Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

with me once, you’re willing to support me financially from
now on?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t make it sound so reasonable!”
“Why not? It is.”
“No, it’s absolutely not.”
“You’re mine now. It’s my duty and pleasure to take care
of you.”
Who talks like that? What’s happening? “Give me a sec.
My head is spinning.”
“I’m not saying you should quit your job. I’m just saying
you could. Money will no longer be a concern for you.”
I look around the kitchen as if for help from some other,
more reasonable person. “You’ll be sending me an allowance
now, is that what I’m hearing?”
“Yes.”
“Great. I’ll take it in gold bars, please. I’ve always wanted
to stack them into a giant pyramid in the living room to see if I
can communicate with aliens.”
Ignoring my sarcasm, he says, “Your house is already paid
off—which is good, because that salary of yours is pathetic—
but I’ve set up a trust account for you that you can draw from
for any large expenses. A new car. New wardrobe. New jet.
Whatever.”
Jet?
When I’m quiet too long, trying to pick my jaw back up
off the floor, he says, “The trust is solely in your name, if
that’s what you’re worried about. I can’t revoke it. That money
is yours to do with as you wish.”
When he hears the small, strangled noise I make, he
chuckles. “If seven zeroes isn’t enough, I’ll wire in more.”
Trying to work out how much money has seven zeroes, my
brain turns to scrambled eggs. I say breathlessly, “Wait. Wait