Definition
: a joint financial arrangement whereby the participants usually contribute equally to a prize that is awarded entirely to the participant who survives all the others
Tontines were named after their creator, a Neapolitan banker named Lorenzo Tonti. In 1653, Tonti convinced investors to buy shares in a fund he had created. Each year, the investors earned dividends, and when one of them died, their share of the profits was redistributed among the survivors. When the last investor died, the capital reverted to the state. Louis XIV of France used tontines to save his ailing treasury and to fund municipal projects, and private tontines (where the last surviving investor—and subsequently their heirs—got the cash instead of the state) became popular throughout Europe and the U.S. Eventually, though, tontines were banned; there was just too much temptation for unscrupulous investors to bump off their fellow subscribers.
I crouched under the table, hand clamped firmly over my mouth to prevent any tell tale whimpers escaping from it, the table cloth billowing slightly from the movement of the people in the room, pacing back and forth as they searched the building for the remaining surviving party guests.
If I ever got out of this, I would so be telling my friends 'I told you so'.
Growing up, I saw my mother bilked out of her hard earned money by one slimy romeo after another. I mean, sure, some of them must have loved her a bit at some point - but they loved her money more. Every time she introduced one to me, even as a small child, I would think to myself 'Really? This guy?' and every time she would assure me that it was true love, they would be happy together and she would devote her entire being (and bank account) to his happiness.
And every time they left, she would give me this beautiful, wobbly smile and say in a tone that only got more strained as the years went by, 'it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.'
You want to know what I think? No, no it's not. Perhaps if the person who you loved was a moral, decent, upstanding kind of character who was kind and understood that a relationship consisted of two people who should both be putting in the effort and, I don't know, clock the fact that spouses aren't your own personal savings account and that maybe they should also contribute to paying the bills or even get groceries themselves now and again, then maybe, just maybe, it might be better to love and lose. I still remain doubtful though.
But after years of beans on toast or 'mystery tins' for dinner, I was sick of the sight. sound and smell of love and swore to myself that, if it looked too good to be true, it probably was and if I ever found myself in a love situation, I would took a long hard look at what I was getting into before I took that jump and would at least run some sort of credit check on them first.
Also, that no one, no one would ever have access to my bank account but me.
And you know what? Despite having a bit of a reputation as an ice queen, being accused of being heartless, mercenary and not having a romantic bone in my body, yadda, yadda, yadda, I could say, with absolute certainty, that I was having a far better time than any of my self proclaimed 'romantic' friends. Much better. I stated clearly at the beginning of the relationship exactly what I wanted, expected and what my limits were and proceeded to have multiple amenable relationships that, despite the snobbery of judgement of the people around me, I enjoyed immensely. I was, to put it bluntly, having a whale of a time.
However, it would be a cold hearted woman indeed to not heed the words of her friends, particularly if they said the same ones over and over adinfinium until you start to doubt your own interpretation of your happiness, especially when you know they are only trying to be kind.
So, eventually, they wore me down.
The gentleman I attended the party with was not my usual type. He was sweet, handsome and charming, and I never went for that combination. Not, I hasten to add, that that meant my usual type was the 'bad boy' stereotype. No, I liked my partners honest and if that honesty came in a clumsy form that that might antagonise a lesser woman, well, I had never considered myself a lesser woman. In fact, I found their awkwardness to be endearing.
The character trait I prized about all others was sincerity. Anything less and, no matter how charming, athletic, talented, handsome or rich, I was not interested. At all.
So this sweet little gentleman, no matter how ardently he pursued me, still managed to set off alarm bells in my head. Normally, that would be it, game over, but my friends, enamored by him, urged me to at least give him a chance. So I did. One date.
The date where I am currently hiding under a table, waiting for my attackers to leave so I can run for my life.
I knew this whole thing was dodgy. In fact, as soon as I had arrived I'd wanted to turn around and leave. The dinner had been set up as some sort of marketing strategy - at the door people were 'encouraged' to join this lottery scheme thing, billed as the evening's entertainment, and asked to donate an amount to the pot. Apparently the winner would take the entire haul home with them.
Nearly everyone joined in, either wishing to win or just not wanting to look like a party pooper.
I had no issue being a wet blanket and refused. Who knew what they would do with my details and I didn't want endless amounts of marketing emails me sent in my direction forever more. Besides, I would have been happy to donate to a charity, but who wants to donate their hard earned money to a random stranger? No thank you. Besides, the details they wanted and the various forms they asked to be signed simply reeked of foul play.
I could tell my date was getting more and more flustered - he kept urging me to donate, either because he was embarrassed to be seen with me or perhaps because (I suspected) he was part of the team behind the entire event (I would guess the second option, he seemed very familiar with the well trained pushy sales execs and, to be honest, did not seem like a person who could afford to attend an event where you bought lottery tickets for £100 a number, unless he had some background connections). Either way, this set off yet more alarm bells and I decided to make my excuses after desert and head home early. To be honest, I wanted to leave right away, but the amount of stick I would have gotten from my friends meant that I thought I could endure it to the after dinner coffee and mints at least.
We had just finished a very uninspired three course meal and I was irritably waiting for the coffee to make an appearance so I could get up and go already (my date, once I had firmly and finally refused to make a donation, had spent the entire evening sulking like a petulant child and refused to make conversation with me, instead speaking to the pretty redhead sitting on the other side of me. Instead of making me miserable, as I'm sure he intended, I spent the time pleasantly enough messaging on my phone and describing how awful the evening was going on group chat, along with photographic and film evidence to back up my point. Ah, vindication is sweet.) In fact, I was still stealthily on a video call, when masked men dashed into the room and started shooting up the place. Seconds later my phone screen went completely blank - they must have set off some sort of pulse to prevent any of us calling for help. Which at least told me that the people running this show must be idiots, they should have blocked communications to the outside world first, even if it did raise suspicions they could have just said the signal was bad or something, before running in with machine guns. Although I guess it is slightly weird for someone to be in a video call whilst at dinner, but it's not like it couldn't happen, myself being case in point.
In any case, it mean that my friends could raise the alarm, and they all knew where I was as I had activated 'Track My Phone' the second I got in my date's car (I wanted to drive separately but he insisted we go together - so of course I'm going to make sure propel I trust know exactly where I am and where I'm going. Some people say trust issues, I say sensible precautions.)
So all I had to do was survive until the police got here.
My date had already vanished. Either he was in on he whole charade and had led me here to die, or he wasn't and he had left me here to die. Whichever it was, he was now firmly in the negative brownie point stage and I decided he could fend for himself.
I kicked off my heels (and said a small sad prayer for them. I loved these shoes and it was likely to be the last I ever saw of them), hiked up my dress and started to crawl, slowly and carefully towards a tiny door I'd spotted down in the orchestra area. It was probably to perform maintenance on the stage or something, I'd spotted it in an idle moment at dinner and the attackers seemed to be overlooking it for now, so if i could get in there (and hopefully through and out the back) I'd be golden.
I'd nearly made it the whole way until the room suddenly fell silent. the sudden, abrupt cessation of the roar of the guns was almost as shocking as when they'd started shooting.
I froze in place, hidden by a table. I glanced around, most of the people left were corpses, or soon to be corpses, strewn about the floor. The only ones still standing were the attackers and whichever attendees had managed to escape out the doors. I was certain others had been dispatched to deal with them.
the attackers remaining were circling the ball room. Looking to see if any survivors remained. Brutally putting down any that still drew breath.
I ducked under the table cloth of the table next to me and tried to hold my breath, scrunching myself as small and tight as possible.
Please, please, please.
"Check under the tables." I heard one order. "There might be some hiding there."
I dug my fingers so tightly over my mouth that I could feel blood start to ooze out of the cuts my fingernails made.
the sound of tables being flipped over. Getting closer and closer. A shriek, a gun shot.
Getting closer and closer and closer.
A shadow fell across my table. I grabbed the table leg - maybe I could swing it at him, district him long enough to get away.
Like that would work with all the others in the room. It'd delay my death by seconds at most and only serve to mildly irritate my attackers.
Better than just waiting to be shot. I gripped the table leg and began to shift my weight.
"FREEZE!" Floodlights filled the room. "POLICE."
Chaos again resumed.
I crawled away from the scene of carnage, dodging police and attackers alike before tucking myself away in the crawl space beneath the stage.
I was there for two hours before the police found me.
My friend was waiting for me, in tears, outside. She had summoned the police and the army and basically whoever she could get her hands on. She was a good friend. Even if she did have some ridiculous ideas about dating.
She held my hand as the paramedic bandaged up my various scrapes. She squeezed it gently.
"Go on," she said sadly. "Say it. I know you want to and, this time at least, you deserve to."
I grinned at her, blood drying on my temple and coating my teeth.
"I told you so." I said.
However, it would be a cold hearted woman indeed to not heed the words of her friends, particularly if they said the same ones over and over adinfinium until you start to doubt your own interpretation of your happiness, especially when you know they are only trying to be kind.
So, eventually, they wore me down.
The gentleman I attended the party with was not my usual type. He was sweet, handsome and charming, and I never went for that combination. Not, I hasten to add, that that meant my usual type was the 'bad boy' stereotype. No, I liked my partners honest and if that honesty came in a clumsy form that that might antagonise a lesser woman, well, I had never considered myself a lesser woman. In fact, I found their awkwardness to be endearing.
The character trait I prized about all others was sincerity. Anything less and, no matter how charming, athletic, talented, handsome or rich, I was not interested. At all.
So this sweet little gentleman, no matter how ardently he pursued me, still managed to set off alarm bells in my head. Normally, that would be it, game over, but my friends, enamored by him, urged me to at least give him a chance. So I did. One date.
The date where I am currently hiding under a table, waiting for my attackers to leave so I can run for my life.
I knew this whole thing was dodgy. In fact, as soon as I had arrived I'd wanted to turn around and leave. The dinner had been set up as some sort of marketing strategy - at the door people were 'encouraged' to join this lottery scheme thing, billed as the evening's entertainment, and asked to donate an amount to the pot. Apparently the winner would take the entire haul home with them.
Nearly everyone joined in, either wishing to win or just not wanting to look like a party pooper.
I had no issue being a wet blanket and refused. Who knew what they would do with my details and I didn't want endless amounts of marketing emails me sent in my direction forever more. Besides, I would have been happy to donate to a charity, but who wants to donate their hard earned money to a random stranger? No thank you. Besides, the details they wanted and the various forms they asked to be signed simply reeked of foul play.
I could tell my date was getting more and more flustered - he kept urging me to donate, either because he was embarrassed to be seen with me or perhaps because (I suspected) he was part of the team behind the entire event (I would guess the second option, he seemed very familiar with the well trained pushy sales execs and, to be honest, did not seem like a person who could afford to attend an event where you bought lottery tickets for £100 a number, unless he had some background connections). Either way, this set off yet more alarm bells and I decided to make my excuses after desert and head home early. To be honest, I wanted to leave right away, but the amount of stick I would have gotten from my friends meant that I thought I could endure it to the after dinner coffee and mints at least.
We had just finished a very uninspired three course meal and I was irritably waiting for the coffee to make an appearance so I could get up and go already (my date, once I had firmly and finally refused to make a donation, had spent the entire evening sulking like a petulant child and refused to make conversation with me, instead speaking to the pretty redhead sitting on the other side of me. Instead of making me miserable, as I'm sure he intended, I spent the time pleasantly enough messaging on my phone and describing how awful the evening was going on group chat, along with photographic and film evidence to back up my point. Ah, vindication is sweet.) In fact, I was still stealthily on a video call, when masked men dashed into the room and started shooting up the place. Seconds later my phone screen went completely blank - they must have set off some sort of pulse to prevent any of us calling for help. Which at least told me that the people running this show must be idiots, they should have blocked communications to the outside world first, even if it did raise suspicions they could have just said the signal was bad or something, before running in with machine guns. Although I guess it is slightly weird for someone to be in a video call whilst at dinner, but it's not like it couldn't happen, myself being case in point.
In any case, it mean that my friends could raise the alarm, and they all knew where I was as I had activated 'Track My Phone' the second I got in my date's car (I wanted to drive separately but he insisted we go together - so of course I'm going to make sure propel I trust know exactly where I am and where I'm going. Some people say trust issues, I say sensible precautions.)
So all I had to do was survive until the police got here.
My date had already vanished. Either he was in on he whole charade and had led me here to die, or he wasn't and he had left me here to die. Whichever it was, he was now firmly in the negative brownie point stage and I decided he could fend for himself.
I kicked off my heels (and said a small sad prayer for them. I loved these shoes and it was likely to be the last I ever saw of them), hiked up my dress and started to crawl, slowly and carefully towards a tiny door I'd spotted down in the orchestra area. It was probably to perform maintenance on the stage or something, I'd spotted it in an idle moment at dinner and the attackers seemed to be overlooking it for now, so if i could get in there (and hopefully through and out the back) I'd be golden.
I'd nearly made it the whole way until the room suddenly fell silent. the sudden, abrupt cessation of the roar of the guns was almost as shocking as when they'd started shooting.
I froze in place, hidden by a table. I glanced around, most of the people left were corpses, or soon to be corpses, strewn about the floor. The only ones still standing were the attackers and whichever attendees had managed to escape out the doors. I was certain others had been dispatched to deal with them.
the attackers remaining were circling the ball room. Looking to see if any survivors remained. Brutally putting down any that still drew breath.
I ducked under the table cloth of the table next to me and tried to hold my breath, scrunching myself as small and tight as possible.
Please, please, please.
"Check under the tables." I heard one order. "There might be some hiding there."
I dug my fingers so tightly over my mouth that I could feel blood start to ooze out of the cuts my fingernails made.
the sound of tables being flipped over. Getting closer and closer. A shriek, a gun shot.
Getting closer and closer and closer.
A shadow fell across my table. I grabbed the table leg - maybe I could swing it at him, district him long enough to get away.
Like that would work with all the others in the room. It'd delay my death by seconds at most and only serve to mildly irritate my attackers.
Better than just waiting to be shot. I gripped the table leg and began to shift my weight.
"FREEZE!" Floodlights filled the room. "POLICE."
Chaos again resumed.
I crawled away from the scene of carnage, dodging police and attackers alike before tucking myself away in the crawl space beneath the stage.
I was there for two hours before the police found me.
My friend was waiting for me, in tears, outside. She had summoned the police and the army and basically whoever she could get her hands on. She was a good friend. Even if she did have some ridiculous ideas about dating.
She held my hand as the paramedic bandaged up my various scrapes. She squeezed it gently.
"Go on," she said sadly. "Say it. I know you want to and, this time at least, you deserve to."
I grinned at her, blood drying on my temple and coating my teeth.
"I told you so." I said.
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