He huffed. “A week.”
I blinked. “Aweek? And you didn’t think to tell me before this?”
Joel glared at me. “If I could walk into my room and lock the door right now, I would.”
“What do you have in your trust?” I asked. “Pay it out of that.”
“Not a hundred grand.”
“How much?”
He sighed. “Nothing.”
I blinked at him. “Nothing. How the hell do you havenothing left?”
Our parents had done well for themselves, building a lucrative media company and then selling it for a few million. Joel and I had been set up with trust funds, close to eighty thousand each, but our parents passed before we had been of age to access them.
“This isn’t the first time it’s happened,” he muttered.
“Joel!”
“I fucked up!” he shouted. “Okay? I get it. You don’t have to remind me. So unless you want to loan me what’s inyourtrust, get off my back.”
I sighed. “I have a little left in mine, but it’s not anywhere near what you need. It wouldn’t even put a dent in it.”
“Don’t get hurt falling from your high horse. What happened to all those full-ride scholarships, huh?”
“Fuck off. School was paid for. Living was not. Grad student stipends are literal pennies. If I didn’t have my trust, I would have been surviving on dry ramen and pancake mix.”
Living in New Haven could drain any bank account in the blink of an eye, but debating with Joel wasn’t productive. We needed a game plan, and we needed it now.
“How can I help?”
Joel glared at me through narrowed eyes. “This isn’t your problem.”
“Don’t start with that nonsense. Unless you can magically make a crap ton of money appear out of thin air, then yes, it is my problem.” I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees. “What’s the plan? I know you have one.”
“I don’t want to?—”
“Joel.”
“I was trying to win some money down in Atlantic City.” He sighed. “It’s the only way I could think to get that much in time. Short of selling a kidney?—”
“You have two kidneys,” I snapped. “You can part with one.”
“Kidneys aren’t worth enough to pay it off,” he rasped between calculated breaths. He cut his eyes at me. “I checked.”
“You’re right.” I sighed. “I read this article back in—I don’t know—2009? Black market kidneys were only worth ten grand. Even with today’s inflation, they’d still go for under twenty thousand.”
“Your brain is exhausting,” he muttered.
“But livers . . .” I tapped my chin. “Those can go for six figures . . . and they regenerate.”
“Small black market goes for under ten thousand. You gotta get in with a high-end organ broker if you want a big payout,” Joel said, as if this was a completely normal conversation. The kind of deadpan, sarcastic conversations we used to have when we would cut up with each other. They always ended in fits of laughter. But not this time.
“Then it’s a good thing you know some sketchy people. Give them a call, tell them to slice and dice, and say goodbye to your ability to consume alcohol for the time being.”
“I just need a good win and I’ll be fine.”
