When the Blood Runs Cold
After two years of development, my game finally launched successfully.
My wife had promised me a $75,000 bonus, but instead, she gave the entire $750,000 payout to her male secretary, Wayne. All she tossed me was a $50 grocery coupon.
"You're just a stay-at-home husband," she said casually. "You don't spend much. Go buy some groceries and cook dinner."
I stared at her in disbelief.
"That money is for our son's transplant surgery," I said. "If it's delayed for even a few days, he'll die."
Her expression did not change.
"He's weak. If he dies, he dies," she said flatly. "At least you won't bring any more bad luck into the office and pass it on to Wayne."
She turned away, her tone instantly brightening as she talked about taking Wayne out that night to celebrate with a lavish dinner worth tens of thousands of dollars.
In that instant, my heart froze.
She had forgotten one thing.
The game might be registered under her name, but I still held the core encryption key.
I picked up the phone and called a rival company.
"You've been trying to get Genyxis's core technology for a long time, haven't you?" I asked calmly. "All I want is $75,000, and it’ll be yours.”