Chapter 86: Getting Rich Together?
"Of course not," said Dekner. "She's a co-applicant for the compensation claim. She must be present. No Monica, no money. What? Got a problem taking her to sign the documents?"
"I haven't seen her in years," Frank replied.
"That's not good," Dekner said, raising an eyebrow. "If I remember correctly, she's a top-tier piece of work—practically the fighter jet of all gold-diggers. You two are a great match. You know where she is?"
"Uh…"
"Well, I've warned you. If she doesn't go with you, you won't see a dime," Dekner said bluntly.
"Yeah, I get it," Frank nodded.
"I've got other matters to attend to. We'll talk later," Dekner added as her alarm suddenly went off.
Frank left Dekner's office with a copy of the claim paperwork in hand, his brow furrowed in deep thought.
He wasn't thinking about the compensation. He was thinking about Monica.
That name—Monica—felt both familiar and foreign to him.
Monica was Frank's wife. The reason Frank—once a promising student about to graduate from Northwestern—had fallen to rock bottom and become a despised, washed-up scumbag… was all because of her.
Just like Dekner said, Monica was the epitome of a manipulative, selfish woman. Even Frank had to admit that.
And yet, Monica was Frank's true love. He loved her deeply—so deeply that whenever he even thought of her name, a flood of overwhelming emotions would surge through him. Emotions that weren't his—they were Frank's.
But he wasn't Frank. He had no feelings for Monica. In fact, he was repulsed by her.
Fiona and the other five children—Monica gave birth to all of them.
But she never once acted like a mother. In fact, she was even worse than Frank.
No matter how much of a deadbeat Frank was, at least he never left.
Monica, on the other hand, abandoned her children shortly after giving birth to Liam. She disappeared barely a month later without so much as a word.
And this wasn't the first time. Monica had a habit of vanishing—usually off with some random guy. Her idea of a getaway was leaving everything behind, without a second thought about Frank or the kids. Sometimes she'd be gone for months. Other times, years.
To Monica, the children were nothing more than toys—something to play with when she felt like it, and discard the moment she didn't.
The last time she disappeared was after giving birth to Liam. It had been almost two years now.
And in those two years, she never once came back. Not even a phone call. Not even a postcard. Who does that? What kind of mother could be that cold?
Someone who didn't know better might even assume Monica was dead.
But Frank knew she was alive. He had her phone number—he could contact her any time.
And yet… he never did. Not once in two years.
Frank could feel Frank's conflicting emotions: a mixture of fear, longing, and revulsion toward Monica. A part of him wanted to see her, another part wanted to run far away. The inner turmoil was so intense it left him emotionally off balance—like a man suffering from a hormonal crash.
But no matter how Frank felt, Frank himself had no affection left for Monica. He never wanted to see that woman again.
Looking at the copy of the claim file in his hand, Frank knew that if he went through with it and gave Dekner his share, he could still walk away with several thousand dollars.
But to get that money, he'd need to sign with Monica.
As he stared at the paperwork and the compensation figure, he felt a dangerous temptation. A growing urge to find Monica, sign the papers, and split the money.
But he shook his head. He didn't want to see Monica. It wasn't just his own disgust for her—it was the uncontrollable reaction Frank had toward just hearing her name.
If he actually saw her face-to-face, who knew what would happen?
With a bitter sigh, Frank fought the temptation and tore up the paperwork. He'd rather forgo the money than face Monica again.
"Phew..." He let out a long breath as he ripped the papers into pieces, immediately feeling a strange sense of relief.
"No more thinking about it. Time to go home."
Frank returned home. As he opened his laptop, a notification popped up—he had a new email. It was from Walter.
Curious, Frank opened it, wondering what Walter had to say. As he read through the contents, his brow furrowed again.
Walter was asking about drugs—how to buy and sell them, how much they were worth on the market, and so on.
Frank's first thought was that Walter had become an addict.
But then he reconsidered. If Walter were a junkie, he wouldn't need to ask him—someone living across the country. He'd go to a local dealer.
Drugs, after all, are priced by region. Walter was in New Mexico. If he wanted to buy, he'd ask around locally.
But the way the email was worded… it didn't feel like someone looking to buy drugs.
It felt more like… market research. Like someone gearing up to sell.
"Wait… sell drugs?" Frank murmured, rubbing his chin.
If he recalled correctly, Walter had majored in chemistry.
And when it came to chemistry—well, those who know, know. Not all drugs are organic like marijuana. Most, like meth and heroin, are synthetic.
In theory, anyone who understands chemistry could cook drugs.
"But Walter? No way…" Frank muttered.
In Frank's memories, Walter was a goody-two-shoes. A rule follower. The last person you'd expect to commit a crime.
Still, Frank replied with a short email, answering Walter's questions briefly.
The response came back almost instantly, as if Walter had been waiting at the computer.
Frank read it. And his frown deepened.
The email was worded vaguely, but the implications were clear: Walter wanted to partner up with him. Start a drug business. Get rich together?
The message was cautious, but Frank wasn't sure if he was reading too much into it.
Either way, after paying off his credit card debts, Frank had already sworn off that world. He had no interest in going back.
He replied politely, declining Walter's "generous" offer.
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[What will you do, if you were in Frank's place.]