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I’m turning onto my street, wondering if I have the right type of rope at the house, when my phone starts to ring.
The screen in my dashboard shows Mayor Devon calling, and I shake my head.
Thought little brother Devon might actually take my threat to heart and leave town without involving his brother.
But apparently not.
Since I’ve had a lot of sexually frustrated time on my hands these past few weeks, I’ve been keeping myself busy by fucking up the lives of men I don’t like.
First, I hunted down all the information I could on Christopher Devon, my caller’s baby brother. I saw that he spent one night in the hospital having surgery done on both of his elbows after hefell down some stairs. And I made sure to recode the surgery before billing sent it to insurance, ensuring that insurance will deny the claim and Christopher will be on the hook for an awfully large medical bill.
After that, when I saw he was discharged but didn’t use his credit card anywhere indicating where he’d gone, I dug around and found all his 401k information. And our boy has some sense because he’d put away a decent amount. A decent amount that I siphoned straight into a trust fund, which will automatically disperse to his son when he turns eighteen, in six years. Considering good old Christopher hasn’t been paying child support, for a kid he never visits, it’s the least he could do.
Sure, Christopher will figure it out when his accounts are empty the next time one of those quarterly statements gets mailed out to him. But then again, I did change his address to a PO Box in Alabama, so it might be a bit before he gets around to picking up his mail.
I also dropped his credit score by one hundred points. Because I could.
I mean really, what’s the point in being a good hacker if you’re not going to use it for good?
Then, since that only took the better part of the day, I’ve entertained myself by purchasing a pile of companies. Companies that just so happen to employ all of Savannah’s exes.
After that dinner party at Aspen’s, when Savannah was busy burning that painting and getting high, I was busy digging through every last phone and social media record, hunting down her ex-boyfriends. They all seem like decent, upstanding citizens, with no history of violence and no bad blood between them and Savannah, but I couldn’t just let them carry on living in my state.
Hence, finding where they worked and purchasing the companies.
A couple of the businesses were already for sale. And some, well, everyone has a price.
And, of course, as is common with new ownership, each company experienced a bit of a downsize.
By exactly one position.
But since, contrary to popular belief, I’m not a complete monster, I offered them all new jobs. At a company I purchased in Alaska.
The offers were all more than fair, quite literally an offer they couldn’t turn down. So, by the end of next week, every man that’s ever been intimate with my wife will be moving over three thousand miles away.
My phone keeps ringing.
And if the Minneapolis mayor was smart, he’d have sent his brother to Alaska, too.
But instead, he’s calling me. Proving just how not smart he is.
“What?” I demand, when the line connects.
“Uh, yes, well, King,” Mayor Devon stumbles over his words.
“Mr. Vass,” I correct him.
I can hear his annoyance even though he’s trying to hide it. “Mr. Vass.”
I slow my vehicle as I reach my property and the gate slides open. “I hope you’re not calling about your brother.”
I’ve had a handful of interactions with the mayor during his tenure, but he’d have to be a special sort of delusional if he thinks being a fucking city official gives him any sort of protection against me.
“Well, in fact, I am.” He tries for a self-righteous tone.
I let him hear my sigh before using his first name. “Oscar.”
He pauses, probably wanting to insist I call him Mr. Devon, but he doesn’t.
