Page 65 of Betting on the Brainiac

Finally, he turns and walks back. “Why do I feel like controlling the trust fund is your dad playing checkers while you’re playing three-dimensional chess?”

I give him a slow smile. “Why, Oliver, how nice it is to be seen.”

A rueful smile tips his lips, and he shakes his head. “We need to do something about your hands. Want to tell me your nefarious scheme while I ice them?”

“I feel like a real boxer,” I say, bouncing and shaking my shoulders like I’m about to go in the ring. “What do they call the guy who squirts water in the fighter’s mouth between rounds?”

“The man in the corner? That’s the cornerman.”

I stop bouncing. “Really?”

“Really. Now let me be your cornerman.”

As I lead him to the nearest freezer, the endorphins surge in my system. That’s a little bit about the punching, but it’s a lot about having a man like Oliver in my corner.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Madison

“The trust. Where doI start?” I ask as I lead us to the bar. “The case went to court. He paid millions of dollars to delay. He ran out of stalling tactics. He lost. He appealed. Finally, he lost his last appeal three years ago, and Jeneze paid a four hundred-million-dollar settlement. Then they paid twice that as part of a plea deal that allowed everyone to avoid jail time.”

Oliver finds a box of disposable gloves in one of the bar cubbies and begins filling one with ice.

“The whole time this is going down, I’m living in the Matrix, starting to see everything about my life differently. How my parents used money and guilt to control everything, including me, my entire life. I felt helpless to do anything about it, so I made this vow that no matter what happened, I wouldn’t grow up to be them. I decided the second I could guarantee myfinancial independence with my trust, they wouldn’t get a say in my life. I would become their opposite in every way.”

He picks me up and sets me on the bar counter like I’m Sami-sized, but I most definitely am not. He doesn’t even seem to register my gasp as he bends to look at my aching knuckles. His touch is gentle as he prods, and I fall quiet, watching him.

He looks up. “But the chess game is in play and you’re ten moves ahead.”

I flash him a grin. “I realized, why wait? I might need my trust fund to make any big moves, but it’s time to show the king and queen that their dethroning is inevitable.”

“I’m a big fan of Kingslayer Madison, but out of curiosity, isn’t taking the trust fund sort of . . .”

“Hypocritical? Tainted?” I smile. “I thought so at first too. I spent the first year punishing them by rebelling every chance I got, and if they found a way to corner me, then it was about malicious compliance. They wanted me to go to college and major in business. That’s what I wanted to study, but there was no way I was giving them the satisfaction, so I majored in economics. My dad said it was a waste, a pretend business degree for cowards who don’t have the guts to build a company. Told me he wouldn’t pay for it.”

Oliver flinches.

“Yeah, fatal error. I told him I’d drop out and work as a flight attendant and never come home again. He paid the tuition. I wouldn’t join my mom’s sorority, but I played them and got Sami in. I showed up to every family dinner they made me come to wearing shirts for all the nonprofits working on fair trade in Bangladesh.”

“What changed the game for you?”

“The NGO that exposed his email? They decided Austin is the perfect place to open a fair-trade store to sell the work of artisans who can’t compete with the distribution of Jeneze-sizedbehemoths. Several of their makers are victims of the collapse considered too disabled for work in other factories. They earn more from the sale of a single item in the store than they would make in a week at the factory.”

“That is so satisfying.”

“The best part is how mad it makes my dad. My favorite artisan makes collages out of fabric scraps from another Jeneze factory. This is art. Intricate, gorgeous, with a singular way of seeing the world. I bought one and gave it to my parents for Christmas. They loved it and displayed it over the sideboard in their dining room until they had a dinner guest who asked them whether it was a statement of public accountability or a middle finger to the verdict.”

“I never want to be your enemy,” he says, tying off the second glove to keep the ice in.

“No problem. Don’t buy your way into stuff. Earn it. Don’t buy your way out of trouble. Own it.”

He nods and starts wrapping the second glove.

“So anyway, I work there now.”

“At the NGO store?”

“Yep. Well, volunteer, really. They were happy to support my rebellion. At first, I only helped in the stockroom, but you don’t grow up like I did without developing an eye for good design. And I understand Austin shoppers, so now I’m their buyer, basically. I curate what we bring in to sell.”

---