From Prison Cell To Billionaire's Target

Dorothea Fowler's face, washing aw

in like a layer of ice. She stood outside the towering iron gates of the Hendrix estate

e intercom button for the tenth time. Her finger w

iolently shaking. "Please. You hav

tiff, emotionless voice of Mr. Beach, the estate

Hendrix does not

reamed at the metal box, her throat bur

ellow light spilled

massive stone mansion, a heavy curtain was pulled back. A

fr

could feel the absolute zero of his stare. He wasn't looking at a woman he had kno

rs wrapping around the iron bars of the

aised his free hand and made a brief, dismissi

rcom buz

eturned, slower this time, "if you want

ng. Her lungs ached. She

night. If you are still there when the sun c

e freezing rain. It was a bucket of ic

He wanted her to stand in the mud like a criminal in the sto

gravel, the sharp stones tearing

wly slid shut. The yellow light vanished. Al

wn palms until the skin broke. The

uld do it. For Emery. And for the secret, pathetic love

gripped the iron bars, locking her elbows, a

ong Island Sound. It whipped her wet

ghts washed over her pale, shivering body. The guard inside didn

tant chime of a clock tower signaled

, flashing warm memories behind her eyelids. Sitting in a s

y the news broadcast. Emery's lifeless body

, and she doubled over, coughing until she tasted copper in the back

tte of the Hendrix mansion. It sat there li

e rain mixing with the

do, she thought, her body s