Page 123 of Most Eligible Billionaire

They get Esme being sorry. They get actual lab shots of the shirt testing. It’s like one of those hidden treasure shows or something.

The Woodruffs got a mayo-spattered shirt, as it turns out. You can never trust a drug addict.

The news feature crew does a Denny ambush at a black-tie gala—they actually hold everything under wraps just to surprise him at the gala. They make him repeat the lie about how Vonda must have fixated on him, and how he doesn’t blame her for the lies.

They run the footage on a phone for him. They get it on camera, him watching himself standing behind his dad in the sad O’Neil living room all those years ago, paying Vicky’s mother for the shirt.

He calls it fake news and storms out of there, lawyering up soon after.

There’s a simultaneous confrontation with the Woodruffs on their doorstep that night—the same doorstep they stood in when they announced they forgave Vonda and that they’d drop the charges.

There’s nothing the public loves better than liars getting caught on camera.

Marv and the I-team make it onto a sixty-minute news show, with the new material spliced up with old Vonda footage.

The statute of limitations has run out on Denny’s crime as well as the cover-up, but there’s no statute of limitations in the hearts of the public.

The story rips like wildfire through social media. Denny’s friends and client base dry up overnight. The Woodruffs are ostracized by all but the hugest assholes.

Who knows, maybe they’ll try to sue Esme O’Neil. But she’s in rehab. It’s more than she deserves.

She turned on her own child. A beautiful, honest girl who deserved love. Still does.

She has it—from me. My love for her bounces uselessly off the moon.

Thirty-Two

Eleven months later ~ New York City

Henry

I’m havingdrinks with Smitty, an old college friend, and Theo Drummond, a chemist who might do some work with the Locke Charitable Foundation.

We’re at one of the posh bars that cater to the Wall Street large-assets crowd.

The place is filling up. People come up to us now and then to say a quick hello. Locke is stronger than ever. Everybody wants in.

Small consolation.

Smitty has his eye on three women across the way. “Should we ask those three to sit with us?”

“Not me,” I say. My heart’s not in it. Hasn’t been for a while.

“Theo?” Smitty tries.

Theo shakes his head. “You’re on your own.”

“I can’t fuck all three,” Smitty says. “Well, actually I could…”

Theo groans.

I point my finger into my empty glass, lit from the bottom from the glowing bar. The bartender comes over and pours the scotch.

Smitty turns back to me. “Come on, Henry, when was the last time you had any?”

“A minute ago, and it tasted utterly amazing,” I say.

“You know what I mean,” Smitty says.

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