Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
No, that could not be tolerated.
Then for them to find out in a press release from that very same man that the indignity came from a bastard. Again, insinuating that their husbands’ bastards should be claimed and the legitimacy of their legitimate children tested. After all, if an upstanding woman like Mary Quinn could cuckold her husband and pass off another man’s child, who was to say she was the only one?
Mary Quinn’s actions, and the actions of her children, made them look bad. That would not be tolerated.
Any other woman would have been destroyed, and Mary Quinn should have been. So, really, I was just setting everything right with the world.
Ever in love with her power games, Mary Quinn tried to send her car, but I took my own, wanting to make sure that I left on my terms, not hers. I wasn’t entirely sure what kind of bullshit Mary Quinn was about to pull, but I knew to expect anything.
My driver pulled up to the estate, and I looked out the window at the multi-million-dollar address. I had been here before, of course, usually tagging along with my brother when he came to hang out with Harrison, but it had been years. I had forgotten how little taste Mary Quinn really had.
Such a beautiful classic building, its appeal stunted by modern touches like the security camera on the gate and the big black digital call box. One would think with all that money, she would at least hire the right people to add modern security features but install them to blend with the building, or at least appear a little less obvious. Maybe she just didn’t understand that a home had to be more than expensive and old to be stylish.
The added tacky features ruined it. It felt empty and cold.
However, I had to admit there was the chance that maybe that was what she was going for. Maybe she told the designer to make it look like her, expensive but tacky. Old but full of modern features that just didn’t quite fit. For the house it was the new cameras. For Mary Quinn, it was the new nose.
Or maybe my time in Rome had given me a different appreciation for what was and wasn’t art. There was no greater show of majesty, taste, and opulence than the Catholic Church. After living in the Vatican for so long, everything modern just felt dead.
As I walked up to the door, the excitement almost had me vibrating with anticipation. I thought being back here, ready to face the beast, would fill me with anger or dread. But I was almost drunk with a wild nervous energy.
My plan would work. I was going to play the game with more skill than she knew was possible and I was going to destroy her. She spent the last several years living like a queen ruling over her petite kingdom, a benevolent ruler to her friends and an overbearing tyrant to everyone else. Whereas I spent the last several years in Italy, learning from the true masters of the game.
The maid greeted me at the door, and the poor girl looked like she was shaking. Jesus, what kind of PTSD-inducing trauma did Mary Quinn put these poor girls through?
The butler was immediately behind her and shooed her off to go do God only knew what, while he led me to wherever Mary Quinn was. My first guess would have been a bathtub somewhere in the basement, soaking in the blood of young girls, trying to recapture her youth in vain.
I hoped she enjoyed it, because soon she wouldn’t be able to afford terrified maids or snobby butlers.
I was going to take what was left of her reputation first. Isolate her from those who could help her. Once she was truly alone, then I would do what no one else had the balls to do. I was going to deal with her once and for all and ensure she was no one else’s problem ever again. I was going to take her money. The true root of all power was money. Since the dawn of currency, he with the money had the influence. I was going to take it from her. Every single dime. She was going to be destitute.
When I was done with her, the only beauty treatments she should be able to afford would be an anti-aging cream from the local thrift store and a facelift by a surgeon’s intern, but only if she had a coupon.
Mary Quinn was going to pay for everything she had taken from me, and she was going to pay dearly. Then, just for fun, I was going to make her pay for everything she had done to my sisters and the frustration she put my brother through. Although I didn’t really know or particularly care about my sister-in-law, I had heard the stories of the things Mary Quinn had put Amelia through as well.