Page 26 of Ruthless Riches
“How much?” he repeated.
“Fifty thousand,” Alexis cut in, voice tinged with nervousness.
“Fifty thousand?” Henrik’s eyes narrowed. “Are we supposed to feel grateful for those scraps?”
“It’s not scraps,” Brian said. “You know how many extra beds and meals that’ll give everyone?”
Henrik glared at him. “Keep licking those boots, man,” he said in a low voice. Then he turned his attention back to me. “So is that what you’re expecting to find here? Gratitude?”
“No. I was just trying to help.”
“As you fucking should,” he said. He paused to slowly shake his head, eyes flickering with anger. “You know, I’ve been around people like you before. I know how you work. The whole world is just a sandbox for you to play in, and regular people are your toys. It’s sociopathic.”
“What the hell are you talking about, man?” Brian asked, forehead crinkling.
Henrik ignored him and kept his gaze on me. “Billionaires,” he said, spitting out the word like it was a curse. “You act like you’re doing the rest of us a favor by donating to charities and providing jobs. But I know the game. All you’re really doing is benefiting from other people’s labor while massively underpaying them. Stealing the profits that they make for you while you do nothing but sit around like a useless leech.”
“That’s not exactly fair,” Brian cut in again.
“Listen to me, you idiot,” Henrik replied, narrowing his gaze on the other man. His hands were bunched into fists, and the tendons in his neck were standing out like cords. “People with that much wealth and power shouldn’t exist. They’ve literally destabilized society and wrecked the planet with their immoral bullshit, and they’ve gaslighted everyone into thinking they’ve earned the privilege to do so.” He shook his head again, upper lip curling into a snarl. “Do you really think billionaires actually work thousands of times harder than everyone else?”
“No one thinks that,” I said.
He turned his withering gaze back to me. “Actually, a lot of people do. It’s a dirty fucking lie spoon-fed to everyone from the day they’re born. Trust me. I’ve lived long enough to see how it plays out. How normal people end up feeling like every single failure is their fault. They slip into poverty while being told ‘just work harder and it’ll be fine’ by assholes like you who refuse to pay them a proper living wage so they can support themselves and their families. At the same time, you blame them for all of their failures in life. You say they just didn’t work hard enough when everything falls apart for them. And then, when you finally give us all a tiny bit of charity after fucking us forever, you act like we should be grateful to you. You paint yourselves as wonderful humans who do great things out of the goodness of your hearts, but really, you’re all ruthless and rotten to the core, and anyone with a brain knows those charity donations come out as tax write-offs and cost you nothing in the end.” He drew his head back and spat right at my feet. “I don’t give a fuck that you gave fifty grand to a shelter. That’s a drop in the barrel compared to what people like you owe the rest of the world. Especially considering a big chunk of your family’s fortune came from selling people’s fucking organs.”
“Look, I hear you, okay?” I said. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit. Don’t try to butter me up.”
“I’m not doing that. I actually agree with you,” I said. “The world is unfair, the system is broken, and families like mine have exploited others for centuries. I never even thought about it until a few months ago, but I know now, and trust me, it makes me feel like shit.”
Henrik stared at me, eyes still flickering with animosity. “Is that why you sent the rest of your family to prison? Finally felt a little guilty?”
“I did it because it was the right thing to do. They deserve to be there.”
“And we’re all supposed to believe you had absolutely no idea where your money came from?”
“I honestly didn’t know,” I said. “My family funneled most of the money into companies and investments, and they covered it up with creative accounting.”
Henrik snorted, but he didn’t say anything.
“Look,” I said, lifting a palm. “I know you don’t believe me, but I’m honestly trying to help you. So is Alexis.”
“How the hell are you helping me?”
“The reason we need information about the tunnels is because we think the Butcher is using them. We—”
Henrik cut me off. “Everyone already knows that. The cops searched them a couple of weeks ago. They didn’t find anything.”
“I know. But how hard do you think they looked?”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it this way. Three of the Butcher’s victims were homeless people, and the other one was a scholarship student. He picks off what he sees as society’s most vulnerable people. People like you. And it’s going to keep happening.” I clenched my jaw and took a step closer. “We both know the cops on this island would care more if the victims were rich or well-known. But they weren’t, and a lot of people think that makes them less important. That sort of attitude bleeds into the case. You see that, right?”
Henrik grudgingly nodded. “It’s like that with every fucking case out there,” he muttered.
“Exactly.” I motioned to Alexis. “I know you don’t trust us, but we really are trying to help. We want to find this guy and stop him from killing people. The same way we stopped my family and the rest of the Golden Circle.”
