The Cost of His Clean Slate

er Ava' s call, my phone li

e. The black card is yours.

ade of my life. The cold, transactional

rsonal items I kept there. A book, a change of clothes, a framed photo of a younger,

again. Another

be friends, Scar.

him, building his empire in the shadows, and he wanted to downgrade me to a "friend." The rage was a hot, bi

shuddering breath and

o

matching the pounding in my head. I couldn't sleep. The bed, which h

, not just for food, but for success. He had nothing but a brilliant, dangerous idea and a fire in his eyes that promi

ing in our cramped, rundown apartment

n, "when this thing is bigger than anyone can imagine, I' m going

ise he had either forgotten or chosen to ignor

t exist anymore, or maybe he never had. I had been

sion made. I was d

from. Home to my family' s tech firm, a legitimat

-way ticket to

river. I called a cab. I was dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a plain t-shirt, my

legitimate" success. I needed to see it one last time, to burn the image into my mi