Page 43 of Married to Number 22
Then that door was shut to me, the spigot turned off.
And even then I still benefit from Grams leaving me this house, because I have no school loans or car payment. Me struggling paycheck to paycheck without those debts is nothing compared to what others go through.
It’s hard, but I can make it work.
Plus, I don’t want that money—not when it’s been built off the backs of innocent people.
I tell Aiden all of that, watching his face change, pride shining in his emerald eyes.
But I can’t let that sink in.
Because there’s more.
And I love Grams, but I cannot believe that she put what she put in her will, that she was playing with people’s lives…all because she wanted me to get fucking married within a calendar year.
Which is just another reason why my showing up on Aiden’s doorstep was incredibly fucking selfish.
“Sweetheart,” he says softly when the words have dried up, his hand still gentle on my cheek, eyes searching mine, as though he knows my thoughts shifted and he’s trying to ferret the new ones out. “You’ve been doing your best, but it’s not easy being alone. Don’t discount that.”
“Two and a half billion dollars,” I whisper, not able to sit in that pride, to think about my struggles, not when my family is responsible for so much pain. “That’s how much we made on insulin last year. And that was forty percent more than the one-point-six billion from the year before. Off of a patent that was available for a dollar,” I say, feeling sick. “Yes, we spend R&D money on new formularies, but that has paid for itself a thousand fold over just the last few years. So why are people rationing here when people in other countries get these meds for free? Why are they struggling when we’re raking it in hand over fist? Why are we so fucking greedy when we can actually do some fucking goodandstill have plenty of money to pad our bank accounts?” I clamp my lips together and breath slowly, steadily. “So you clearly see why my dad and brother aren’t happy with me right now.”
“Yeah, I bet.” He touches my cheek. “But you’re passionate about this, Luns. Something Grams clearly saw that if she read anything close to what you were speaking about in your diaries.”
My mouth hitches up. “I may have written a more than a few pages in my raging.”
“So, she did see it?”
I nod.
“Then what happened?”
I rub the throb in my temple. “I was finishing up my degree—I went back for my MBA because I wanted to contribute something to the company, but when I was”—I do finger quotes—“radicalized, according to my brother and dad, they made it their jobs to cut me out of mine. I was shut out of meetings, left out of the loop on conference calls, slowly pushed out of the way. Then Grams got sick and I was too focused on her to fight for my place, especially when she got sick enough that she needed to move in with my dad and I followed suit, not wanting her to be alone.”
He frowns.
“What?”
“But why couldn’t you both stay here?”
“Termites,” I whisper. “A fucking tub fell through the living room ceiling and she needed some place safe to live…and we tented, did all the necessary repairs, but she never got well enough to move home.”
“Shit, Luns,” he mutters. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
I exhale. “I took my eye off the ball. They quietly hired someone else in my place and suddenly I was stuck without a paycheck. Then when I didn’t fall in line, I also lost my connection to the family coffers and thus, I lost what little power I had to force them to do anything. I didn’t want the dirty money, but it was the only strength I had.”
He frowns.
But I keep going. Ihaveto.
“Grams left me some life insurance money,” I say. “It was enough to pay the property and inheritance taxes, covered me for utilities and food for a while, and I found a job that I really enjoy at a nonprofit that means I’m doing okay money-wise.” I sigh. “But I haven’t found any clear way forward with Smythe, any way to make all my anger at the injustices they commit to actuallymeansomething.”
He takes my hand. “It’s not easy to fight against a company as big as Smythe.”
“That’s just it.” I find my fingers tightening on his, my anger bubbling anew—but it’s not just at my dad, my brother, the board, the corporate greed.
It’s at Grams too.
