Smartdollar

When my mother won a million dollars from a lottery ticket, she prepared an envelope for each of her three children. After we opened them, my younger brother and younger sister each found a bank card inside. But from my envelope, two 1-dollar coins clinked onto the floor. Seeing me freeze, a trace of unease flickered across Mother's face. "Cassian," she said hesitantly, "Logan and Sienna suffered a lot growing up because your father passed away so early. So I gave each of them 500 thousand dollars as compensation. "You're the eldest son—like a father to them. Don't fight with them over this, okay?" I glanced down at the faded down jacket I had worn for years, the fabric so worn that it had lost its color. Then, my eyes drifted to my younger brother's limited-edition sneakers and to the designer bag slung over my sister's shoulder. Mother seemed to have forgotten that when Father died, I had only been eight. I smiled faintly. "Alright. I won't fight them for it." Hearing this, Mother let out a long breath of relief. The next second, my voice turned cold. "Then I won't fight for the responsibility of supporting you in your old age either."

Two months after I joined the company, I sold off every stalled real estate project it had been sitting on for three years and pulled the failing business back from the edge of bankruptcy. To keep me, the chairman sold me a thirty-million-dollar sky penthouse for one dollar. On handover day, the new colleague, Ryan Wells, snatched my contract and sneered, "Connor, buying a sky penthouse for one dollar? Keep dreaming." I told him to look at the company seal on the contract, but he burned it on the spot. "Connor, don't think a few sales achievements mean you can use the back door to buy property. "Even if the company really had a benefit like this, Lydia should be the first person to enjoy it!" My girlfriend, who was also the sales manager, looked at me coldly. "Connor, have some principles. The company is struggling, and you're still trying to take advantage?" "Since reporting misconduct deserves a reward, I've decided to give your sales commission to Ryan. "If you have a problem with that, don't come to work tomorrow!" Furious enough to laugh, I took out my phone and called my sister directly. "Victoria, cancel every purchase contract for the Eastbank project. I'm done here."

As soon as I get off the surgical table after my miscarriage, my husband, Presley Quinn, sends me a text message. "You were ten cents short when you paid your share of the power bill this month. Transfer the money to me immediately." I can only sit on the cold bench in the hospital on my own. The anesthesia has yet to wear out, but my belly is already hurting so much that I can practically feel it constricting on itself. The next thing I know, a new post appears on my social media homepage. It's a post made by Vivienne Ashford, the intern Presley is in charge of tutoring. In the photo, Vivienne can be seen holding a bouquet of flowers folded from money bills. A bright and radiant smile blooms on her face. The four-leaf clover necklace adorning her neck is the same necklace I've seen in Presley's purchase history two days ago. The caption of the photo writes, "I don't want a lot of money. I want a ton of love instead." Only then do I remember that today is Valentine's Day as well as my fifth-year anniversary with Presley. Over the past five years, Presley and I have been splitting every single bill, down to two decimal places. If I take a shower for more than 20 minutes, Presley demands that I pay extra for the water heater's power bill. When I cook myself some supper in the middle of the night, Presley wants me to split the gas bill generated by the stove. Even when my mom is hospitalized due to kidney failure and is waiting for her surgical bills to be settled, Presley refuses to lend me a single cent. Instead, he sends me a few links leading to web loans. As I stare at the social media feed, I chuckle all of a sudden. It turns out that Presley does know how to spend money. It's just that he doesn't have the heart to spend it on me. I smile once again as I leave a like on the post. Then, I transfer the ten cents to Presley. From now on, I don't owe him any single penny.

Natasha Orlova, was the only surviving relative, and daughter of a Moscow streetwalker. Though she grew up in poverty, she was full of ambition. At eighteen, she left Russia and her mother, whom she regarded as a failure, to the golden land of opportunity, America. Like many other young girls migrating to the United States, she dived into the adult industry in search of a living. Her breakthrough in the adult industry came two years later; when an American businessman took enough interest in her to marry her. He was a man involved in a deathly lethal game of crime, but it was all good; for she loved him, and he had money, and money was one thing that was essential to her life. But soon; the tides were to change. Tides, which would eventually force the confession from her,“Money Ain't Loyal." A hard-boiled Crime Thriller by Daniel Junior.

"Am so hard for you right now." I said to the sexy girl in front of me. "Have sex with me and I will give you lots of money." I added, hoping she would let me have her, instead tears start to stream down her cheek, which made me felt a tug in my heart. "You owe me from last night." I said to her as she looked at me innocently. "What do you mean?" she asked in a low tone, looking down with tears still streaming down her cheek "Did you say how?" I replied to her as I groan, getting more hard as i stare at her big round full boobs. Lizzy Spencer is a definition of man magnet and had a killer body. After loosing her parents at a young age, she has been striving hard to make a living, with alot of problem to solve, but everything took a turn when she met (Don Dawson) Don Dawson, also called The Trillion Dollar Man, he was wealthy, devilishly handsome, and was a bit proud of himself. Don never believed in love, all he does is have a threesome with ladies and do away with them. Love was just a four letter words to him, he only believe in power and money, until he set his eyes on her, and she became his desire. What will happen when the trillion-dollar man finds the same girl who ran away from the club on his private suite? Will he let her go scot-free, or will he make her pay for defiling his bed without his permission?

I'm the top salesperson at a tutoring center. Payday comes, and my commission is 50 cents. I'm so furious that I march straight to my boss to demand answers, but his secretary, Sasha Watson, steps in front of me. She digs through her pocket, pulls out 50 cents, and flicks it straight at my face in front of everyone. "Here's your 50 cents!" My ears ring. Heat crawls up my neck and into my skull. "Ms. Watson, this has to be a mistake. I closed 1.5 million dollars on my own last month. My team pulls in over three million dollars. My commission should be at least 200 grand." Sasha rolls her eyes. She reaches into her wallet, pulls out a dollar bill, and slaps it against my cheek. "Stop barking! Fine, I'll throw you a dollar. Keep the change!" I'm about to lose it. "My mom is still waiting on that 200 grand for her surgery. Without it, she could die." The coworkers around us start whispering. "50 cents? For the top salesperson? That's insane!" "Lower your voice. She's the boss's niece! What she says goes. Unless you want to get fired, pretend you didn't hear anything." I turn away, pull out my phone, and dial our biggest competitor. "I'm in. Five million dollars a year."