The Billionaires game

A broke young man and a reckless heir live parallel lives until truth draws them in.

***Chapter 1***

Have you ever seen mold so unwieldy it seems to multiply even under excessive spraying of Moldex? As if mocking me, it pushed past the spray and greeted me the next morning, seemingly laughing at my feeble attempts. Roaches crawled past the pile of dishes with caked-on mystery food, maybe it was lentils or perhaps a sardine spread. The spray for that, apparently, did nothing to touch the grossly unwelcome army, a complete waste of money, dooming me to another night of rice with leftover beans.

I stood in the center of it all, trying to make sense of the disaster. I dropped the spray bottle in frustration and sighed. My small flat, with its peeling wallpaper and flickering lights, felt like more of a mess than usual. A ceiling fan slowly whirred overhead, moving stale air laced with the subtle smell of incense.

And where was I in my life? At University completing my freshman year, in a Philosophy 101 course, or at least I was in my daydreams. In reality, working a double shift at the local grocery store, stocking shelves, and trying not to fantasize about trips back to the dorm.

I snapped out of it, grabbed my bike, and clumsily made my way down the stairs. I started the long ride before realizing I had forgotten my half-empty water bottle. This was going to be a rough trip, each pedal a greater struggle than the last under the morning smog and heavy humidity. Still, I was moving at a decent pace until I caught a flat tire, just about a kilometer from work.

I was determined to get to work on time, breathing heavily as I willed my way into the store parking lot. The clock read 8:15 as I rolled up to the bike rack, just 15 minutes late. I chained up my bike and sprinted into the store, past the produce section, and into the employee break-room to put on my smock.

The next hour passed uneventfully, and I started to get lost in my daydreams again. A University dorm room on the third floor with a beach view, the tropical breeze gently flowing through my open window as I cracked open a Philosophy textbook.

The loud, intrusive voice of my boss over the intercom yanked me back to earth.
“Adam, please come to the office immediately.”

I dropped what I was doing, and a knot of dread formed in my chest as I headed towards my boss's office.
“Adam, you were late to work… again. How do you explain this situation?”

“Well, sir-” I started before being interrupted.

“Adam, you don’t need to start with formalities, cut to the chase.”

“My back tire caught a flat on the way to work today, it’s a miracle I was only 15 minutes late!”

“You mean the tire on your bike? Well, our store can’t compete with the chains; we depend on punctual workers who have their head in the game, not everywhere, but where it should be! I told you last week, you’re hanging on by a thread. Well, Adam, that thread needs to be cut.”

I slinked out of the office, ignoring the overly rambunctious greeting from the customer service lady, who was none the wiser, and made my way for the exit. My legs were already aching from the anticipation of riding my bike home with a flat tire under the oppressive summer heat, only to find the seat and intact front wheel missing.

At this point, I felt numb, unable to tell whether it was sweat or tears running down my face. My armpits blistered, as if the sun had suddenly decided to intensify its rays just for me.

My six-foot frame struggled to carry me home, my inner thighs chafing and blistering within the first kilometer of my four-kilometer trek. I was out of vaseline and had to decide if a trip to the pharmacy was more worthwhile than buying a few cans of beans. I decided that rash was temporary and went with the beans, only to find them all gone, apparently sold out in some mad, desperate rush.

I made it home, and given the way the day was going, I dreaded even inserting the key into the lock. It had broken off inside twice in the past year, and today felt like a prime candidate for the trifecta. Alas, at least part of my day was uneventful: the key slid in and turned with ease, and I tossed my bag onto the dust-covered floor of the entryway.

My phone was at 6%, but I knew I had to call my mother immediately. She was the sweetest lady, always a beacon in my life, even on days as dark as this one. She was becoming hard of hearing, but tried her best to be an empathetic listener. I was always urging her to see a doctor about her hearing, but she preferred mothering me as if I were ten rather than twenty, brushing aside my concerns with gentle care and making them seem far less than they were.

She was a wonderful woman who had never given birth and had suffered two miscarriages she rarely spoke of, just once, in passing. She adopted me when she was 41, having realized she would not be able to have children of her own. Two years later, she adopted again: my sister, who lived across the country in Spokane. I rarely spoke to her, but my mother was always urging me to give her a call.

“Hi Mom,” I started.

And within two words, somehow, annoyingly, she could tell.
“Adam, you don’t sound well. Are you sick?”

My mother always knew when something was amiss. It drove me nuts. She usually couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, but she knew.

“I’m not sick, Mom.”

“Those damn rashes are back. I told you to get some vaseline for that.”

No, Mom. Well, yes, some rashes… but something else. I was—” I paused as my phone beeped, alerting me that it would shut off within a minute. “Hold on, Mom,” I said, fumbling for my charger. The easiest tasks were always monumentally more challenging under the pressure of time. I dropped the charger before finally plugging it into the wall, then the other end into my phone with seconds to spare.

Without missing a beat, my mom continued: “Adam, honey, I am so sorry to hear that. I can send you a care package via priority mail to tide you over, and I can make the drive the weekend after next so we can go shopping. You must be sick of those beans and lentils and canned fish.”

You could say a lot about my mother, but she was dedicated. Since I had moved out to try to forge a life for myself, she had made frequent round trips to see me. Four hours one way, just to take me shopping. But for someone pushing past 60, this was far too strenuous for her, though she would never admit it. She was too proud!

“Mom, you don’t have to---”

“Nonsense,” she interrupted. “I’ll see you at noon sharp on Saturday the 21st, 11 days from now!”

I lay down to the sound of barking dogs outside, the shrill screech of a distant cat briefly jolting my tired body awake. Then silence, then the loud smash of a bottle on the pavement just outside my apartment complex.

***Chapter 2***

Racing around the corner in a Bugatti Chiron Super Sport, Sebastian cut his dad off in mid-sentence. It didn’t matter.

“No dad, I don’t want to take Nina out on the yacht this weekend. I was supposed to have a weekend with the guys,” he said, flinging a Macallan 25 Year Old bottle out the window in a fit of anger before hanging up.

“Now, where in the world is this GPS taking me? To some god-forsaken neighborhood, no doubt. I’ll have to have Piers reprogram the damn device, otherwise it’s his ass!”

Sebastian's phone rang once again.
“Son, did you dare have the audacity to hang up on me? And if I so much as smell any whiskey, gin, or cognac on your breath, it’ll be Jeffrey driving you around for the rest of your life. Your sister gets the yacht this weekend, that’s also final. Now don’t upset me before my important meeting. BYE,” he said, hanging up.

Sebastian’s dad had an uncanny ability to tell when his son was behaving in a way unbecoming of the family’s rich tradition. Sebastian’s thoughts soon shifted toward his sister, Nina.

Sebastian called Nina. She was slightly more grounded, gorgeous with long blonde hair and striking blue eyes that seemed to cut through anyone they focused on, and a fashion sense that would put runway models to shame. She was daddy’s girl, and it showed, especially when she didn’t get what she wanted.

“Nina, you won’t be using the yacht this weekend,” Sebastian declared with confidence.

“As soon as Daddy finds out you raided his liquor cabinet and topped off his favorite whiskeys with cheap Perrier, you won’t so much as sniff that yacht, or his Bugatti, which you also scratched, by the way, you imbecile,” Nina declared sharply, with even more confidence.”

“You slut” Sebastian hissed as he hung up, racing around another corner.

On the other end, Nina rolled her eyes, “So uncouth, what a lack of education.”

***Chapter 3***

Just as I was drifting off to sleep, a loud alarm vibrated through the flat. I could barely see through the thin haze of the quickly approaching dusk, but didn’t want to take a risk like last year. It had been a false alarm, but I knew some of the aging residents smoked and sometimes fell asleep mid-puff. The apartment complex next door had partially burned down a decade ago because of that. So, without thinking much, I jumped out of bed, even before putting on my shoes, and ran out to the sidewalk, joining the other residents in their pajamas, slippers, and comfort wear.

“Oh, Adam, so glad you’re safe,” Edward said as he approached. Edward was a calm man, about 70, and looked great for his age. He had a decent head of gray hair, carefully slicked back.

I felt like the only idiot in bare feet as I stepped aside to make way for the building’s oldest resident, Edna, 93 years old.

Then I felt a crunch and sharp pain in my foot; I had stepped on some glass. Blood gushed from the bottom of my foot, spilling onto the sidewalk. I instantly collapsed in a fit of pain.

“My goodness, we need to get you to the emergency room,” Edward exclaimed, a look of worry washing over his face.

I tried to reject his concern, but I was in such pain, all I could do was utter a pathetic “Ok.”

With the help of a few other residents, Edward carried me to his car.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get you seen by a doctor immediately!”

Edward took pride in always being deliberate with his actions; he was careful, always aware of his surroundings, which is likely what saved us in the coming seconds. As Edward pulled out onto the street, a car coming the wrong way swerved into his lane. “My goodness, some of these people should not be on the road!”

As if by some cruel practical joke, we hit practically every red light possible on the way there. Edward looked back at every stop to check up on me, doing his best to hide his concern.
“Here, apply more pressure, wrap this around it”.

Between the expert maneuvers on the road and the constant checks, Edward somehow still managed to call the ER ahead of time to ensure the doorman would be there with a wheelchair, ready to cart me in.

As I was carted in, the agony I was in was overshadowed by a steadily increasing pang of panic at what the hospital bill would look like. There was no way my wallet would be able to survive an ER visit late at night. And my mom, I dreaded having to call her. But she was my mom; I had to tell her. I loved her dearly, and we never kept anything from each other. She was always an open book, and she raised me the same way.


Chapter 4

Sebastian found his phone conversation with Nina especially upsetting. He wasn’t very introspective, but he tended to retreat to a lonely stretch of beach to chug whatever bottle he had in his possession, listening to the crashing waves as he contemplated how to deal with his sister. He wasn’t thrilled about the private access road on the way to the beach, manned by a security guard whose name he could never remember, but it was a small price to pay for seclusion and exclusivity.

Sebastian pulled up to the gate and rolled down his window.
“Oh, hello, Sebastian,” the guard said with glee. “Did you see the game last night? Went into double overtime, with Castle scoring 35 points and—”

“Listen, sir, I’m in a hurry. I’m late to a dinner party with a family friend, and my dad will have my head if I’m late,” Sebastian lied through his teeth.

With a disappointed look, the guard opened the gate, “Have a good night, Sebastian.”

Sebastian found his favorite spot and parked, taking up two spaces. He stumbled out, laughing to himself. “I suppose I had a little more than I realized.” From the back seat, he pulled out a Louis XIII by Rémy Martin in a crystal decanter. “This will do.”

As if by some annoying divine intervention, his phone rang in the very moment he sat down with his cognac by some rocks. “Nina, again?” He sighed to himself and ignored it, taking a heavy swig.

There were a few more missed calls before he finally picked up, “And what does the runt of the family want now?”

“Well, primogenitor,” Nina started as she held back some subtle chuckles. “It seems you can’t go more than a few hours without enraging dear daddy.”

There was a slight pause before Sebastian scoffed, “Pray tell, what is the issue?”

“Really, Sebastian, daddy’s favorite bottle? Seriously?”

Sebastian’s face turned beet red, “It isn’t! You lying hussy!”

“Oh, but it is, you know, he has a shot after work each night. He’s been looking around the mansion in a huff, I’ll tell you that much!”

“His Hennessy Paradis is right where I left it after he yelled at me last month!”

“No, no, I believe you took it this morning. Well, don’t strain your brain too much, dear brother.” Nina chuckled fiendishly as she hung up.

“This is just absurd,” Sebastian thought to himself. Clearly, Nina wasn’t about to tell him, so he had to rack his drunk-addled brain to figure out what that bottle was. His only hint from his sister, intended or not, was that he had taken it that morning.”

“Let’s mentally retrace my steps. I left our mansion on Fairchild… No, wait, father had his business partners staying there. It was the one on Belmont. Oh, right. So from Belmont I wanted to get to Aurum to try the white truffle risotto and saffron-infused… something or other, as they’re "to die for,” Sebastian said, mocking his sister’s intonation.

“Oh, of course, Aurum had just opened, and with Piers nowhere in sight, I was forced to enter the address into the GPS myself,” Sebastian rolled his eyes at the memory. “I went by that god-awful neighborhood… heck, even a burned-down apartment complex. Oh, that’s right, and Nina, infuriating as usual, made me throw…” Suddenly, he realized: I threw the bottle out the window because of Nina! But where?

He thought for a few moments. “That’s right, it should be in my Google Maps history!” After fumbling around, he brought it up, muttering curses at Piers under his breath.

Sebastian clumsily jumped back in the Bugatti and sped off, again blowing off the security guard. His only hope was to find remnants of the bottle, possibly with a label still intact. Then, he could spend part of his allowance on buying a new bottle, take a few swigs to match the original level, place it somewhere else as if father had lost it, leaving Nina looking like the rightful fool she was. His only clue was a burned-down apartment complex somewhere on the Google route.

Sebastian sped around corners, blowing by red lights and then, suddenly, appearing as some dilapidated beacon, he saw the burned down apartment complex a block away, temporarily swerving onto oncoming traffic to check the GPS. “Crazy drivers,” he yelled out the window.

To be continued....