Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 59287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“I’ll be there in an hour,” I said. “See you soon.”
“See you soon.”
I ended the call, feeling the sudden urge to wreck everything all around me.
I looked over at the parking lot and saw two perfect options.
Without thinking for another second, I stepped out of my car and opened my trunk.
Uniforms from all the part-time jobs I’d worked over the years stared back at me, along with a gleaming crowbar.
Before I could give it a second thought, I grabbed a black hoodie and pulled it over my head.
A round of thunder roared right above my head, and a streak of lightning danced across the night sky.
I assumed it was a warning from the universe, an omen to back away and “move on,” but…it was too late.
I grabbed the crowbar and slammed the trunk shut. Making sure my hoodie was drawn as tightly as possible, I moved behind a bush and waited until the street was quiet and clear.
Keeping my head down, I walked right over to the McLaren. I stared at it for several seconds while my heart raced and my hands trembled.
The thunder served me a heavier warning, but I heard a louder voice in my head.
“You’re the reason for your problems today, Miss Spencer…”
“No, you are, asshole…” I raised the bar as high as I could before slamming it into the driver’s side window.
The glass broke, but it didn’t shatter, so I hit it again and again.
It finally gave way—sending thousands of shards to the asphalt, so I moved to the next. And the next.
I considered giving the windshield mercy, but Judge Ashton didn’t give me any, so I attacked it, too.
And since he seemed like the type who liked symmetry, I attacked his rear window until it shattered, too.
Suddenly, sheets of rain fell from the clouds and the thunder struck up an unrelenting symphony.
If the sky’s percussion was trying to send me a final message, I refused to listen.
I moved in front of the Ferrari—dragging the edge of the crowbar against its hood and leaving a deep scratch. I knocked off the left side mirror and gifted its windows the same “Fuck You” treatment.
I was out of breath by the time the last one shattered, and I didn’t want to risk using any more time to admire my work. Besides, I was certain it wouldn’t be long before the valet returned to park another car.
Soaking wet, I ran back to my car and immediately pulled onto the street.
I sped away from the scene of the crime, waiting to feel a twinge of guilt or a single shred of shame, but those feelings didn’t come at all.
I felt better.
So much better.
RECKLESS (ADJ.):
IN BOTH NEGLIGENCE AND CRIMINAL CASES, CARELESS TO THE POINT OF BEING HEEDLESS OF THE CONSEQUENCES.
LIAM
“There’s no precedent for this, and no amount of foreshadowing could’ve ever prepared me for this story…”
Iplaced a digital bookmark in my fifteenth long-form article by “Olivia S.” Much to my regret, I’d followed up on her threat about being an investigative reporter and discovered she wasn’t lying.
She’d penned a novel’s worth of articles for The Wall Street Journal, and each one was more biting and intensely written than the one published before it.
Yet, for some odd reason, she wasn’t listed as a former staffer on the website. No picture of her appeared next to her work, and every article came with a “Warning: This article was formerly published under journalist standards that we have now changed.”
Hmmm…
Alas, if this woman had put as much care into her driving as her writing, she’d be the poster child for a safe driver.
I vowed to stop reading her words after three more articles, and then try again to pretend like she never existed.
Shaking away the thought of her, I opened my windows to check the weather.
Clouds clogged the sky, allowing the sun to peek through the gaps.
So, it’s going to be a decent and easy day in court.
I grabbed my briefcase, texted Mara that I was on my way, and took the elevator down to the lobby.
“Good morning, Mr. Ashton.” The bellman tipped his hat at me.
Seconds later, my favorite valet pulled up in an Audi and motioned for me to get behind the wheel.
“This isn’t my car, Chris.”
“I know, sir.” He looked away from me. “Would you like to drive the building’s complimentary house vehicle today?”
“No,” I said. “I would like to drive one of my cars, like I do every day. Bring me the Ferrari.”
“You have an Audi R8 in a detail shop across town, correct?” he asked. “Allow me to call and see if they’re finished with that one.”
“I said, Bring me the Ferrari.” I assumed he was having a busy morning. “I can take the McLaren if you parked it closer.”
“No, it’s um…” He ran a hand through his hair. “Both of those cars are unavailable right now.”