And, technically,nota lie.
But ever since then, I realized it could be a helpful hiding spot and have kept it. Sometimes, I come across interesting items I need to put somewhere for safekeeping, but I don’t want them in my home, or stored anywhere that could legally be tied to me.
Like several valid transporter license plates one of my clients gave me in lieu of partial payment. He keeps the registration stickers on them up to date and gives them to me, and I don’t give the cops or the media the video and pictures I have of him fucking a seventeen-year-old male hooker.
Did I mention he’s a high school principal?
And married, with three kids.
To ajudge’sdaughter.
Yeah, life wouldn’t go well for him if that got out.
But his brother owns an auto auction and transport business. If I ever need to drop one of the plates, I tell the guy, he’ll tell his brother, and it’ll eventually be reported as lost/stolen in a different part of the state.
I kept his brother out of jail, too, after he was caught fucking a seventeen-year-old girl. It behooves them to protect me, because I told them if I’m ever sent to jail because they fucked me over, they can expect to be putunderthe damn jail.
No, of course George knows nothing about this, any of it.
You ever heard of those trade-up stories, like the guy who started with a red paperclip and ended up with a house? This storage unit is sort of the culmination of my life’s version of that, only my end goal is the death of Junior.
Everything I’ve done over the years has been while keeping in mind my mission to get this fuck.
Could I have simply gone over to Junior’s house, walked up to him, shot him, and fabricated some self-defense story? Claim he tried to rape me?
Yeah, but honestly? I don’t want that kind of notoriety.
I don’t want my name tied with this at all.
In fact, I don’t want it to look like a damn murder.
The funny thing is, I know this’ll work, because of my girl. But I can’t take any risks in the process, which is why it’s moved along so excruciatingly slow. I didn’t know when I started planning what method I’d use. That evolved later. But I knew I had to get close to him in a way that would seem natural to keep quiet for not just my reasons, but for his.
Financial reasons that would make it imperative for him not to let it get out.
While I know waiting until after the general election might be a smarter decision in some ways, once the election’s over, that organically kills off part of my natural cover, of schmoozing Junior during campaign events in an attempt to coax donations from him.
I schmooze alotof people. I can provide at least twenty guys who will say I flirted with them exactly the way I’ve been flirting with Junior, so it’s not like it appears I targeted him specifically.
My original plan, years ago, would have culminated with Declan and I alibiing each other, if forced to provide one. My backup plan involved Ellen being my alibi. Except in the back of my mind, I always kept this avenue open as a possibility.
But Ellen’s not here anymore, and Declan’s too valuable to risk him having any knowledge of my actions.
The girls won’t face any blowback, because I sort of lied to them. I didn’t give them a name, though.
After pulling on a pair of blue nitrile gloves, I unlock my storage unit, find the license plate I want, and tuck it into my purse, along with another of the burner phones. I can charge it in my car if I need to. Literally nothing in this unit has my fingerprints on it, including the lock. I don’t even touch the lock until I’ve pulled gloves on, and they stay on until it’s locked again. Yes, this storage facility has cameras, but they’re not looking for me. My disguise is one more precaution I’ll hopefully never need again.
With that done, I return to the law office, remove my disguise, and leave, locking up and turning on the alarm behind me. I take a roundabout route home, stopping on the north side of Nashville to check the burner phone.
Before you even ask, yes, I deactivated the GPS in my car before all of this. I’m not traceable.
Which is another reason I want to use Ashleigh’s car tonight—because it’s an older model and doesn’t have GPS built in.
Junior has sent me another text.
Good morning, Cutie Pie. ;)
I literally gag and manage not to throw up.
