Word Count: 77,000
When a privileged teenage boy learns the horrific truth behind a miracle drug that prolongs the life of the rich, he must try to bring down his parents’ all-powerful company from the inside.
My uncle was only 152 when he died, but five hundred people showed up for his funeral anyway. No one seemed very interested in his corpse, though—they were much more into comparing designer outfits and telling stories about their neighbors. When anyone did remember Uncle Devin, rotting away in his fine mahogany box at the front, it was only to cast a scornful look in his direction.
I knew exactly what they were thinking.
What a loser.
Hey, it made sense. I was his only nephew, and I thought he was a loser too.
I picked at a loose thread on my suit pants as the funeral reader started in on the list of accomplishments.
Sorry, Uncle Devin. No matter how much Dad paid this guy, I’m not buying it.
“Then, when he was only eighty-three,” the reader intoned, “Devin left home to make his way in the world.”