Millions Earned for Her, Ten Bucks for Me

1
My novels made millions. But my wife, who was also my editor, funneled every last cent of my royalties to a new male author she was grooming.
You gave all the money to him? What about my sister? She's been kidnapped! What if they kill her?
Faced with my frantic questions, she just shrugged. Can't you just call the police? Besides, I sent you ten dollars, didn't I? And don't you forget, this book is under contract in my name.
I stared at the finished manuscript on my screen, the perfect ending I had crafted. Then, my fingers found the keyboard, and I began to rewrite everyone's fate.
The movie deal with a famous director would soon be nothing but a source of massive penalties for breach of contract.
...
"Liam, what the hell is wrong with you?" Wendy hissed. "The press will be here any minute. You need to get yourself together and thank Cary for providing the inspiration for your novel."
I frowned. "The inspiration was all mine. That rookie author doesn't even deserve to be at a showcase like this. Why on earth would I thank him?"
Crack.
A sharp slap echoed in the quiet room, my cheek stinging.
"How do you think you got so popular?" she sneered. "I've seen Cary's talent firsthand. If he hadn't stepped aside for you, you wouldn't be standing here right now."
Cary, who had been standing nearby, put on a hurt expression, though his eyes gleamed with triumph. "Liam, I know my work isn't on your level, but Wendy was the one who gave me the money. If you really think I don't deserve it, I can give it all back."
I didn't say a word. Wendy, however, was filled with righteous indignation. "Liam, Cary put his own writing on hold to help promote your book! You're off gallivanting around the world, having fun, while he does the hard work. And this is how you treat him?"
I looked at Wendy's impatient, scowling face and felt like I was seeing a stranger.
My editor. My wife. She had never once noticed the days I went without food or sleep, lost in the world I was creating. She never saw the risks I took, visiting dangerous, remote locations just to capture the perfect, vivid scenery for my readers. She never saw the chronic pain, the lingering injuries I brought back from those trips.
She thought writing a beloved, best-selling novel was easy. She thought slapping together a promotional campaign was the real work.
Ping.
A text message lit up my phone. It was a photo of my sister, Mia, tied up, her face pale with terror. Below it, a single line of text.

I thought it might be some AI-generated prank, but then a video came through.
"Liam, help me! I'm so scared..."
Mia was blindfolded, but I could see the dark, wet stain of tears on the fabric. Her voice was choked with a primal fear that ripped through me. I called her number a dozen times. No answer.
Panic seized me. I checked my bank account. A few thousand dollars. I turned to Wendy, my last hope.
"My sister's been kidnapped. They want a hundred thousand dollars. Please, can you transfer me some of the money?"
She rolled her eyes. "Then call the police. I'm just an editor, where would I get that kind of money?"
"What about my royalties? You took all of them! There should be millions in that account. How can you not have it?"
Before Wendy could answer, Cary cut in smoothly. "Wendy, it looks like Liam is really in trouble. Even if he's not telling the truth about his sister, why not just give him the money? Let him have his fun. It's not a big deal."
Wendy didn't hesitate. She took out her phone and sent the transfer.
I felt the vibration in my pocket. A wave of emotionsrelief, gratitude, and a bitter, coiling resentmentwashed over me. In her eyes, my sister's life was worth less than a casual word from Cary. And the money I was begging for was money I had earned with my own blood and sweat.
I quickly opened my banking app to send the ransom. I entered the account number, the amount, and my password.
Insufficient funds.
Confused, I checked my transaction history. Wendy hadn't sent me a hundred thousand dollars.
She had sent me ten.
My hand started to tremble, but I fought to keep my voice steady. I swallowed my pride. "Wendy," I said, my voice low. "I think you made a mistake. I only got ten dollars."
"Who knows if you're not just making this up to get money out of me?" she said, her voice dripping with annoyance. "Be grateful you got anything. Don't go blowing it on booze and women behind my back."
She turned to leave, linking her arm with Cary's. I was out of options. Every second that passed put Mia in more danger.
"Wait!" I called out. "What do I have to do? Tell me what you want, and I'll do it. Just give me the money."
She looked at me with disgust. "Have you no shame? In public?" She hated this groveling version of me, terrified someone might recognize me as her husband. She started to walk away again.
But Cary's eyes lit up with a cruel interest.
"Liam, I can help you," he said. "On one condition."
Thinking of Mia, her life hanging by a thread, I nodded without hesitation. A slow, malicious smile spread across Cary's face.
"Go up to the cameras, tell the reporters you're a dog, and bark three times. Do that, and I'll send you the money."
My jaw clenched. My fists were so tight my knuckles were white. The rage was a white-hot fire in my chest, but I couldn't let it out. I couldn't risk it.
"Fine," I bit out. "But you send me half first."
"Deal."
A moment later, fifty thousand dollars landed in my account. I walked over to the reporters, who were still broadcasting live. One of them saw me and raised his microphone. I cut him off.
"I am a dog."
I looked straight into the camera lens and barked.
"Woof. Woof. Woof."
Every sound was a shard of glass in my throat. A wave of humiliation washed over me.
Whispers rippled through the crowd. Even the reporter looked stunned into silence. I ignored the stares, the hushed comments from the other authors, and walked back to Cary.
He was grinning, a mocking light in his eyes, as he sent the remaining fifty thousand.
2
I transferred the full amount to the kidnapper's account. Two seconds later, I heard a notification chime.
From Cary's phone.
"Surprise!" he chirped, his voice sickeningly sweet. "Did you like my little present, Liam?"
The world tilted on its axis. "Cary?" The name was a choked whisper.
"Come on, Liam, don't be mad," he said, feigning innocence. "It was just a little joke."
"A joke?" My voice was dangerously low. "You think that was funny?"
"Liam, stop making a scene." Wendy had appeared at his side, her arm protectively around him. "It was just a prank. Get over it."
I gasped for air, black spots dancing in my vision. The room started to spin. The last thing I felt was the ground rushing up to meet me as I collapsed.
When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. I slowly sat up and saw a familiar figure slumped in the chair beside me.
"Mia?"
She lifted her head. When she saw I was awake, her eyes filled with tears. "Liam! You're finally awake! You've been out for a whole day." The tears streamed down her face, and she couldn't stop them.
My heart ached. I pulled her into a hug. "I'm so sorry, Mia. I'm so sorry I put you through this."
"Don't be silly. As long as you're okay... I tried calling Wendy, but... she told me to tell you to stop putting on a show for her..." Mia's voice trembled, afraid her words would hurt me.
I stroked her hair, a cold resolve settling in my chest. "Don't worry. I'll handle it."
After our parents died, Mia and I only had each other. But for Wendy, I had neglected my sister. I had poured my entire soul into my work, into building a life for us. I was so afraid she'd feel insecure that I had signed away the rights to decades of my work, putting everything in her name.
And now, she was using it as a weapon against me.
I checked myself out of the hospital and went home.
I opened my laptop. The final chapter of my novel was scheduled to post automatically. I opened the file and began to change it. I worked late into the night, methodically dismantling the plot, twisting the characters into unrecognizable versions of themselves, and shredding the story's internal logic. When it was a complete and utter mess, I hit "submit."
The novel had been a massive success, with a constantly growing online readership. It had attracted the attention of several directors. The one I finally signed with was one of the biggest names in the country. He had only one condition: no major plot holes or character assassinations in the final act.
The penalty for breach of contract was double the signing fee. An impossible sum, unless, of course, the breach was intentional.
I had just finished packing a suitcase when I heard noises from the living room.
"Liam's still in the hospital. Aren't you going to go see him?" It was Cary's voice.
"Why?" Wendy's voice was dismissive. "It's probably just another one of his little tricks to make me feel guilty."
My wife. She thought my collapse was a performance.
A moment later, the sounds from the living room turned soft, intimate, unmistakable.
Fighting back a wave of nausea, I opened the bedroom door.
They were locked in a passionate kiss, their hands roaming over each other's bodies. The sound of the door opening made them jump apart.
When Wendy saw it was me, she shoved Cary away. There was no fear in her eyes, no shame at being caught. Only anger. "Why didn't you say you were back? Are you trying to scare me?"
"Is this how you react to getting caught cheating?" I asked, my voice flat.
"We were just discussing work!" she shot back, her face a mask of indignation. "You're the one with a dirty mind, so everything you see is dirty."
I was too tired to argue. "I'll see you at the courthouse tomorrow. We're getting a divorce."
"A divorce? Is this another pathetic attempt to get my attention? Just write your novels like a good boy. If you think I'll take you back when you come crawling to me later, you're dreaming."
"If you won't agree, we'll do it through the courts."
I didn't wait for her reply. I grabbed my suitcase and walked out of that toxic, suffocating apartment.
I ended up at a 24-hour convenience store. All I had was the ten dollars Wendy had sent me, enough for a meal that wouldn't fill me up. Mia was a college student; she didn't have much money either. I didn't even know where my next meal was coming from.
I thought of all the hours, the days, the years I had spent hunched over a keyboard, pouring my life into my work, all to make her happy. I thought of the chronic pain I lived with from sitting for so long.
And in the end, I had nothing to show for it. It was all a bitter joke.

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