82: Opulence

All I can do is stare at this credit card, this small rectangular piece of plastic that's like a slap to my face. It's offensive. No, it's much worse than that.

He gave me money.

That's not what's bothering me most, though. It's what this card represents. His intention was to give me the card so I can use it whenever I feel like it, but there's no way I'm going to do that. Again, that isn't the point. It's that he wouldn't give this privilege to just anyone, because it is a privilege. That's exactly what it is. Who wouldn't want to have limitless access to a rich man's bank account? Anyone would kill for this opportunity.

He gave me this privilege, and I'm here to destroy him.

I'm his enemy, and he isn't aware of that yet. He's giving me access to his wealth, or rather, a part of it. He gave me permission to do whatever I want with it, with his money. If this doesn't translate to 'trust', then I don't know what does. He trusts me, enough to give me this card, to let me be his psychic