Page 48 of Filthy Rich

Strange.

Like cooled wax.

I know just how foreign it feels, and that’s what worries me.

Because at some point, he’s going to realize that he doesn’t want someone who’s damaged, and the idea of the inevitable end of all this is starting to really hurt.

Chapter 12

Jake

Dear Jake:

I’m beginning to worry that you’ve forgotten who I am. I’m hearing from you less and less, and you keep telling me to “forget” about the Fansees and move on. You’ve punished them, you’ve told me, over and over.

Only, it really sounds like you’re forgetting who you are.

Everyone on earth’s either a mark or they’re a grifter. You don’t get to opt out, because there’s nothing in between. I left you to be fostered by the Fansees because they proved themselves to be somewhat canny for do-gooders.

It never occurred to me you might drink the lemonade.

Snap out of it, boy. Right this moment. Remember who you are. Remember that there’s only one true north in this world, and it’s not your stupid, sappy, holier-than-thou foster family.

I’m your true north.

I’m the only person who really knows you.

And I’m the only person you can trust to have your back when things get bad. Don’t ever forget that. I may be locked away, but I still have your back, even from here. If you go check behind the flowering bush that’s a little overgrown right behind the signage for their stupid hotel, you’ll find a little reminder of that.

-Dad

When I was fifteen years old, I stopped writing my dad letters. I should’ve tapered them off, maybe, or written perfunctory ones, telling him I was busy.

I was a teenager.

It would’ve been believable.

But the truth was, I was embarrassed that he was my dad.

He was in prison.

He had taught me to make my way as a liar and a thief. For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to be a cowbird. I didn’t want to bump anyone out of their nest and take their food. I wanted to be the kind of bird the other birds could rely on.

I wanted to be a part of the nest, with parent birds who loved me.

So I stopped writing my real dad.

He saw right through my reasons immediately, of course, and he delivered to my door the very thing I imagine he plans to use to destroy the Fansee family at his leisure. When he finally does get out, whenever that day comes, I’m sure I’ll see exactly how he uses the information he managed to dig up on my seemingly perfect foster parents while he was in prison.

But whenever I have a weak moment, whenever I think that maybe, just maybe, good people exist. When I think that maybe the world isn’t all swindlers and suckers, I look at the photos Dad left in that manila envelope.

I’ve told myself all kinds of things about them.

Maybe they were doctored.

Maybe they aren’t real at all.

Maybe it was a one-time mistake and Dave didn’t tell Seren about it because he didn’t want to hurt her.

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