Page 5 of Johnny

give you money, and a tall building to call home, and bank accounts filled with billions of dollars. But

it’s just a trap and nothing more. Just a way to lure you in and keep you prisoner. No. I’m not locked

up in an underground cell. But I might as well be.

And two—I kept that secret and never told anyone so that makes me one of the bad guys.

That’s another trap. How do you ask anyone for help when you’re part of the problem?

I have nine days before I need to be back in the spire of the Bossy Building collecting white

envelopes. I won’t make Joey do that for me. I can’t, actually, make Joey do that for me. It would send

so many bad messages to my bosses.

Nine days. That’s it. That’s all I can afford. I need to find Charlotte, put this plan of Brooke’s in

place, and get back there for the final money-making ceremony. Because I have already decided I’m

done. I’m not gonna do this anymore. One way or the other I’m cashing in and checking out.

We’re probably all gonna die.

But fuck it. Everyone’s gonna die eventually. Not even those above me can cheat death.

The sandy path that leads up to the main house is just as pristine as the beaches, signaling that the

upkeep of the island was recent and its demise unplanned.

Yup. They’re on to me.

I grab my Kel-Tec from the small of my back, check the chamber and the magazine, and then take a

deep breath, holding it in for a moment before letting it out. At this point the signals are clear. I’m not

expecting anyone to be here. Not alive, anyway. So I don’t spend another moment dwelling, just walk

forward and try my best to be alert, impartial, and logical.

The house is a big traditional plantation-style home and even though I can’t see most of it, I know

the wide, covered porch wraps all the way around from my previous visit.

I don’t need to go inside or even walk around the porch to check for people because it’s clearly

been burned from the inside out. The once-yellow exterior is now charred with black and most of the

porch is gone.

I keep walking.

Down the path about a quarter of a mile I come to the first of six bungalows. Or what’s left of it.

Mostly just embers in the dirt. A few thicker beams still smoldering. Producing the light gray smoke

that curls up into the bright mid-day sky.

It’s a long walk to check every single bungalow, but it has to be done. So I take my time. Enjoying