Every Apology Has A Price Chapter 1

I have always been shameless about money. A bottom-feeder, raw and unpolished, obsessed with the bottom line.

When my biological parents finally tracked me down at fifteen, pulling me out of the gutter to bring me back into the fold of high-society wealth, the very first thing I asked them was blunt:

"Is there a reunion bonus?"

My mother’s rehearsed, tearful smile froze on her face.

My older sister, Elaine, immediately pinched her brows together in disgust. "You just walked through the front door, and the first thing you do is beg for cash?"

"Protocol matters," I said flatly. "Under the highway overpass, even when the junkies took in a runaway kid, they’d hand over ten bucks to seal the deal."

Two weeks after I was brought home, my grandfather celebrated his seventieth birthday.

The private ballroom of the luxury hotel was packed to the gills with old-money relatives, all lining up to press thick, gold-embossed envelopes of cash into the hands of my adoptive brother, Ian.

Every time Ian took an envelope, I made a mark in my notebook.

Name. Amount. Estimated total.

By the time I jotted down the thirty-sixth entry, Ian suddenly burst into tears.

"Jude says..." Ian choked out, trembling like a wounded sparrow in front of the entire family. "He said all this money is supposed to be his. He told me I have to spit out every single dime Mom and Dad spent on me over the years."

My father strode over, his face darkening like a storm cloud, and snatched the notebook right out of my hands.

The pages were crammed with meticulous rows of dollar signs, names, and running totals. His hand shook with rage as he read it.

"We brought you back to be our son, Jude," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Not to act like a loan shark collecting debts at your grandfather’s birthday."

Elaine plucked the little notebook from his trembling fingers and tossed it straight into the garbage can beside the buffet.

"If you're so desperate for petty cash," she sneered, "go park cars out front and collect the valet tips."

I looked at her, nodded, and walked out.

Thirty minutes later, they found me in the damp, freezing service alley behind the hotel kitchen. I was standing beside an elderly parking attendant in an ill-fitting fluorescent vest, cross-referencing ticket stubs against a cash box.

Elaine marched up, her heels clicking angrily on the asphalt, her face black with fury. "Haven't you humiliated this family enough?"

I tucked the tin cash box closer to my chest.

"Nothing humiliating about it," I told her. "Every time a car pulls in, the sensor dings. It makes a sound. It’s a lot livelier out here than in that ballroom where nobody speaks to me."

* * *

"Jude, are you out of your goddamned mind?"

Elaine’s voice dropped to a harsh, venomous whisper. Her manicured nails dug into my sleeve.

"Grandpa’s seventieth birthday is happening inside. Half the city’s business elite is in that room. And you’re out here stealing shifts from a valet attendant to scrounge for pocket change? Do you honestly need a few measly dollars that badly?"

I lowered my eyes, gazing into the tin box. Crumpled bills. Scuffed quarters. Fives and tens smelling faintly of gasoline and cheap cologne.

"I do," I said. "I did the math. Eighty-six cars came through this gate tonight. Five bucks a ticket, and he agreed to split it down the middle. That’s two hundred and fifteen dollars. Two hundred and fifteen buys fifty pounds of generic white rice, or eighty cans of black beans. It matters."

Elaine shoved my arm away with an expression of pure revulsion, turning on her heel toward the sleek black sedan idling by the curb.

"Get in the damn car," she snapped, wrenching the door open. "Mom and Dad have been tearing the ballroom apart looking for you."

I didn’t budge. I turned toward the attendant, an old man named Joe who looked like he wished he were anywhere else on earth.

"Joe. My cut."

Joe rubbed his weathered palms together nervously, reached into his windbreaker, and counted out two hundred and fifteen dollars in worn bills.

I took the cash, counted it twice under the amber glow of the alley lamp, squared the edges, and folded it tight. I slid it deep into the hidden, interior pocket of my windbreaker, right against my ribs where I could feel it breathing with me.

When I climbed into the back seat, Ian was already tucked in the corner.

He wore a bespoke charcoal suit, immaculate and delicate, looking like a porcelain doll someone might pay thousands to keep pristine on a shelf. As I sat down, he flinched slightly, pulling his knees away, his eyes rimmed with a soft, theatrical pink.

"Jude... if you really want those gifts, I can just give them to you," he whispered, his voice trembling with manufactured sweetness. "Please don’t take tips in the alley anymore. You’re breaking Mom and Dad’s hearts."

In the front passenger seat, my mother spun around, her glare sharp enough to draw blood.

"Look at your brother," she spat, her voice thick with disgust. "And then look at you. Crawling through the dirt for scrap paper. How did I give birth to someone so inherently cheap?"

I didn't answer. I just kept my forearm pressed firmly against the inside of my jacket, guarding the two hundred and fifteen dollars.

My father’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. He let out a long, weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of an aristocratic dynasty being dragged into the gutter.

"Jude. We set your allowance at ten thousand a month. Is that not enough for you?"

My thumb ceased rubbing against my ribs.

"You never gave it to me," I said, looking straight into his reflection.

The interior of the luxury car suddenly fell dead silent.

"You told me that giving an uneducated boy that much cash all at once would ruin him," I continued, voice perfectly level. "You said you’d hold it in trust until I proved I had manners. In the two weeks since you picked me up, I haven’t seen a single cent."

Mother cleared her throat, a flicker of uneasy guilt crossing her features before she smoothed it over with indignation.

"That was for your own good! You don’t know how the world works. You’d get scammed out of it in ten seconds!"

Ian leaned forward eagerly, nodding. "She’s right, Jude. Mom manages my allowance account, too. It’s safer that way."

I shifted my gaze to Ian. "Then why did you burst into tears back at the banquet and claim I was trying to rob you?"

Ian’s face went entirely slack. "I... I didn't—"

"You did." I reached into my coat and pulled out the pocket notebook I had fished out of the trash before heading to the alley. The edges were smeared with cocktail sauce, but the pencil marks were legible. "Right after you started crying, Great-Uncle Thomas handed you an envelope with five hundred in cash, and Uncle Robert slipped you a wad of hundreds. You shoved the bills into your side pocket. You lied."

Ian’s tears spilled over on cue, rolling down pristine cheeks. "Jude, why are you doing this to me? Why are you slandering me? I don't have any cash in my bag!"

Elaine slammed her foot on the brake.

The car jerked violently to a stop at the curb of a deserted boulevard. She twisted around, her eyes cold as flint.

"Jude, have you had your fill of theater tonight? We know who Ian is. He would never lie over a handful of pocket money."

I flipped the little notebook to a blank, unsoiled page.

"Want to bet?" I asked. "If he has that cash on him right now, this two-fifteen stays with me. If he doesn’t, I give the two-fifteen to him."

Mother let out a bitter, disbelieving bark of laughter. "Still calculating your pathetic two hundred dollars. Fine. Let’s put an end to this delusion right now."

She reached back, snatched Ian’s leather designer satchel, and unzipped the main compartment.

Empty. Aside from a silk handkerchief and mints, there was nothing.

I paused, slightly taken aback. Then my eyes tracked downward, landing on the tailored flare of Ian’s designer blazer. The lower right lining hung with a subtle, unnatural weight.

"It’s in his inside right pocket," I pointed out. "He shoved it down the silk lining while you were yelling at me. Look at how the hem sits."

Ian’s hand instinctively snapped down over his right hip, pressing the fabric flat. His face went instantly ghostly.

"Jude..." he sobbed, shrinking back into the leather seat. "Are you going to strip me naked on the side of the road over a few hundred dollars?"

Mother snapped. She surged across the console, her arm a blur as she slapped her palm hard against my chest, right where my hand was protecting my pocket.

"Enough!" she shrieked.

The force caught me off-guard. The thin paper wrapper tore, and the stack of folded bills flew from my fingers, scattering across the carpeted floorboards of the car.