Burying the Past, Buying My Future

Five years after I severed ties with my family, I finally earned enough money to buy an apartment by moving bodies.

While waiting for my paycheck, I ran straight into my brother, Brandon.

He was there to pick out a burial plot for Tiffany, the adopted daughter's dog.

He gave an awkward laugh:

"Five years, huh? How have you been since you left home?"

I glanced at the black card in his hand.

"Doing okay. Not as well as Tiffany's dog, of course."

He was spending $100,000 on a grave for Tiffany's dog, while my apartment would only cost $300,000.

Brandon's voice was strained and stiff: