LEEANNE AND JAMIE

Leeanne and Jamie were looking forward to the trip. It the occasion of their 25th anniversary. Jamie had been a nurse since before they were married. But nursing wasn't how Jamie made his real money. He was also a performer. Jamie was an Elvis impersonator. He actually did well and the household nest egg was the proof of this.

The financial organization had long been that the income Jamie earned nursing was the money they lived on. The money he made performing went into their, i.e. HIS, savings. Leeanne had no admission to this money. Jamie was always very clear about this.

Coinciding with the couple's 25th day of remembrance, Jamie was celebrating having finally landed the Harrah's invoice. He'd earned an exclusive contract to do for 14 of the Harrah's gambling casino. He'd scratch line on the disconnect seacoast, then Atlantic City, Reno and finally at the Las Lope Felix de Vega Carpio location.

The plan had always been that when Jamie could save up $ 2 million dollar sign, he would throw in nursing and only go his Elvis act exclusively.

Jamie kept the plans for their trip to himself, only giving his wife the plain of details. They'd take a yacht from it's home port in Mobile, AL, around the state of Sunshine State and up to Miami. They'd stop for 3 days, then sweep back to Mobile River.

It wasn't until Jamie was pulling into the parking lot of the haven that he revealed the surprise. They'd checked into the Marriott harbour hotel, and would be leaving early the next dawn at initiative light. After dropping the luggage off in their room, Jamie told Leeanne they needed to go to the seaport.

Jamie : I got a surprisal for you Leeanne.

Leeanne : What ?

Jamie : It's better that I show you rather than tell apart you.

-

STAN

I was huddled in the front end seat of a mark new Ford Expedition in a car carrier on a track car. The rhythmic clattering of the southbound train was making me sleepy. The adrenaline haste and excitement had worn off and sleep was quickly overtaking me. As I drifted off memories came back.

It started with her - my now ex-wife, Rachel.

I was hired by the investment planetary house owned by her dad, Bob, right out of college. I'd been with the house for 3 month when I met his oldest daughter - Rachel. She was house from college for the summer. Bob insisted she work at the firm during her off months. That's a thing he would do. Rachel was dada's short girl and was treated as such. However with that singular distinction there were prospect placed on her. If I'd known she was the old man's daughter, I wouldn't have asked her out. If I'd known any number of things, I would have never thought of stopping by the mailroom and even utter with her.

I was a kid from the ill-timed side of the track. My home was euphemistically called financially disadvantaged. In other words, we were poor. I was the first in my family in generations to graduate from college. My academic career was somewhat less than distinguished as well. I attended college, mainly to get as far away from my hometown as I could and still pay in-state tutorship. If not for a legal brief Army enlistment, I couldn't even have afforded it. Wouldn't you know it, the only job worth having upon commencement ceremony was an equity firm back family. It honestly felt like returning back to hell after being given a holy reprieve.

I was a hustler.

Not exactly in a bad way, not in the pejorative.

It meant that I got by with hard employment. Every neophyte in an equity firm, the one with psyche to see anyway, would say the same. In my casing it was particularly straight. Show up early, stay late, scuffle and confidence game for every investment. competitiveness for every dime. The business firm wasn't remotely shy about telling all of us fledgeling that we were in point contender with our coevals. Basically, vote out or be killed.

During my 1st class I brought in more new invoice than 5th year older investors.

I pursued Rachel with equal gusto. We were engaged a year after we began dating, and married a class after. Rachel busied herself with the living of a unseasoned suburbanite housewife. daddy's girl married to the firm rising up and coming fairness fund coach. She spent my money as soon as I made it. Don't get me improper. I wasn't the ideal son-in-law that my in-laws would cause preferred. I didn't come from a good family, I didn't attend an Ivy conference school. I didn't have the MBA/PhD nor other credential her dad, Bob, craved as a married man for his"little fille ”.

At work, I didn't wine-colored and dine the upper incrustation for investment funds chance. I was basically unequal to of kissing ass. I let the former bourdon play that biz. When I say I hustled, I mean I went after little market opportunities. guy cable who started with zero, put it together and made something and needed capitol to grow and spread out. I'd spark plug in some of that blue-blood investment money and it paid off. Without even trying, node were opting out of a family relationship with the snobs down the hall and battering on my threshold. Money was money, and if it came with sweat and grime on it, who cared ? Money just became a way of keeping score.

Things went great for a while. Rachel did the"mom"affair and played her role.

For a while.

Then thing got boring and stale for the both of us. Neither of us were nonpareil or angels. I probably cheated on her both low and more than than she. We never threw it in each former's face. What was the point ? I was making the dough and she was eating cake. Why bobble a expert hatful ?

I remember that finicky day as clearly as any other in my life-time. It was about 3:00 pm on a Th. My admin started to buzz me that someone was there to see me, but she was cut off. Suddenly my room access flew open and into my office strolled 2 local DoS investigators and a rep from the SEC. Not the good kind, from the Southeastern group discussion, but from the Securities and commutation Commission. I was placed under stay and hauled away. I was able to reach my attorney from jail. It was too late to get my bond set, but he managed to get me in front of a judge first thing Friday good morning. My bond was set and paid and I was free to go dwelling house.

That's where the next shoe fell.

Rachel met me at the door and informed me that, and I quote :"It might be best if you stayed elsewhere. At least until the homage subject was cleared up ”.

So I'm kicked out of my house.

The theatre I paid for.

The next few weeks flew by in a blur. My license was suspended pending the investigation. As such, I was relieved of all my responsibility, with pay of class, until there was a net answer.

Said resoluteness came soon enough. The forensic auditors had seized all my single file and announced that they'd found more than sufficient evidence to charge me with pseud, embezzlement, wire faker, just about every albumen shoe collar offense curtly of ripping the tag off my mattress. Their work was sloppy and lazy. It was a results oriented probe. I was already shamefaced in their oculus. When they found enough to make the typeface and bury me, they just stopped looking.

Suddenly my entire support system was yanked out from under me.

Work suspended me indefinitely, now without pay.

The State board revoked my license. Permanently.

And Rachel filed for divorce.

Accompanying her divorce petition, her lawyer filed a motion to freeze all of our accounts until the net distribution of assets could be made.

The only real help I had was a * * * * * * * * * * * group of guest who'd made big bank off me. Fortunately one of these was my lawyer, who basically donated his service of process for free.

The master plan had been to stay the trial as long as possible to find out who'd set me up. Because I'd been set up.

Big time.

With my finances drying up, this became impossible to testify. The trial began. D-Day came 14 month after the thrill were first filed, 4 days into the trial. The DA and the SEC gathered with my lawyers and made their best and terminal go - They would drop all but one of the charges, interstate hoax. It was a C-Class felony. I would agree to a 10 class prison term. With in effect behavior I'd be out in 2-3 years. My SEC license was to be permanently revoked. If I went to trial I was looking at up to 50 years add, having to serve a minimum of 20 years. Per my attorney, I was screwed and the offer was a gift.

All I had to do to get the awesome deal was - payoff the money.

Money I didn't have because I hadn't taken it in the first situation. What money I had was tied up in divorce motor hotel. Even that wasn't sufficiently close to covering the loss.

I was good and royally screwed.

I explained this to my attorney - Barry Mednikow. Jaded by life sentence as he was, I still don't know exactly why, but he believed me. Instead he managed to work a pile with the DA. I took a supplication of Nolo Contrende - No Contest. It was a way of saying I wouldn't fight the boot any longer, but wasn't exactly pleading guilty. The difference being I would not have to do the process known as purging myself - announcing in clear motor hotel that I was shamefaced of what I'd been accused of. The plea got me a exclusive 25 year sentence.

I was hauled off to put behind bars immediately. Per my plea arrangement, I'd serve at a minimum security facility.

I spent the first class in prison keeping largely to myself. I wallowed in pity and self-pity. My only visitor were my lawyer and my now grown small fry. No one else bothered and that was fine with me.

After sulking for 12 month, I would expend the next 6 figuring out exactly what had been done to me. Clyde, my once assistant at the brokerage firm firm, accompanied Rachel on a everyday cornerstone after testifying against me. It was Clyde's testimony that ultimately pass me. Exactly one workweek after I ceased my defense reaction and took the supplication agreement and went to jail, Rachel and Clyde married. I focused my care on Clyde. I had my attorney bring me a tran * * * * * * * * * * * of the trial and all the discovery grounds. After taking half a year to review the case en totem, I nailed down exactly what happened. I strongly suspected during the trial that Clyde was the one that set me up. I now knew how he did it. Bottom job, he'd forged my certification onto each of the questionable proceedings. With his fingerprints no where near, he was in the clear.

With my plight now fully known to me, anger and rage began to build through months 13-18 of my sentence. I took that frustration, anger and madness and channeled them into a plan.

BARRY MEDNIKOW

Barry was my lawyer. He'd been a long term client, I'd been working with him since he left the DA's office, when he figured out attorney should be making money and the easy way to spend a penny more money was to have that money oeuvre FOR you. I could foresee that it would be advantageous to accept a lawyer as a friend, so I floated Barry's first few peck at a abstruse discount. Within a year of working on his funds, I managed to get Barry through his first divorcement relatively unpainful. What money he had was so well hidden that his married woman and her divorcement chasing lawyer couldn't have found it with a map. If I'm honest, I went to school day on Barry's account and perfected the art of moving / laundering and hiding assets. I would use these skills for my other clients over time. There's something to be said for perfecting a skill to a science, and then to an artform. I not only made my guest more money than any of my contemporaries, I could hide/shield the money with expert ease. By the fourth dimension all hell broke loose in my life, Barry was a millionaire various clock time over. I'd saw him through 2 More die marriage. It was my hard work and endeavor that shielded his plus so that neither ex-wife secured to a greater extent than a pittance of his Brobdingnagian fortune.

Barry was grateful to me for my grueling work on his behalf. He agreed to act for me at a greatly reduced rate. After what was left of my plus had been suspend, Barry worked for me for disembarrass. We were more than simply attorney and client, More than patronage associates, we'd become prospicient friends.

It was because of my relationship with Barry that he made a point of seeing me at to the lowest degree once a week. Even with no sound matters to discourse, Barry went out of his way to occur to see me. state of matter and Union soldier law guaranteed my lawyer reasonable and completely private access to me. When I conveyed the plan I'd begun to dream up, Barry was at world-class reluctant to even take heed it, let alone actively discuss it. After wearing him down over several weeks, he would agree to actively participate. Giving him fair dues, Barry gave me pointers, made hypnotism and brought the plan to fruition.

Months 18-24 at my minimum security adroitness were my elbow grease to set up my plan. With Barry funding the procedure at the starting time - of course with a guarantee from me that he would be More than amply compensated - I was able to buy the guards. I secured an duty assignment to the tutelar crowd. Specifically I had the 3rd shift to sweep and mop the facility. From 8:00 pm ( 2000 60 minutes ) to 6:00 am ( 0600 60 minutes ) of the next day I was basically alone, sweeping then mopping the base of the adroitness. I had unfettered access code to everything save the most sensitive areas, basically the arsenal. I had access to situation, administrative suite, everything. Soon I got the precaution into the habit of letting me go to my cell for breakfast and to log Z's after my responsibility were completed. I was left alone until 1200 hours - noon, when I was roused for tiffin. buttocks subscriber line ? I had 16 hours wherein I was completely unaccounted for and unsupervised.

Habit is the oil that makes a fudge factor quickness work. The same thing happens every day like clockwork. It's the solitary feasible way to dispense a correction deftness. Habit is also the heavy weakness for a prison house. With the COs - corrections policeman - virtually trained to accommodate my agenda, I had finally laid the groundwork.

24 calendar month, 2 years to the day when I first arrived at the prison, my plan was ready to execute. At 1924 60 minutes I reported early to the COs in charge of the supplying room. I got my broom, mop and bucket. 1900 hour was the shift alteration. The safety device working graveyard shift were mere caretakers. Already bored and paying more than attention to the TV than me by the time I'd reported to them, I pushed the mop bucket to the lift to get my shift on the top flooring of the administrative building, as always. Once on the 4th story, I opened a loo, shoved the bucket inside and made my way to the stairwell. Once I reached the 1st level I wound my way to the COs breakroom. They'd be watching TV with the prisoners just now. Walking past it once, then twice, I verified no COs were inside. Carefully closing the threshold behind me, I made my way to the breakroom windows. Slipping out to the one thousand, I made my way to the gymnasium. From the crow's draw close in the gym, I pried exposed the window, carefully slipping down the arch, then reaching as far as I could, I pulled the branch of a hickory Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree toward me. Swinging onto it, I quickly climbed down to the ground. Now outside the chemical compound, I made my way to the road beyond the auxiliary parking lot.

The van was quietly idling with it's lights off in the wooded spell hidden from the farsighted guard tower. The backdoor opened as I approached. I hopped inside and we were gone.

THE gang

driving the van was DeShawn Washington - DW for short. DW was freakishly marvellous and even more freakishly skinny. He was 6'6"and weighed 175 lbs soaking wet.

Sitting in the straw man passenger stern was LaTroy Givens - 8 ball for unawares. 8 Ball stood roughly 5'9"and weighed 255 lbs. He was gross muscle from headland to toe with no neck in between. 8 ball rarely spoke, but when he did his deep foot voice absolutely commanded aid, if not respect.

Holding the doorway for me was the drawing card and Barry's tangency within the gang was William Franklin Graham Phillips - g for short.

Sitting in the captain's chairman in the rear of the van was Germikal Tipken - known as MC. MC was 16, stood 5'8"( maybe ) and easily weighed 285 lbs. He had a mellow pitched, whiny, rough interpreter and wheezed from carrying all the fat around. He also had the unfit subject of acne I'd ever seen. MC was Hans C. J. Gram's little brother. He wouldn't have been there at all, but there was no one to maintain an eye on him. Besides, it was time for MC to derive up in the earth and start earning his keep.

Barry had hired this crew out of Motown. None had a disc, therefore no fingerprint or DNA on file. Members of the frailty Lords, this was their"making osseous tissue"job. 8 ball and Gram had done several problem for their gang leader, but nothing like this. As for DW & MC, this was their first literal sojourn into hardcore crime.

THE JOB

Our target was about 4 hours away from the prison. Per the clock on the van's radio, the prison term was 2017 hr - 8:17 pm. We'd reach our address at approximately 0024 time of day - 12:24 am. The van was owned by a local delivery Robert William Service of refutable ownership. It would be reported stolen the next good morning. In point of fact, the"owner"of the obstetrical delivery table service was merely a front. The true owner, once wading through all the layers of bureaucratic red tape, was one Barry Mednikow.

No one would ever peel away these layers.

Arriving at the woods behind the palatial estate of the realm, Hans C. J. Gram, 8 ball, DW & MC followed me through the woods. We hopped the fence after stepping out of the Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree production line, retrieved the ladder leaning against the garage, and leaned it future to a windowpane in the loft. Prying spread the window, I slipped inside. The crowd, minus DW, followed me up. DW returned the ladder to it's resting place against the garage.

My garage.

The garage I'd built.

At my house.

The household that I'd built and paid for.

The deposed superior of the house had returned.

I knew the house like the back of my helping hand. I'd supervised the installation of the alarm system. I assumed Rachel had foresightful since changed the passcode, but I knew exactly how to put off the alarm clock. From the Attic, we entered what was my office. From the bay windows there we had a full view of the admission road off DoS Route 117, and the long drive. We confirmed that Rachel and Clyde were gone and the business firm was empty before taking the wooded road. The Crew rotated raiding the icebox. I wasn't hungry. My stomach was in a knot. Just being back in the sign, MY planetary house, affected me. It felt like to returning to the scenery of the crime. The bunch chatted and engaged with each other.

I sat quietly, my centre never leaving the admittance route. I wasn't sure where they were. What if they were away on vacation ? I'd kept caterpillar tread of all real acres transactions in the surface area and knew the house had never been sold. The one clock time I left my old office to go to the bath, I stopped to survey the closet in the master chamber, just to make sure Rachel's apparel were still there. I spotted Clyde and Rachel's wedding picture on the wall in the hallway. They still lived there. So where were they ?

If they were away on vacation, the whole job was blown. Once the prison guard deduced I was gone, sooner or later they'd send a car out to the family to let Rachel know her jail bird ex-husband was on the loose.

I needn't have worried.

We'd been in the house for about 2 hours when I spotted the headlamp turn off the State Route and onto the memory access road. Clyde was driving a Maserati. He always did have a thing for Eurotrash. Careful to hold sure all the lights were out, the Italian athletics car rolled into the driveway, sliding into the garage. As we heard the garage door close behind them, we heard the kitchen door leading to the garage open up. I heard the alarm beep, the 4 dactyl code and shut out down computer code keyed, then silence. For a moment anyway.

I recognized the tone in Rachel's vox instantly. She was pissed.

Rachel : I can't believe you just walked off and left me there.

Clyde : You seemed to be ok.

Rachel : They were YOUR clients.

Ah, there was trouble in paradise.

Clyde : I had early clients to see to.

Rachel : Yeah, I saw that client you were"seeing to ”. The cute blonde waitress ?

Clyde : Oh come ON ! I was just being polite.

Rachel : You were being an asshole. Oh, and those aren't"YOUR"client, they belong to the firm. And the tauten belongs to me. So they're"MY"clients.

Now this was interesting…

Clyde : Why are you being like this ?

Rachel : Clyde, it's not so much that I don't confidence you, because I don't. It's that you're so blatantly obvious. Did you at least get her sound number ?

Clyde : You know there's no one else for me but you.

Rachel : Don't chemical compound your sins by lying.

Clyde sighed.

Clyde : Can we just go to bed ? I'm tired.

Rachel : Whatever.

From our hiding piazza in the iniquity we watched and listened.

Rachel : What do you think you're doing ?

Clyde : You're a little scrappy tonight. I like it. Turns me on.

Rachel : Then I suggest you go to the can and jerk off, because you aren't getting anything from me.

Clyde : Why are you acting like this ? Remember…

Rachel : What I remember is catching you with your gumshoe in your secretary. What else would you have me commend ?

Clyde : Rachel, that was a 1 meter thing. I told you that.

Rachel : Yeah, you told me a LOT of things. Now don't fucking spot me again.

Rachel was kicking her horseshoe off. I gave DW the sign. It was time for work.

Clyde : I can't believe you're still pissed about that.

Rachel : Believe what you like. You're still not getting any. Ever again.

As much as I was enjoying this disturbance to their domesticated tranquility, we had oeuvre to do. DW stepped out, pulling his knife as he did with one fluid motion. He planted across Clyde's throat.

Rachel : CLYDE !

Clyde had just decent time to survey the situation and almost nailed it.

Clyde : Don't argue with them, Rachel. Just let them bring whatever they want and they'll go.

DW : Don't you fucking MOVE gripe, or your man loses his screw head.

Rachel : What do you need ?

The quietus filed in behind DW. I chose that moment to make my presence known.

Stan : unspoilt evening, luv. How've you been ?

Rachel : Stan ? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON ?

Clyde : Stan ? What are you doin…ICK !

DW's knife tightened against Clyde's throat.

DW : Shut the screwing up man. Ain't nobody talkin'to you.

Stan : Lookin'proficient Suz. How's things ?

Rachel : What are you DOING here ? You're supposed to be in prison !

Stan : Yeah, I know. I granted myself early release. meter off well earned, considering the bullshit charges against me.

Rachel : What do you want ?

Stan : Well, there's respective answers to that - I said as I produced my own blade.

I waved the knife, telling Rachel to head toward the bedroom.

Stan : take that bit of shit in. Sit him down and progress to darn sure as shooting he sees everything.

I followed Rachel into the bedroom. Once inside, I reached forward, grasping her silk blouse, yanking it exposed. Buttons flew and skittered across the tile level. She wheeled around gear up to come upon, only to find the tip of the sword placed precariously beneath her chin. She gasped.

Stan : Not a good motility. You used to be smarter than that. Must be spending too much time with this fucking moron.

Rachel : Just enjoin me what you want.

Stan : Nah. punter if I show you.

I brought the leaf blade down, slipping it under her bra between her breasts. With a agile flick, the bra split open allowing her titty to ricochet disembarrass. She tried to grab for the knife. With practiced ease I slapped her hand away then shoved her back onto the bed.

Rachel : This is NOT going to occur, SOB ! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE !

Stan : As I recall, I had this business firm built. Paid for it to. Wouldn't that make it MY family ?

Rachel : Whatever. You leave now or your going back to prison !

This elicited a chorus of laughter.

Stan : Already been there bitch. Didn't like it. Now, where was I…

Rachel : NO ! You are NOT going to…

I clamped my hand over her mouth.

Stan : Getting tired of the sound of your phonation, you lying cunt !

I hiked her annulus up, reaching underneath I found the waistband of her scanty. With a quick tug they tore complimentary.

Stan : sustain the bitch occupied for a sec, will you gents ?

8 Ball and gramme seized Rachel by her wrists. Pulling her up on the mattress, Hans C. J. Gram produced a zip tie. Feeding it through the spline in the headboard, he and 8 Ball pulled the tie around her wrists. Giving the tab a quick yank, Rachel was firmly secured.

Meanwhile I busied myself removing my shoes, trouser and short pants. Wading through Rachel's flailing peg as she attempted to kick back me away, I mounted my ex.

Stan : genuine thing I ever said to you is right now. You got this coming to you, you money-clutching woman of the street !

With that, I took my peter in hand, guiding it toward her cunt. Pressing the forefront against the clench hole that was her pussy, I gave a hard thrust. Burying the head of my slam into her hole, Rachel screamed. She cursed me, tiff, tried to seize with teeth me and cursed again.

Stan : Gon na do me work for it, eh ? Why should now be any unlike ?

Thrusting over and over again, I drove my cock into her dry hole. She actually was making me work for it. Just like old times. Pumping harder and harder, after several to a greater extent thrusts I'd buried my manhood balls deep inside of her. Rachel's scream was as much due to the hurting as her rage. I sawed my shaft in and out, cumming quickly. My jizz coating the duration of my dig, I just kept fucking the loose woman. It didn't cause her as a good deal painful sensation, which was dissatisfactory, but the pleasure I was getting more than offset it. I pounded away at her upright cunt, finally cumming one death time.

I guess I knew down deep this was it, the final time I'd get to fuck her. Seeing the hate, awe, anger, affright and rage welling in her optic, I would remember this for the residuum of my life.

Slowly pulling out, the cum trail leading from the tip of my ray to her kitty-cat, I glanced down, taking in the sight.

I slowly rolled off her. I was done.

Pulling my shorts and drawers on, I turned from my seething ex and to the prick who'd set me up.

Stan : root for his pants and underdrawers off.

Clyde : Whu-why ? What did I do ?

I gave my former protégé a aspect.

Stan : Let's not ask stupid questions, ok ?

I left the way and retrieved Clyde's laptop, opening it as I sat by him.

Stan : Ok dipshit. I need file locations, entree computer code and passcodes for all your accounts.

Clyde : WHY ?

Stan : Because I'm going to rob you blind, same as you did to me, dim fuck.

Clyde : Bu-bu-buh-but why ?

Stan : You got 5 seconds to start giving me the info I need, numb nuts. At 6 minute I turn these animals loose on you. If you believe nothing else, believe this : these guys will have you taking it up the ass and sucking turncock. If you would spare yourself…

Clyde : Bu-buh-but I'm not gay !

DW : Neither are we, numskull.

Gram : We just wan na see that look in your eyes.

8-Ball : I know I do.

Clyde gulped. I could see the roulette wheel spinning in his head. Doing the math, he at least come up with one smart decision.

Clyde gave me the file names I needed. fuckhead had left the story and toss codes on half the files. The former half he gave me. After creating a holding chronicle, I moved all the funds from Clyde's story, totaling just over $ 11 million. Once fully compiled, I transferred the stock to the account of Nordic Fleece, a dummy corp. 18 seconds later I got the text on my burner phone.

Nordic Fleece : Alpha

Meaning the store had been received.

58 secondment later I got the 2nd message.

Scandinavian language Fleece : Lambda

The monetary resource had been sent off to their first of 46 address, finally recombined into one single account.

Scandinavian Fleece : Zeta

The funds were now safe and secure. Barry would maintain 10 % for himself, More than enough to recompense him for all his workplace on my behalf.

Stan : Gents, fetch the bitch, if you will ?

Rachel was cut loose and drug toward me.

Stan : Ok Rachel. Your turn.

Rachel : What do you want ?

Her chin was trembling, her lips quivering.

Stan : The admission codes to your write up, passcodes and legal action codes.

Rachel : Why ?

Stan : I'm gon na GET my MONEY !

Rachel : But that's my…

Stan : I'm just going to take half. It's what I would bear gotten in the divorce, if you and dipshit over there hadn't been so greedy.

Rachel : But…

Stan : Rachel, I'm not going to threaten Clyde if you don't move over me what's mine. Based on the conversation you 2 were having when we dropped in, I seriously doubt you give a dickhead what happens to him. And I DO make out how you love your money. So try this on for size ; give me what I want. I will only take half, you keep the rest. You do that, we leave and never, ever difficulty you again. If not ? Well, there's an answer to that too. You sit there in total bitch modal value and I turn these animals loose on you. It 's really crucial that you believe me here. The shit they'll do to you ? It will label you forever. By the meter they're through with you, you'll never, ever be the Same woman again. You really shouldn't doubt me on this.

I could hear Rachel's pant at the thought. Her eyes quickly darted in the direction of my crew, then just as quickly averted.

Stan : I will ONLY postulate half. It's what I'm owed and you fucking know it.

Rachel : Only one-half ?

Stan : Yup.

She chewed her tail lip as she thought about it. Finally she relented, giving me the code I needed.

At the time of the divorcement I'd managed to conglomerate upwards of $ 24 million. As I strolled through her assorted accounts, I saw that she'd managed to go along Clyde away from most of it, just over $ 20 million. I respected her ability to hold open that much from her cocksucking husband.

I made the right transference and waited. I got the text :

Shed window.

Second round of finances received.

A minute twenty-two seconds later I got the succeeding text.

Trees.

The secondly round of golf of funds had been dispatched, bouncing around the electronic bankingverse ( as I called it ) with trillions of dollars from around the earth.

A instant XVII seconds later I got the final text.

book of maps

The second round of stock were now fully laundered and secured.

Barry was, as he had been throughout my captivity, my guy on the outside. Between the 2 of us we likely knew more about laundering monetary resource than any forensic accountant working for the federal official. For his 10 % cut, Barry sent random amounts of the funds careening through the bankingverse, leaving small-scale total of funds here and there, only move them as well. There was no rhyme or commonality among the transfers. Ultimately the funds would end up in accounts in the caiman. I had a phony device driver license, mixer security batting order, recognition cards and passport. Everything I needed to entree my money.

Stan : Well, I guess that's that. $ 31 million dollars to my gens, and I feel SO much better about myself.

Rachel's eyebrow furrowed.

Rachel : $ 31 million ? How do you get…

Then it dawned on her.

Rachel : But you said…

Stan : beef, I just broke into your fucking sign, took you and your dickless hubby hostage, raped you, so yeah, I lied.

I stood as I closed the laptop. I'd run the bath and drop curtain it in the piddle, just as a last means of precaution.

Stan : Oh, and I lied about one other thing as well…

Rachel looked at me in blank disbelief.

Stan : male child, the gripe is all yours. Party time.

Rachel's eye flew open broad. She tried to run, only to be seized by 8-Ball. From his iron grip, there was no outflow.

I occupied myself walking through the home that was once mine. I hadn't appreciated it as a great deal as I did now. prison will do that to you. You learn to appreciate the petty things. As I wandered upstairs I could get word the sound of cruel hands slapping tender anatomy, then Rachel screaming for all she was deserving. From the balcony I could peer through the bay window down into the valley below. This was something special the architect designed for me. I began to actualize how much I would neglect all of this. There were actually some good retentivity here. As I trundled down the opposite step, I poked my head through the bedroom door to see 8-Ball pumping his dick deep into Rachel's ass. She cried out with every knife thrust. Off to the kitchen I went to make me a later night snack, as my appetency had returned. Fucking bitch didn't have the spicey mustard I'd been craving for far too long. With a shrug I made myself a sandwich with the yellow mustard instead. From the bedroom I could hear Rachel crying. Tilting my head to the position, I could see it was Gram working her over now. He'd screw impaled her twat with the foresightful cock I'd ever seen a man bare. With my sandwich done, and not caring a bit about the stinker I left behind, I decided to do some prospecting. I could see Rachel yelping as I stepped back into the bedroom. MC was tugging violently at the dangling diamond earrings Rachel was wearing. If I remembered right, I'd given them to her on our first wedding day of remembrance. The other earring was already gone, as was the necklace she'd been wearing. I didn't recognize it. Maybe dickless gave it to her ? Maybe daddy in celebration of fucking me over ? Didn't know, didn't care. MC's fat fingers were having a intemperate meter manipulating the backing of the earring. Let's be honest, he didn't have a clue how to take away it in the initiatory property. I dug through the press trying to see if I could find anything of value. I was disappointed that all the sex toy dog were gone. I had hoped to make them a surprise for the crew to use. With them gone, I was happy I hadn't said anything. The crowd had already harvested the jewelry box for the sugar inside. Pulling out one draftsman after another in her bathroom storage locker, I spotted something dark way in the dorsum. Reaching for it, I felt a small felt box. Retrieving then opening it, well I'll be damned. It was her wedding set. Specifically the one I'd given her. I peered back to see if anyone had seen what I'd found. All middle were on the bed. Rachel was struggling mightily to fit 8-Ball's cock in her mouth. I smiled. The smiling was due not only to seeing my ex-wife struggle with serious pitch-black cock, but at the tink sound her nuptials set made as they landed in my shirt pocket.

I wandered throughout the house one last prison term. Paranoia was starting to nag at me. I knew I had until noon before the guards should even recognise I was gone. That was still 10 time of day away. But what if I DIDN'T have that much time ? What if my disappearance had been detected ? Obviously Rachel's sign wasn't going to be the first gear blank space the law would look, but they'd get around to it sooner or later. My jaw clenched, then relaxed slightly as I spied MC fucking Rachel. Her stage were draped over his shoulders and he was hammering away. Way to top out at 16 kid. Probably all downhill from here for you. A few minute of arc later I could get word Rachel crying and begging. Looking in, I could see MC tugging at Rachel's wedding set. He backhanded her, wrenched her fingers open and violently pulled the engagement ring first, then twisted and pried the wedding circle off her finger. DW and Gram were already lined up for another round. DW wanted that big stave white ass. Gram wanted a blowjob. As he staggered back, I touched MC on the shoulder and bid him tread out into the den with me.

Stan : squeamish job in there kid. How was it ?

MC : FUCKING GREAT MAN ! SOON AS I GET ME SOME DOWN clip, I'M GOIN'AGAIN !

Stan : cool. consecrate her a good screw for me kid.

He gave me his big, toothy grin.

I then held my hand out.

Suddenly the grin disappeared.

MC : What ?

Stan : You know what. Give it up kid.

MC : I don…

Stan : The wedding set. Give it to me.

Poor MC frowned slightly.

MC : But I just thought…

Stan : A batch's a heap kid. That's the way it goes.

He was basically pouting as he dug into his pants for Rachel's wedding set, slamming them into my hand.

Stan : Hey kid ?

MC : What - he replied still sulking.

Stan : At least you get to hump a fat White person bitch, yeah ?

He smiled.

Ah, to be a simpleton teenager again.

The"muckle"I mentioned was simple. The bunch could have anything and everything in the house they wanted. They could do to Rachel, AND Clyde, whatever the hell they wanted. I wanted 4 things :

To be the first to screw Rachel

Clyde's money

Rachel's money

Rachel's wedding set

Everything else was fair plot and they could occupy and do all they liked.

The plan was we'd leave when they were done, driving back to Motown. From there, I would slide across the border into Canada and strike on from there on my own.

At least, that was the design as far as the crew was concerned.

My actual plan ?

I quietly slipped out of the mansion as Rachel see-sawed back and forth ; DW was plowing his shaft into Rachel's plop ass. Gram was finally getting his blowjob.

taking Clyde's headstone out of my pouch, I opened the garage doorway and unlocked the BMW with the key fob. The German animate being gently roared to life and I backed down the driveway. The gang was obviously officious elsewhere, a intellection that gave me pleasure no end. It also afforded me the opportunity to put aloofness between not only Rachel and Clyde, but the work party as well. If Rachel and Clyde couldn't or weren't able to call the law, the law would eventually picture up on it's own. It might film days, if I was REALLY lucky. prison term equaled distance. Distance equaled safety. Between my fingermark and DNA, there would be little incertitude I'd paid a sojourn to my old house, assuming the gang hadn't left the traumatize couple in shape to give their own score of what had been done to them. I figured it was even money if Rachel and Clyde would be left alive. Meanwhile I had an designation. I'd tossed the burner phone I'd previously been using, and pulling the new one out instead. I made one quick text before disposing of the new burner phone :

Falcon 18

Falcon was code for I'm on the way.

18 meant I was 18 minutes away.

Owl would induce meant I may or may not deliver a tail.

Turkey means I was busted and my inter-group communication should bail.

Quickly.

I pulled up to the railway overpass. My contact was there already. My guy was the first cousin of an con I'd served time with. I purposely broke contact with Barry. An effective escape requires much the same skill set as laundering money. You want to produce as many of what I call firebreaks as possible. firebreak is defined as a wall, a pointedness or office in time wherein anyone chasing the money, or me in this case, hits a suddenly end. The money, or the escapee, changes the direction of the flow in a totally unrelated centering. When laundering money, you put the money in a number account, transmit it to another amount account, then another. Any forensic accountant not possessing the numbered account would have no mean to track the money. Each of these transfers are firebreak. In my grammatical case, if Barry were somehow compromised, any tangency he had with me was severed when I left the theater. I knew Barry would never give me up and the move was strictly precautionary in nature. If he somehow WERE compromised, all he would be able-bodied to severalise the cops was I was at the house and that was all he knew.

I tossed my guy the keys to the BMW, which would be stripped and boxed before the law would even get to the house at all.

I had everything I needed on me.

And suddenly here I was. The train brakes startled me, waking me from my computer storage soaked dream. Barry had given me the localisation and meter for the train I needed. It was virtually non-stop, aside from one nimble stop in Dothan, AL. With that stop now completed, the finally burner phone Barry had provided me showed the train was soon to arrive in mobile .