Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
It was my idea to purchase this house—under the radar of course, through an agent who worked with an agent who worked with another agent—so I could hide out for a few months and let all this craziness die down.
My parents know the general area where I am staying, but that’s about it. The shitty thing about getting left a lot of money and having the whole world know is that the people who you thought were your friends are suddenly just as bloodthirsty as all those journalists. Everyone wanted something, but no one was overly nice about it. People suddenly disliked me just because I had this huge sum of money. Not just people I knew. Strangers. Let’s just say I got rid of all my social media accounts real fast.
So, I’m thirty-two. I currently have no job because I quit, and I live in suburban hell. I only go out at night, and if I have to slip out during the day, I make sure I do it in disguise. I now am the proud owner of a selection of wigs, and my wardrobe is pretty monochrome. Sunglasses are also my new best friend. My car has tinted windows—well, as much tint as is legal. Of course, it’s a new car. A non-descript domestic black sedan—not an import because I didn’t want to turn heads.
I’m just starting the second month of hiding out like a wanted criminal.
It sucks. I’m lonely. I’m bored.
And the media still hasn’t forgotten my name yet.
I guess I still have one good friend left. I’ve known Rob since college, and I know he’s not going to abandon me just because I inherited a couple billion from some long, not-so-lost grandfather. If he wasn’t closer than a brother, I’d say he was sticking around in hopes that I’d give him a few million. I’ll probably give the guy his pick of a sports car or a brand new house. He deserves it. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t even be alive to inherit the money if it weren’t for Rob. Suffice it to say, I didn’t always make the best choices back in college. He was and is a good wingman, and he always had my back. He still does. Just because I’ve told him not to come here doesn’t mean I’m not going to escape this hellhole and meet him somewhere like we’re criminals doing some really illegal shit.
Really, we’re just going to go for beers at a covert location next week because I’m seriously dying a slow and horrible death out here.
I don’t have the kind of bromance with Rob where I feel like I can just up and text him, but I’m seriously up against a wall. I pull out my phone. A new phone which I just recently bought. I’ll buy Rob and my parents new ones next week too, or at least new SIM cards with new numbers, so if anyone out there is trying to trace shit, they’ll hit a dead end.
I have three numbers on this new phone. Mom’s, dad’s, and Rob’s. It’s the middle of the day, and Rob is probably at work. Out of the two of us, he is definitely the more studious one. He works as a foreman, so I like to joke that he doesn’t really work at all, but in reality, I know he busts his ass. I send off a hopeful text anyway.
Wade: Slowly dying here. What about you?
I limit the amount of communication I have with anyone, and it’s the only text I’ve sent to Rob in two weeks. I text my parents once a week to let them know I’m still alive. If I didn’t, my mom would probably panic and blow my cover by hiring a PI to find me. Yeah. That’s right. They don’t know exactly where I’m staying, just that I bought a house in the suburbs to lay low for a bit. My mom is literally the worst at keeping a secret.
Surprisingly, my phone lights up.
Rob: Dying? You’re supposed to be on vacation.
Wade: Forced vacations are never cool.
Rob: Find something to do.
Wade: That’s kind of hard when you can’t actually go anywhere.
Rob: I’m sure the house could use some attention. Even if it doesn’t, give it a facelift anyway. It would help fill the days.
Wade: Maybe. It is outdated.
Rob: You could order all the materials in. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll use my name and my credit card.
Wade: Thanks. I’ll let you know.
Rob: You know, now that you’re ridiculously filthy rich, did you take a suitcase of money out there, empty it out on the bed, and roll in it?
Wade: That’s just weird. This isn’t 1975.
Rob: Still. I’d consider it. Just for the experience.
Wade: I heard it leads to papercut injuries. I can’t afford a trip to the ER. That would blow my cover.