It took me a couple of weeks to gather enough courage to go back to Sean’s apartment.

He wasn’t there anymore.

I should have suspected it; with billions at his disposal, only my stupidity had allowed me to believe Sean would be happy spending another minute in that run-down place. But I did. I did expect to find him there, as if nothing had changed. Stupid, as I said.

I looked for him, but no one seemed to know where to find him. At last, I turned to Paul, hoping his lust for gossip would be useful. A couple of beers after, he told me that Sean was in the ICU of the Northwest Medical Center.

Two days after winning the lottery, he'd moved into a penthouse in the nice part of town; the one where no one wore slashed jeans or lumberjack shirts. That same nig...

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