Gemotions

The air smelled of sawdust and diesel. He stood at the edge of the property line, his hands jammed deep in his pockets. The wrecking ball swung, a metal pendulum of his carefully cultivated bitterness. The house, built by his grandfather and sold by his sister, was finally succumbing to gravity.

He thought of the inheritance, the unfair distribution, the whispered conversations he wasn’t privy to. He had been left with nothing. He had nothing to lose.

He'd spent months cultivating the rumors among the construction crew. He had spread details, just enough to cause delays.

He caught the eye of the foreman, gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. He'd done everything possible to make this as difficult as possible.