For the Love of Money

Chapter 5

The change in mood was instantaneous, and immediately I realize that this rich man may not be as weak and insignificant as I thought. I glance at the doctor, my eyes narrowed to slits. "What do you know about the president and I?" I asked angrily. "It was a bit too much, but I understand why the president targeted me. I hurt his boy. It's only human nature that he want to hurt me back."

"It goes deeper than that," the doctor mused, his eyes cold. "A lot deeper, Devin."

"So you think that he wanted me dead for some other reason? Maybe he doesn't like brunettes?" I folded my arms.

The doctor laughed. "I doubt that. The First Lady is a natural brunette. But think. Why did the president try to kill you? I know you beat his son, but why was his first instinct to kill, not just dismantle? Why didn't he want you to live?"

I sniffed. "Look man, if you want me to understand what's going on, you're going to have to start making sense."

"You're dangerous to him."

This time, I laughed. He couldn't be serious. "Me? You have got to be kidding. I don't even have a gun to shoot him with. I can throw a knife pretty well, but against that elite secret service, I'm nothing."

His expression didn't change. He gripped the edges of the clipboard and gazed at me, boring holes into my head.

"With that look, you almost come across to me as serious," I muttered.

"Devin, think. Do you really believe that you're the only slumdog that the president has targeted? And not for such pressing reasons, either. President Scott is just as sick as much of the 1% today, I'm afraid, using the poor people as his own means of entertainment. How many times do you think he's sent some of his own into the wild, watching, waiting for them to be robbed? How many times do you think he has retaliated and killed the people who dare rob those he sends, justified by their savage behavior? And you know the funniest part, Devin? The funniest part is, no one ever lives."

"Then again, a hoodlum's death is the best part," I protested venomously. "I wouldn't put it past him to be that twisted."

"I have a feeling that you're being blind on purpose, Devin. Why do you think the rich like to see you poor people suffer so much? Do really you think we're that cold?"

I bared my teeth. "I know you're all that cold, and I have experience."

"Tell me about that," the doctor pressed.

"That's none of your business," I growled, "and you should already know. I'm aware you have a news channel tuned to that kind of thing."

"To tell you the truth, I personally think that the rich aren't evil," the doctor explained. "I don't even think they're any different from everyone else."

"Stop," I hissed.

"Stop what?"

"Stop trying to defend them. Nothing will defend their indifference, their hostility. I know you might see a ray of light somewhere in me, but trust me. I will never be able to, to forgive and forget. I hate them, and I always will."

"They're ignorant, Devin. They don't know what's going on. They are blinded by what the government tells them and all they are allowed to see. They just don't know how it really is."

"They watch every day."

"They believe that you deserve it."

"How can we deserve it?" I roared. "We didn't do anything! I was just born! I was thrown into this shithole from birth and they think that I deserve it?!"