Evidence.
Witnesses.
Legal consequences.
Long-term planning.
That's how you destroy someone permanently.
Not with your hands around their throat, satisfying as that would be.
But by making them watch their entire life crumble, piece by piece, with nothing they could do to stop it.
I looked at Scott's briefcase. At the cocaine scattered on the desk. At the gun with his fingerprints all over it.
And I smiled.
Because I'd already won.
My only job now. . .was making sure he didn’t get rid of any of the evidence.
I smiled. "Scott, if you are half as smart as you think. . .you'll walk away tonight with some dignity. Because this family is mine now."
In the distance, police sirens began to wail.
Good job, Teyonah.
She’d done just as I said, confirming that she really did have faith in me.
The sound grew louder, closer.
Soon, blue and red lights would be painting the street outside.
Mrs. Patterson would be done from her orgasm and out there witnessing the craziness in a relaxed daze.
And all would be the way it should be.
Scott glanced at the window and then his eyes watered. “How?”
“What?”
“H-how. . .did this day. . .end up. . .like this?”
I felt no pity for this pathetic asshole.
I just wanted to hit him.
Wanted to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until that desperate, pathetic bastard’s breathing stopped.
Wanted to make him feel a fraction of the pain he'd inflicted on Teyonah, on J, on Oliver.
Calm down. The dominos are falling exactly the way they need to. Don’t mess this up. He’s almost out of their lives.
I calmed myself, uncurled my fists, and confirmed the evidence again. His fingerprints on the weapon. The cocaine in his briefcase. His impaired state. The police report Teyonah would file. My legal team's inevitable spin—self-defense, protection of a threatened woman, an unstable ex-husband with substance abuse issues breaking the terms of his court order and putting the kids in danger.
I winked at Scott. “Checkmate.”
He trembled. “W-what?”
