He reached into the cookie jar.
His mum told him off when he was a child for being greedy and eating cookies before dinner because it would spoil his appetite, and there would be plenty of healthy food on the table later.
Once a week he would telephone his mum to say hello, ask how she was doing. She would say she was doing fine, nothing much happening her end. He would ask her if she was getting out and about enough, eating well, that sort of thing; she would call him a hypocrite because she knew he lived on take out food and leftovers, and hardly ever got away from his desk.
He had made plenty of money for himself and the institution he worked so hard for in the city. He didn’t need any more money really, he was happy and would be wealthy in perpetuity so long as there wasn’t another Great Depression. In fact, since he’d wisely invested his money in a diverse portfolio of savings, land, gold, bonds and company shares, even another Great Depression might not wipe out his fortune.
No it wasn’t that he needed the money; he could just retire early, go home and spend time with his wife and kids for once, but he always had to hit just one more target – one more for the win.
He sighed, shrugged his shoulders, and reached into the cookie jar.
Based on a prompt from CreativeWritingPrompts.com