Page 26 of Corrupt Game

The thermostat on the wall was set to seventy-two degrees, a little cool but nice for sleeping.

When I crawled into the bed, even though the sheets bothered me, I noticed that the mattress was soft but supportive. It was more comfortable than the one I had at home. Then again I was a poor college student and hadn’t had extra money for expensive mattresses.

This whole place reeked of money. The understated elegance of it couldn’t be ignored. He had made a point to decorate in a manner that would impress people with quiet luxury.

The problem with that strategy was I wasn’t most individuals. Possessions didn’t impress me much.

That was one thing about being rich that I’d never understood.

Why on earth would you buy things just because you could? Was it because when you had more money than you knew what to do with, you just had to buy things?

What motivated the wealthy?

I could get the whole needing the money to live and eat thing, but at a certain point it became more about having it than needing it.

Andy had always had sky high goals for when we finally left foster care and started our adult lives. He was the dreamer of the us. He always wanted to thrive and take hold of life. I wanted to survive and be comfortable. I wanted to know bills were paid, and never had a need for anything because my basic needs were met.

Something in Andy always pushed for more.

“There’s more out there for us, Lettie. We can own the world, if we just set our minds to it.”

He would get so animated when talking about life after eighteen.

That was his motivation. Money. Not having to be dependent on anyone ever again.

I understood. I just wasn’t as worried about it. Security was important, but hope wasn’t one of my motivators.

Why on earth would I expect a break from the universe?

His death was another example of how the cards were stacked against us.

Poor Andy. Our chosen sibling bond and guilt were potent motivators. In order to get justice for him, I had to fall back into survival mode.

I’d pass whatever test was put in front of me.

What did Ian Holdt have hidden up his sleeve?

He had a plan. Of that I had no doubts, but what they could have to do with me was a completely different thing.

I stared at the ceiling, unable to close my eyes.

A plan. That was what I needed to focus on. How I would escape if things went the wrong way.

Who was I kidding? It had already gone the wrong way.

I was locked in a basement with basically no food. No way out if there were a fire. Completely at his mercy.

Ian Holdt did not strike me as a merciful man. He hadn’t gotten to where he was—owner of a very successful company—by not knowing how to get what he wanted from others.

When they came down to bring food, I could try to overpower Rossi.

I chuckled. The image alone was laughable. He probably had professional training. I wasn’t equipped to take down a grown man.

Didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try though if things didn’t change though. I wouldn’t starve without a fight.

Even if the wedges I’d worn weren’t even good weapon material.

Who was I kidding? Fighting my way out wasn’t an option.

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