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And since the press’s only job is gossip, they’re like dogs drooling over the latest bone on the Upper East Side.
She steps closer to me, faking a smile that appears painful with her latest Botox injection, then speaks in a whisper-yell so that only I can hear, “What the hell do you want?”
“My mother back. But unless you’re thinking of picking up necromancy as a side gig, you won’t be able to revive the dead, so I’m compromising with watching you suffer until the last breath you spit out of your silicone lungs.”
“You’re nothing more than a small boy trapped in a man’s body.” She has the nerve to smirk like a C-list Disney movie villain. “Your mother had the personality of chewing gum—sweet at first but bland as time goes by. Not to mention, she could be thrown away without a hitch. So if you miss that plain thing, how about you do the world a favor and cure your mommy issues by joining her?”
My fingers tighten on my glass, but if this bitch thinks she can get a reaction out of me, she hasn’t been dragged through enough courts. “I have a better idea, which includes stripping you of every last dime to your name.”
“That money is rightfully mine.”
“Rightfully? You never worked a day in your life after you married my father. Unless opening your legs and being a trophy wife counts which, spoiler alert, it does not.”
“You’re just jealous and bitter that your father chose me over you and your mother.”
“My mother, maybe, but never me, Susan. As much as you tried to tamper with the old man’s mind, the fact remains that I’m his heir and the one who inherited over eighty percent of his fortune. Life lesson for the day, pussy doesn’t compete with blood. Maybe you should’ve killed me with that pillow, huh?”
She pales, her lips trembling.
When I used to drive Susan insane for damn sport, she nearly lost it. And the fact that I was manipulative enough to never get caught by my father made her even more of a raging bitch.
One night, she walked into my room and placed a pillow to my face, but she gave up at the last second, probably remembering that my father would kill her with his bare hands if she hurt his only heir. And I was the only heir he could ever have since a few months after his marriage to Susan, he had prostate cancer, and while the surgery was a success, they had to remove his prostate and he became permanently infertile.
So I was the only Shaw his dick could bring into the world. And he was the type of closed-minded, old-fashioned man who refused fathering any children that weren’t his flesh and blood. He explicitly told Susan there would be no adoption when she suggested it and was completely inflexible about it, no matter how much she sucked his dick.
My father was an indecent man, the worst father to ever exist, but I was his only treasure. The legacy he had great plans for out of pure self-serving intentions.
“Kingsley is my only son and heir” is the line he often repeated and metaphorically slapped Susan’s greedy little heart with.
Which is why she thought she could get rid of me that night. But she got cold feet, threw the pillow away, and ran out of the room in hushed, frantic steps.
To this day, I have no fucking clue why I remained still, pretending to be asleep long after she left. I remember the renouncing feelings so well. The “what if this could end?” questions that ran through my head.
That was a few months after my mother’s death.
And I was naïve enough to think about letting this woman have it all.
Said woman pats her hair, then clutches her diamond necklace. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, and believe me, that was your only chance to kill me. Now, you’ll reap what you sowed.”
“I’m still suing for the community property.”
“Is that so?”
“Your father gave me the house and thirty percent of his properties. That includes the shares in Weaver & Shaw since you used his money as a percentage of the capital.”
“Susan, Susan,” I muse as if I’m speaking to a kid. “If you’d been listening to your idiot attorney for even one minute instead of ordering him to file for meaningless lawsuits, you would already know that I proved my father senile when he wrote his last will a year prior to his death. The probation case on that is over and the judge ruled in favor of executing the most recent will that he notarized five years prior to his death.”
Which gives me control over his estate, including the house. Susan only got a percentage of the properties he owned after their marriage, which is less than twenty percent of Benjamin Shaw’s overall fortune. A twenty percent that I will strip her of sooner rather than later.
Actually, let it be later. I want her to keep suing, hoping for something more and losing each and every one of those cases.
“Now, as excruciatingly tedious as it is talking to you, your time is up. You might want to pack your medication for the night you’ll spend in jail.”
“What…?”
I tilt my head to the photographers. “I have at least a hundred witnesses and a thousand pictures to prove that you breached the restraining order. Be on your toes, Susan. The police will drag you out of here like the criminal you are in about five minutes.”
