Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
I could support her if I’d gone to Yale. But the way things are right now, I can barely support myself.
Dad’s prenup was ironclad. Even though he was the one who initiated the divorce, Mom got next to nothing. Her lawyer managed to get her enough maintenance to cover the rent for a one-bedroom apartment downtown. But it’s not nearly enough for her.
I answer. “Hey, Mom.”
“M-Maddox.”
Something is off about her voice. And not in the normal, drunk-at-ten-in-the-morning way. There’s a listlessness, a resignation to it.
“Mom, is something wrong?”
“I’m afraid I have some…bad news.”
“Oh, God. What is it?”
Fuck. I bet she’s sick. Or injured. And she needs money. Money I don’t have.
“It’s… It’s your father.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What? What about him?”
There’s no way he needs money. He blew a lot on legal fees, first when he was defending himself against the myriad women who claimed he sexually harassed them, and then the divorce. But he still has plenty of dough to his name.
“Your father… He’s dead, Maddox.”
What? What?
I drop the phone. It lands face down, of fucking course.
I pick it up. The screen is shattered.
Great. I’ll have to take it to a repair shop now. Another damned expense.
I bring it back to my ear.
“Did you hear me, Maddox?”
“Yeah, I heard you. I dropped the phone.”
“Honey… I understand you had a complicated relationship with him…”
“Mom, he fucking disowned me.”
“He gave you the shop.”
“Yeah, and he’s been sucking me dry from the moment he did.”
“Maddox. Your father is dead. You know there wasn’t much love lost between us at the end, but you should allow yourself to grieve him. To mourn him.”
“What do I have to fucking mourn, Mom? He wrote me off and then trashed the entire city of Chicago.”
The fucking HOUSE bill. I still have no idea what the old bastard was thinking when he signed that idiotic piece of legislation.
The so-called Hathaway Overhaul for Urban Safety and Equity bill.
It was sold to the city council as an effort to redevelop the older neighborhoods in the city to improve safety and crack down on criminal enterprises, but it backfired completely.
Most of the bill had absolutely nothing to do with housing. The legislation introduced new regulations that nightlife spots would have to meet to renew their business licenses. Dad somehow got it into his head that these businesses were fronts for organized crime, and they were forced to implement added surveillance and submit financial disclosures quarterly. This led to mass shutdowns of independently owned bars and entertainment venues that struggled to meet the conditions of the law, leading to countless job losses.
The legislation also included anti-corruption whistleblowing incentives including cash rewards for any reports of illegal activity in any bars or nightclubs, no questions asked. Of course, this led to a lot of people who owned these businesses calling in with phony claims about their competition. They’d snag the tidy little cash award and watch with grinning eyes as the police raided the bar across the street from them. Those bars would then return the favor, and investigators were overwhelmed within a week.
So many legitimate small businesses had to shut down. The only businesses that could afford to fulfill all the requirements to keep their doors open were the big ones, and a lot of decent working-class folks lost their jobs. Dominos started toppling, and evictions and homelessness in the city skyrocketed.
Yeah. The HOUSE bill led to a lot of people being unhoused.
Dad paid for it dearly. His approval ratings took a nosedive, and he lost his bid for reelection in a landslide. Then came the accusations of sexual harassment, and the divorce sealed his fall from grace.
And now he’s dead.
“How did it happen, Mom?”
“According to the coroner, a heart attack. Likely induced by stress.”
“Makes sense.”
“But Maddox… I can’t help wondering if there’s something more to this.”
“Why?”
“Your father… He made a lot of enemies, especially that last year in office. But even before that, when he was successful, there were still people who wanted him dead.”
“Sure, but you could say that about any elected official.”
“But your father was in good shape for a man in his fifties. He didn’t smoke, and he rarely drank. He ate well. But the coroner insists it was his heart.”
“Who did the autopsy?”
“Bill Lassard. The head coroner. You’ve met him.”
“Bill’s a good guy, Mom. He was a close ally to Dad. One of the few people who stuck with him to the bitter end.” I rub at my forehead. “Literally.”
“I don’t know. Something just isn’t sitting right with me about this.”
I rake my fingers through my hair. I have to ask the obvious. “Have you been drinking?”
She scoffs. “What does that have to do with anything?”
And I have my answer.
These are the ramblings of a bitter and drunk ex-wife. A woman who hasn’t been in the right mind since the day her husband screwed her over.