking it.
"Oh one above, the one and only one, why me?" I thought to myself. I could feel the terror on Jeff's face burning my side. I dont begging will get us out of this one. Jeff leaned to me a little bit just enough to get caught.
"I-I think we're screwed, James" he whispered. He was so frightened by the demon before us, and apparently the fear reached his brain. I whispered back.
"Screwed we are, screwed we are."