Chapter 3: Lies and Leverage

At work the next day, my boss showed up looking energetic. During the meeting, he rambled for three hours straight. I really didn’t want to imagine what that poor girl went through last night.

He joked with the team, cracked open a bottle of cold brew, and went on about quarterly projections like nothing happened. His eyes never met mine. I sat in the back, barely hearing a word, my mind spinning with guilt and dread.

After the meeting, my boss called me into his office. I thought he had another task for me.

The office was all mahogany and leather, a framed Super Bowl ticket on the wall, and a faint scent of cigar smoke clinging to the air. I braced myself as he gestured for me to sit. My palms were sweaty, and the silence stretched a beat too long before he spoke.

"Eddie, last night you arrived at my place later than the time estimated by Google Maps. Did something happen on the way?"

My heart skipped a beat. This guy actually calculated my travel time! His eyes narrowed, and he paused, waiting for my answer—a predator watching for the slightest twitch.

He had the trip logged on his phone, down to the minute. I felt a cold sweat break out along my spine. He was testing me, waiting for me to slip up.

Though my boss loved to brag and make empty promises, he was known for being extremely cautious. Clearly, he was worried I’d uncover his dirty secrets.

I remembered stories from other drivers—guys who’d gotten too curious and never showed up for work again. I forced a sheepish grin, trying to look harmless, my fingers twisting the edge of my sleeve.

But I couldn’t let him see anything suspicious. I had to tread carefully—my life might depend on it.

I swallowed, glanced at my shoes, and tried to sound embarrassed. “Boss, I’m embarrassed to say this, but I accidentally knocked over a scooter while turning last night. The owner wasn’t hurt, but insisted I take him to the ER. Worried about being late, I gave him some cash and left my contact info before leaving.”

This excuse was perfect—my car’s bumper really did have some new scratches, so he had no reason to doubt me.

I even offered to show him the scuffed paint, just in case. He seemed satisfied, his suspicion fading as he checked his phone, lips pursed in thought.

He just nodded, patted my shoulder, and said, "Eddie, I trust you most. At work, we’re boss and employee, but outside, we’re like brothers. If my brother’s in trouble, of course I’ll help. I’ll Venmo you some money. If that guy keeps bothering you, just let me know—I’ll handle it."

He flashed that easy, practiced grin, the kind that made you feel like you owed him. My phone buzzed a second later—Venmo notification. It was more than double my annual bonus.

As soon as he finished, I got a Venmo notification on my phone.

The message just read, “For your trouble.” I stared at the screen, unable to believe the amount. It was more than I’d made in the last six months combined.

It was more than double my annual bonus.

My sense of right and wrong was instantly drowned by the money.

The guilt, the fear, the sleepless night—all of it faded beneath the weight of those numbers. I thought about my overdue rent, my mom’s medical bills, the dream of a down payment on a condo. Suddenly, the world felt a little less black and white.

If doing bad things pays this well, why bother being a goody two-shoes?

I told myself it was just a job, that I was just surviving. I’d always wanted to be the good guy, but good guys didn’t pay the bills in this city.

I decided to stick close to my boss and ride his coattails for as long as I could.

I figured, as long as I kept my head down and did what I was told, maybe I’d finally get ahead. Maybe, just maybe, I’d get my shot at the good life.