Chapter 1

"Ethan, Kayla and I picked out a car. It's that new American-made EV, the latest model. Out the door it's $148,000. Just round it off for us and give us $140,000."

My brother-in-law sat with one leg crossed over the other, spitting sunflower seed shells all over the floor, as if we were discussing whether to have rice or noodles for dinner.

My wife, Lindsay Brooks, sat beside him. She nudged me with her elbow and lowered her voice, but her tone was pure command, as though this were the most natural thing in the world. "What are you just sitting there for? Your brother's talking to you. It's only $140,000. Didn't you get a $150,000 year-end bonus this year? Give it to him. We'll still have $10,000 left, and that's enough for the holidays."

I looked at the brother and sister in front of me, then at my mother-in-law beside them, nodding along with a big smile plastered on her face. I felt like a hunted animal, surrounded. It was as though a cold hand had closed around my heart and was slowly squeezing.

The phone in my pocket buzzed. It was a special notification from my banking app: Dear Valued Customer, $8,000,000.00 was deposited into your account ending in 8888 yesterday. Your financial advisor has prepared a personalized wealth plan for you.

I quietly turned off the screen.

That $8 million year-end bonus was something I had paid for with my life.

For a whole year, as the lead on the project, I had driven my team through an overseas clean-energy project. The site was out in the African Division, and conditions were harder than anyone could imagine. By day it hit 104 degrees, hot enough to bake the oil out of your skin. By night the mosquitoes were big enough to carry you off. We lived in flimsy prefab shacks, and even our drinking water had a muddy taste that never went away.

To stay on schedule, I went three straight months without a single night of more than four hours' sleep. Once, a small armed clash broke out nearby, and bullets whistled past a few hundred yards from our camp. All I could do was hide with my team in an office built out of a shipping container, listening to the gunfire outside, and write a will for every one of us.

During the most critical push of the project, I went seventy-two hours without closing my eyes, watching over the equipment tests. In the end, worn down body and mind, I came down with acute myocarditis and collapsed right there on the job site. If they hadn't gotten me to treatment in time, I might have stayed in that red earth forever.

The project succeeded. To recognize my outstanding contribution, the company specially approved this unprecedented bonus. My boss clapped me on the shoulder and said, "Ethan, you've earned this. Get some real rest and spend time with your family."

Spend time with your family. When I heard those words, I felt a tangle of emotions I couldn't sort out.

The day I flew home, I didn't tell Lindsay my flight. I wanted to surprise her. But when I dragged my exhausted body to the door, carrying the gifts I'd bought for her and our son, and opened it, I found the place a wreck. Takeout containers were piled on the coffee table, and the kid's dirty clothes and toys were strewn across the floor. And Lindsay, my wife, had her headphones on and was screaming herself hoarse at a video game.

When she saw me, she just pulled off one earcup. There was no joy on her face, only a flicker of irritation at being interrupted. "Ugh, why didn't you tell me you were coming back? You scared me. And look at you. You're as dark as a lump of coal."

I set down my bags, said nothing, and quietly started cleaning up. In that moment, everything I had gone through in the African Division seemed to lose its meaning.

The night before the bonus hit my account, Lindsay, for once, wasn't gaming. She lay in bed instead, chatting with me in a lazy, offhand way.

"Honey, your company did pretty well this year, right? I heard that African Division project of yours was a big deal." Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, the question tossed out as if it meant nothing.

Something stirred in me. I knew we were getting to the real point. I made a small sound of agreement and said, "It was all right. Went pretty smoothly."

"So... the year-end bonus must be pretty good, huh?" She finally turned to look at me, and her eyes had a gleam I knew all too well. It was the look she got every time she wanted money from me, a particular mix of hope and calculation.

I looked at her face and remembered the smoothie bar her brother had run into the ground. I remembered the full set of mahogany furniture her mother had insisted on last year. I remembered the $5,000 she sent home to her family every month without fail. All of that money had come out of my paycheck. Meanwhile my own parents, back in their old house in the country, couldn't bring themselves to spend money on an air conditioner.

A thought suddenly surfaced, like a needle, and it popped the balloon in my heart labeled "trust." I wanted to test her. Or maybe I just wanted to hold on to the last bit of dignity and security I had left.

"Yeah, it came through," I said, rolling over so my back was to her. My voice sounded a little tired. "The project went well, but the company's keeping costs tight overall, and the market's bad this year. My share came to... about $150,000."

I could clearly feel the air behind me freeze.

A full half minute passed before Lindsay spoke again, her voice carrying a disappointment and sharpness she couldn't hide. "Only $150,000? Your boss is way too cheap! You worked yourself half to death out there for a whole year! And that's all he gives you?"

"It's not bad," I said flatly. "It's more than a lot of my coworkers got."

She didn't say anything else. She let out a heavy sigh and rolled over to sleep. In the dark I could hear her uneven breathing, and I knew she was already working out what to do with that $150,000.

I didn't sleep at all that night. I thought $150,000 was a low enough number, low enough to make her drop any unrealistic ideas. At the very least, I thought, it would let our little family have a nice, peaceful holiday.

In the end, I was still far too naive. I had underestimated human greed. Even more, I had underestimated what I really was in this house, in the eyes of her and her family: a walking wallet, an ATM that could be squeezed without end.