One Stupid Thing

4:2:118

By the time we return to home base, my confusion has only grown and festered until it eats away at my gut. Sure, money is money, however why do my friends feel the need to risk everything for it? 

When we discovered the city of gold, I wasn't sure exactly how much our piece would fetch, but I knew it had to have been worth a pretty penny. Enough that the others were able to buy the old Maybank property and turn it into what it is now, complete with a full-fledged business. So what's the reason for this sudden reckless adventure? 

While I continue to rack my brain for possible answers, I wander around the base level of the shop, familiarizing myself with merchandise and other products we sell, when my eyes land on the cashier's desk. I quickly assess my surroundings: Kie's tending to her garden, Cleo's in the house experimenting with recipes, JJ's washing his boat down at the dock, Pope's above me studying the artifacts Genrette gave us, and John B and my sister are nowhere to be seen. Treading lightly, I make my way behind the wooden desk and begin snooping for any sort of clues. 

Bending down, I eye the cash register on the first shelf below. The key sits right out in the open, already in the keyhole. I turn it and the drawer opens halfway, getting stuck on something. I give it a tug, and the rest of the drawer pops open. To the unsuspecting eye it appears to be an average cash register—bills on the top, coins on the bottom—but in the corner I spy a sliver of crinkled paper peeking out from underneath. Wedging my fingernails between the two pieces of plastic, I pry the top layer up and set it on the shelf beside me, revealing a stack of papers beneath it. 

I glance up, making sure that everyone was still occupied: they were. Focusing my attention back on the papers in front of me, I scan the one that got stuck in the drawer first. It appears to be a deed to the property, and stapled to it is a receipt from the auction. My eyes grow wide at the dollar amount bolded at the bottom of the sheet: $775,010. Raking a hand through my hair and sighing, I set that paper down and move onto the next. This one looks to be an ATM receipt dated from early December over a year ago, shortly after we found the gold and I left for Portugal. The account balance at that given moment was $1,172,549. Which, after the purchase of the Maybank property would have left only just shy of 400 grand left in the account. And that doesn't even consider everything they had to purchase in order to build this place and get this business up and running. 

Absolutely fuming at being left in the dark, I keep the stack of documents, place the cash organizer back in the drawer, and hurry up the stairs where I know I will find someone who will actually give me answers. 

"Pope," I begin, papers in hand as I storm over to him. 

"One second," he brushes me off. He remains seated on a stool and hunched over a map laid out on the coffee table in front of him, not even bothering to look up at me. 

Growing impatient, I snatch the map away from him. "No. Not one second. Now." The boy looks up at me, infuriated that I interrupted his research, but his angered expression grows slack when he spots the documents in my hand. "Why didn't anyone tell me we were broke?" 

His Adam's apple bobs as he gulps. "Um, this seems like a conversation I don't want to be a part of." 

"Well, that's too bad because I sure as hell don't think anyone else will be straight with me." 

"And what makes you think I will be?" 

I place my hands on my hips and stare down at him. He very well knows that I know he's bluffing. 

"Okay, okay, fine." Pope sits upright and folds his arms over his chest. "We didn't want you to worry about it, alright? Now give me the map." He reaches for it, but I pull it farther away from him.