Page 38 of Devil's Riches

“They’d find someone young and healthy who wouldn’t be missed,” he replied in a breezy tone, as if he were talking about the weather instead of abduction and murder. “Usually they’d find someone overseas in a poor country, and they’d bring them over here with a promise of steady work and free education. Sometimes they’d take homeless people from the mainland, too. Those ones were a little riskier because there was a chance they could be addicted to drugs or suffering from diseases that would make their organs weak or non-viable, but they were also a lot easier to grab. No one notices when someone like that disappears. No one who matters, anyway.”

“What happened then?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“They were kept in cells in the Blackthorne tunnels. No one could hear them screaming down there,” Greg said, tapping one finger on the concrete in a slow, steady rhythm. “Sometimes they’d be there for weeks while the Golden Circle lined up all the recipients, tested for matches, and finalized the payments. Then their time would come, and they’d be harvested.”

“Harvested?” I took a step back, hands trembling with rage. “These are human beings we’re talking about. Not fucking plants.”

Greg turned his gaze to me. The indifference in his deep blue eyes froze my blood. “Some people matter less than others, Alexis,” he said softly. “You might not like it, but it’s true. The world has always been that way.”

I eyed the chain that extended from the shackle around his ankle, wondering how easy it would be to wrap it around his throat and choke him to death. It would probably be too good of a death for him, considering what he deserved, but I wanted to do it anyway.

Nate saw the direction of my gaze and took a step closer to me, one hand moving to the small of my back. “Try to stay calm,” he muttered to me. “I want him dead too, but there’s still a lot we need to know from him.”

I nodded and took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way my fingers were itching to wrap around Greg’s neck.

“Keep talking,” Nate said, looking back over at him. “Tell us how it all worked.”

“Well, like I was saying before, some of the members were involved with the business side of things— finding people who needed organs, ensuring their silence after the operations, investing the money they received from them, and so on. The rates changed over time due to inflation, but when I was in the game, a body was worth $2.5 million altogether. Some parts were more valuable than others. For example, corneas were only worth fifty grand. But a pair of lungs… that would fetch over three hundred grand.”

“How much did the families make all up?”

Greg started tapping his finger on the floor again. “Hm. Let me think. There were probably around 2300 donors in the forty-three years that the operation ran for. That works out to almost six billion dollars altogether. That was split between the families, of course, but when you take into account the investments they were able to make with their share of the money…” He trailed off and slowly shook his head. “I’m not sure how much each family made in the end, because they all invested their profits differently. But our family’s fortune ended up increasing to the tune of fifteen billion dollars by 2009, from what I recall.”

Bile rose in my throat again. So much money from so much suffering.

“How did they keep things running for so long?” Nate asked. “Surely they had to bring in new blood once the older family members couldn’t participate anymore?”

“Yes, but it was surprisingly easy. The children of the families were let in on the secret at the age of fifteen or sixteen, depending on their individual maturity levels, and then they were trained in different areas in order for them to join the business later. Some of them were squeamish about it at first, but in the end, they all understood that sacrifices have to be made sometimes in order to keep the lights on.”

“It was about more than keeping the lights on,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “It was about making billions in profits off the torture and murder of innocent people.”

Greg arched a brow. “Tell me, sweetheart. If you were told you could be rich beyond your wildest dreams, and all you had to do was help out with the black market family business—or at least keep quiet about it—you’d do it, wouldn’t you?”

“No. Not for all the money in the world.”

He smiled beatifically. “People love to think they’re above it all,” he said. “But it’s different when it actually happens to you. Trust me.”

I wanted to believe he was wrong, but I honestly couldn’t be sure. I’d met enough uber-wealthy people in my time to know that their worldviews were usually vastly different to those of regular people. They had enough money to do anything they wanted and buy their way out of any consequences, and that often turned them into sociopathic money hoarders who were completely detached from reality and the impact of their actions. The wealth seemed to strip them of their empathy and desensitize them to the suffering of others to the point where they simply saw people as numbers and investments. Not humans.

I liked to think that I wouldn’t turn out like that under any circumstances, but if I were actually raised in that sort of world with billions at my disposal and multiple family members molding me to be like them, I could’ve easily grown into an evil, coldhearted bitch who didn’t give a shit about murdering people for profit.

“How did you end up becoming the Golden Circle’s surgeon?” Nate asked, dragging my attention back into the room.

Greg’s forehead creased. “Well, there always had to be someone to do the dirty work of harvesting the organs, and the members didn’t want to outsource that work to any outsiders because it increased the chances of everyone getting caught. So, in every generation, several young people from the families were pushed into medicine. The most promising would become the next surgeon when the old one decided to retire.”

“So you were your generation’s surgeon.”

“Yes. I started in 1999 and worked for ten years. I was the best they ever had. I loved the work, too.”

“Because you’re a psychopath who loves torturing and killing people, and the job basically gave you free rein to do that?” I snapped.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “I don’t know why you’re acting so holier-than-thou about it. You clearly have your own vicious tendencies, judging by the scar on my nephew’s stomach,” he replied. “Besides, those people were nothing. Just worthless losers. Like your father.”

I stepped forward and spat in his face. “Fuck you.”

Nate pulled me back over to him. “What happened in 2009?” he asked, eyes still on Greg. “Why did the Golden Circle end up going after you?”

“Things started to fall apart for them that year,” Greg said, wiping the spittle from his forehead with the back of his hand. “I simply hastened their end.”

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