Hank and Constance stepped into the brightly lit office, the scent of new car leather and polished metal filling the air. They were immediately greeted by a woman with a warm, welcoming smile. "Miss Hanigan, Mr. Avery," she said, her voice bright and professional. "Missy called and told me about you. Please, come with me." Hank smiled, a sense of quiet satisfaction settling within him. It was precisely the kind of reception he appreciated: prompt, efficient, and devoid of unnecessary formalities. "I'm Jill," the woman introduced herself, extending a hand to each of them. "And Missy told me you had your eye on a Gladiator Rubicon?" Hank nodded, his gaze already drawn to the sleek, rugged vehicles displayed on the showroom floor. "In Mojito Green," he added, his voice laced with anticipation. Jill's smile widened. "We have one of those," she replied, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "It came in just a few days ago."
Constance, ever the astute businesswoman, cut to the chase. "And how are your commissions?" she asked, her tone direct yet polite. Jill's smile remained unwavering. "We don't work on commissions here," she explained, her voice clear and confident. "Strictly hourly pay. We do get an end-of-year bonus based on the number of cars we sell." She paused, her gaze meeting Hank's. "Missy told me it was important to you," she added, her voice laced with a hint of understanding. Hank nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Very well," he replied, his voice calm and decisive. "Let me see the car, please." Jill's smile bloomed, a genuine expression of satisfaction. She led them through the showroom, her footsteps light and efficient, towards the gleaming Jeep Gladiator Rubicon.
The vehicle stood like a vibrant, rugged jewel, its Mojito Green paint shimmering under the showroom lights. Hank circled it slowly, his eyes tracing the clean lines and powerful curves, his fingers itching to touch the textured steel. Constance watched him, a knowing smile playing on her lips, recognizing the spark of excitement in his eyes. Jill, sensing their interest, retrieved the keys, her movements swift and professional. "Let's take it for a test drive," she suggested, her voice filled with enthusiasm. Hank slid into the driver's seat, the leather cool and smooth beneath him. Constance settled into the passenger seat, her expression a mixture of amusement and anticipation. Jill climbed into the back, her posture relaxed and confident.
Hank eased the Jeep out of the dealership lot, the powerful engine purring like a contented beast. The steering was phenomenal, responsive and precise, the car handling the road with effortless grace. The interior was spacious and comfortable, a luxurious haven from the outside world. Hank felt a surge of pure, unadulterated pleasure, a sense that this was as good as it could possibly get. His mind raced with possibilities, already envisioning the hundreds of aftermarket upgrades he could add, customizing the Jeep to his exact specifications.
As they pulled back into the dealership lot, Hank stopped in front of the office, the engine idling smoothly. "So, what do you think?" Jill asked, her voice laced with anticipation. Hank smiled, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "I'm buying this car," he declared, his voice filled with conviction. Constance smiled, a hint of playful amusement in her eyes. "And what else?" she asked, her voice laced with gentle teasing. Hank chuckled, his gaze lingering on Jill. "Well, I already hired Missy, and I think Jill is happy here, so nothing else," he replied, his voice laced with amusement.
Constance laughed, a rich, melodic sound. "For a second, I thought maybe you would propose to Jill too," she joked, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Jill blushed, a delicate flush creeping up her neck, and Hank chuckled, shaking his head. "I would," he replied, his voice laced with playful sincerity, "but she's married." Constance's eyebrows rose, her expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "How can you possibly know that?" she asked, her gaze fixed on Jill. Hank looked at Jill, his eyes scanning her hands. "She may not be wearing her ring," he explained, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. "A sales tactic, I'm sure. But I can see where it normally sits." He gestured towards her finger, where a faint, pale line marked the absence of a ring.
Jill ran a finger over the mark, her expression a mixture of surprise and admiration. "You're very observant," she commented, her voice laced with a hint of awe. Hank smiled, a quiet, knowing smile. "Just notice little things," he replied, his voice nonchalant. Jill smiled and nodded, her eyes sparkling with respect.
---
A little over an hour later, Hank pulled up in front of Hanigan Investments, the vibrant Mojito Green of his brand-new Jeep Gladiator Rubicon gleaming under the late afternoon sun. He parked with a practiced ease, the powerful engine purring softly as he switched it off. A wide, satisfied smile stretched across his face, a testament to the pure, unadulterated joy of owning his dream car. It was incredible how swiftly paperwork could be processed when a vehicle was paid for in full, right off the bat. Jill’s boss had even made a point to congratulate her, informing her that she was now on track for a significantly higher bonus. Apparently, a full cash purchase was a rare occurrence, a feat that garnered attention and rewarded initiative.
Constance parked her own sleek sedan behind Hank’s Jeep, her smile mirroring his as she stepped out of the car. "How does it drive?" she asked, her voice laced with playful curiosity. Hank leaned in, capturing her lips in a brief, affectionate kiss. "Like a dream," he replied, his voice husky with satisfaction. She chuckled, a warm, melodic sound, and they both turned towards the building, the imposing glass and steel structure of Hanigan Investments looming before them.
As they approached the entrance, the security officers stationed at the front desk peered out the window, their eyes widening at the sight of the gleaming Jeep. "That is a beautiful car, sir," one of the officers commented, his voice filled with genuine admiration. Hank smiled, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Thank you," he replied. "Now, I'd appreciate it if you could park it in the parking garage for me. But, not a scratch." He handed the keys to the young man, who looked at them with a mixture of awe and apprehension. "Sir, are you sure?" he asked, his voice laced with disbelief. Hank chuckled, pulling out his cellphone and displaying the Jeep app. "GPS," he explained, his voice laced with playful warning. "I'll know if you go joyriding." The young man smiled, his expression reassuring. "Don't worry, sir," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity. "I'll drive her directly to the garage."
Constance laughed, a rich, amused sound. She handed her own car keys to Kamilla, the young woman with a bright, intelligent gaze. "Can you put my car in the garage, please?" she asked. Kamilla nodded, her eyes lingering on Hank for a moment. He walked over to her, capturing her lips in a quick, passionate kiss, right in front of her three startled coworkers. "You get to ride in it tomorrow," he whispered, his voice laced with a playful promise. Kamilla's smile bloomed, a mixture of surprise and delight, and before her coworkers could bombard her with questions, she hurried out to Constance's car and drove off towards the garage.
Hank chuckled, noticing the bewildered expression on Kamilla’s boss’s face. "What?" he asked, his voice laced with mock innocence. The officer, his gaze shifting between Hank and Constance, hesitated, his words trailing off. "I was under the assumption that…" he began, but stopped himself, his expression a mixture of confusion and unspoken curiosity. Constance laughed, a knowing, amused sound. "Don't worry about it," she reassured him, her voice laced with playful sarcasm. "You'll learn soon enough that Hank here has… more than just me. There are, in fact, seven girls with Hank right now, and they will all live here." She gestured towards the building, her tone light and dismissive, as if discussing the weather. Then, she and Hank turned towards the elevator, their footsteps echoing in the quiet lobby, leaving the security officers to exchange bewildered glances.
A hushed conversation broke out among the security team, their voices laced with a mixture of gossip and unspoken warnings. "Don't mess with Kamilla," one of them whispered, his voice low and urgent. "The boss was her guy."
---
On the sixth floor, in the sleek, modern office, Missy sat perched on the edge of a chair, her posture rigid with nervous anticipation. She had been waiting for almost an hour, the minutes stretching into an eternity, each tick of the clock amplifying her anxiety. Gloria, Hank's efficient and personable secretary, had offered her a soda and kept her company, attempting to ease her apprehension with friendly conversation. "How is Mr. Avery to work for?" Missy had asked, her voice laced with a hint of cautious curiosity. Gloria's smile had been warm and reassuring. "He's a very considerate boss," she had replied, her voice filled with genuine admiration. "He'll always take care of you if you work hard and are on time. The old boss we had… he would pressure the girls here to have sex with him." A shudder had run through Missy at the thought. "And Mr. Avery?" she had asked, her voice barely a whisper. Gloria had shaken her head, her expression resolute. "He won't ask for any of that," she had assured her. "But we all know he's with the boss, Miss Hanigan, and there are other girls too." A sigh had escaped her lips, a hint of wistful longing in her voice. It was clear to Missy that Gloria harbored a secret, unspoken desire to be one of those girls.
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Missy had to admit, Mr. Avery was quite a man. Charming, confident, and radiating an aura of quiet power. He had stood up to her former boss, Mr. Vikas, a man known for his bullying tactics and inflated ego. He had even been so generous as to advocate for her, insisting she receive the full commission, a gesture that spoke volumes about his character. A soft smile played on her lips as she recalled the interaction. "Yeah, he is something," she thought, her cheeks flushing slightly. Even her friend Jill, usually composed and professional, had detected a hint of admiration in her voice when Missy had called to inform her that Hank and Constance were on their way to the dealership.
The elevator doors slid open, and Hank stepped out, followed by Constance Hanigan. Missy's heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat. "This is it," she thought, her nerves tingling with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. She stood up, her movements slightly unsteady, as Hank entered the office. He walked towards her, extending his hand in a warm, welcoming gesture. Missy almost refused to let go, her fingers lingering in his grasp for a moment longer than necessary. "Mr. Avery," she began, her voice barely a whisper, thick with gratitude. "Thank you for giving me this opportunity." Hank smiled, a warm, reassuring smile that reached his eyes. He settled into the chair behind his desk, his movements fluid and confident. Constance took a seat next to Missy, her expression warm and encouraging. "So, he fired you?" she asked, her voice laced with gentle sympathy. Missy nodded, her expression grim. "Well, that's the last time me or my friends will buy from his dealership," she declared, her voice laced with a hint of defiance. Hank nodded, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "By the way," Constance added, her voice laced with gratitude. "Thank you for calling Jill and letting her know we were coming." Missy smiled, her expression softening. "Did she get the car you wanted?" she asked, her curiosity piqued. Hank smiled, a broad, satisfied smile. "Oh yeah, she did," he replied, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "It's perfect."
Missy's smile widened, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "So, want a job?" Constance asked, her tone casual, as if offering a cup of coffee. Missy nodded, her voice barely audible. "If it's possible," she whispered. "You did offer." Hank smiled, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I did," he confirmed. Constance nodded, her expression thoughtful. "So, Gloria is Mr. Avery's secretary," she explained, gesturing towards Gloria, who sat at her desk, working diligently. "And on Monday, I have a secretary named Doria. But they'll need an assistant." Missy looked at her, her eyes widening slightly. "You want me to be that assistant?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief. Constance nodded, her expression warm and encouraging. "Say eighty thousand a year?" she offered, her voice casual. Missy gasped, her eyes widening in shock. She had been earning fifty thousand a year at the dealership, and even with the meager five percent commission, she had barely scraped by. She nodded, her voice trembling slightly. "Good," Constance said, her voice firm and decisive. "Monday morning, go out and talk to Gloria. She'll set you up with a desk and tell you what time we start here."
Missy smiled, her eyes shining with gratitude. She stood up, her movements filled with a newfound confidence. "Yes, and thank you," she said, her voice filled with sincerity. Hank and Constance smiled back, their expressions warm and welcoming. "See you on Monday," Hank said, his voice laced with a hint of anticipation. Missy nodded and hurried out of the office, eager to begin her new chapter. Constance turned to Hank, a playful glint in her eyes. "Make that four girls in the office," she said, gesturing towards the door through which Missy had just exited. She looked up and saw Lisa Yu walking out of the elevator, a box of her belongings in her arms. Her gaze was fixed on Hank, her eyes lingering on his figure through the glass of the office window. Constance chuckled, a low, amused sound. "Five," she corrected.
---
Maerisa stood across the street from the imposing courthouse, its stone facade a stark reminder of the somber proceedings within. The late session was in full swing, and Alex Thrist, the man who had haunted Pernille’s, Courtney’s, and many other’s nightmares, was about to face the judge. A grim satisfaction settled over Maerisa as she watched the building, her lips curving into a subtle, almost predatory smile. She raised a hand, her fingers tracing intricate patterns in the air, and whispered an incantation, the ancient words resonating with a subtle, otherworldly power. A soft, purple smoke, shimmering with an ethereal glow, emanated from her fingertips, coalescing into a swirling, ethereal kiss. She blew it towards the courthouse, the smoke drifting across the street, an unseen force targeting Alex Thrist. The incantation, a subtle manipulation of reality, was designed to amplify Alex's innate desire for honesty, to compel him to speak the unvarnished truth, no matter how damning.
Inside the courtroom, the air crackled with tension, the weight of the proceedings pressing down on everyone present. "All rise," the bailiff's voice boomed, cutting through the hushed silence. "This court is now in session. The people versus Alex Thrist." The room sprang to its feet, a sea of somber faces turning towards the entrance. The judge, a woman with a stern, no-nonsense demeanor, entered the courtroom, her gaze sweeping across the room. "Be seated," she commanded, her voice firm and authoritative. Her eyes, sharp and piercing, locked onto Alex Thrist, her expression hardening. "According to my papers here," she began, her voice laced with disgust, "this man has admitted to all charges. He even led the police to the burial sites of two young girls. And he was apprehended while attempting to rape another young woman, who bravely fought him off."
"YEAH!" Alex yelled, his voice a raw, guttural sound that echoed through the courtroom. His eyes, devoid of remorse, gleamed with a disturbing intensity. "And how does the defendant plead?" the judge asked, her voice laced with a mixture of disgust and morbid curiosity. "Guilty, your honor," Alex replied, his voice almost gleeful. "I did it. I love the girls. I will always love the girls. The younger, the better." The words hung in the air, a chilling testament to his depravity. The judge shook her head, her expression a mixture of revulsion and weary resignation. "I would advise you to let your court-appointed lawyer speak for you," she said, her voice laced with a warning. Alex simply nodded, his eyes fixed on the judge with a disturbing intensity.
"Prosecution?" the judge asked, her gaze shifting towards the prosecutor's table. "Your honor," the prosecutor began, his voice firm and resolute. "We are asking for life in prison, a minimum of two hundred years. The murders of the two young girls, both of whom were pregnant, constitute quadruple homicide." Alex smirked, a cruel, twisted expression that sent a shiver down the spines of those present. "The bitches got pregnant," he sneered. "Not my fault." The judge's eyes narrowed, her expression hardening. "Mr. Thrist," she warned, her voice laced with a dangerous calm. "I would advise you again to be quiet in my courtroom, and let your lawyer do the talking." Alex remained silent, his eyes fixed on the judge with a disturbing, almost predatory gaze.
"Was a DNA test conducted?" the judge asked, her gaze shifting towards the prosecutor. The prosecutor picked up a document, his expression grim. "Yes, your honor," he replied. "The test confirms that Alex Thrist is the father of the unborn children." Alex screamed, a raw, animalistic sound that echoed through the courtroom. "It's not my fault!" he yelled, his voice filled with a twisted sense of self-justification. "They should have stopped me! I was just enjoying them!" The judge slammed her gavel down repeatedly, the sharp, resounding blows cutting through the chaos. "Order!" she commanded, her voice ringing with authority. "I will have order!" She fixed Alex with a stern, unwavering gaze. "Mr. Thrist," she said, her voice cold and hard. "Given the overwhelming evidence, you do not really have a defense here."
Alex smirked, a chilling, predatory expression that sent a wave of revulsion through the courtroom. "Judge," he said, his voice laced with a chilling calm. "Let me out, and another girl will find her way into my bed. Another girl will find her way into a grave, pregnant. I will not stop." There was no remorse, no regret, no hint of humanity in his voice. It was a cold, hard declaration of his intent, a chilling promise of future atrocities. The judge sighed, a weary sound that spoke of the weight of her responsibility. She was relieved that he would be removed from the streets, her thoughts drifting to her granddaughter, who had just turned eighteen.
"Defense?" she asked, her gaze shifting towards Pernille Nielson, Alex's court-appointed lawyer. Pernille shook her head, her expression grim. Alex had effectively sealed his own fate, his own words condemning him to a lifetime behind bars. "No, your honor," she replied, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. "The defense has nothing to add." The judge, who knew Pernille quite well, recognized the pain and revulsion that the case had inflicted upon her. She made a mental note to speak to Pernille's boss, to commend her professionalism and to ensure that she was assigned less emotionally taxing cases in the future.
"In that case," the judge declared, her voice ringing with authority, "I sentence you, Alex Thrist, to two hundred years in prison, without the possibility of parole. Your last breath will be taken behind bars. May God have mercy on your soul." She slammed her gavel down, the resounding blow echoing through the courtroom, signifying the end of the proceedings. The bailiff stepped forward, placing handcuffs on Alex, and escorted him out of the courtroom. Pernille took a deep breath, a sense of relief washing over her. It was over. He was gone.
"Sorry you had to deal with that," she heard a voice say. She looked up and smiled at Michael Holt, the prosecutor. "Thanks, Michael," she replied, her voice laced with gratitude. He smirked, a hint of playful camaraderie in his eyes. "Tell Jones to give you a better case next time," he said. Pernille chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Yeah, I'll try," she replied. Michael walked out of the courtroom, leaving Pernille alone with her thoughts. She looked up at the judge, who gave her a small, sympathetic nod and a faint smile. Pernille smiled back, a weary expression of gratitude, and walked out of the courtroom, leaving the echoes of justice behind.
