It's like the fucking world is going to Hell and someone gave me a front row ticket to the carnage.
This morning, coming into work for Davion Development, two people stopped to hiss at me. Who the fuck hisses at people anymore? I just kept walking. It wasn't really worth my time to stop and deal with a hisser.
I mean just the thought of someone hissing ... is fucking strange, something that I associate with a snake or some other reptile. Not sure about whether I really equate that with things that humans do.
But then again these New Yorkers on the street probably think I'm some sort of snake at this point considering the kind of press I've been getting.
I mean Jesus Christ, if the President thinks that the news media is against him, imagine a hundred fucking times worse. It's like someone got all the fucking newspapers and cable channels and broadcast news and every sort of nickel and dime journalist and told them that they should go out there and come up with the slimiest shit that they could think of to get me.
I mean, I never really trusted the news media. Does anyone in this country anymore?
Do you?
Sure, they're not all bad. And they're human beings too. I'm not saying that they individually are bad people. They probably have families and they don't eat babies or whatever the fuck.
But combined together they're a fucking mob. And they're out to get me.
You should see some of the shit that's been coming out since this whole thing broke.
I mean, I know you've seen some of the stuff and Penny's been talking to you every other chapter, but I don't think she even keeps track of some of this shit.
And it's a good thing too, because if she did...I mean, fuck, I don't know how she would take it.
I mean, yesterday the Daily Journal said something like, "Magnus Davion: Should He Be Allowed To Live Near Schools?"
Can you believe that shit?
The reasoning?
Apparently because I had known Penny when she was 18 years old I must've had something for her. Like I planned this whole thing. Like I built a multi-billion dollar real estate empire that culminated in the purchase of the New York Nailers that led me to cum on that one cheerleader's face. Apparently that was all a plan to get the attention of the Page Eight Gossip Column for the New York Daily Journal and that somehow led me to my ex-stepdaughter who I then proceeded to fuck.
Right.
But you haven't heard the best one yet.
Apparently, I'm a spy sent over from the fucking Russians. That's right. So I guess I work for the Russians now and my job is to corrupt American values. Apparently I'm doing that by having hot fucking sex with my stepdaughter and flaunting it everywhere. Somewhere along the line, my goal was apparently to build the Equinox Towers and then flaunt my lack of morals from there. I have no idea how they drew that leap but it's clear that whoever was writing that piece was writing something they didn't really believe and were doing halfheartedly.
It doesn't take a genius to guess who is pushing the buttons at the New York Daily Journal.
I mean, come on. Anyone else in the city you know that can arrange that many media elites together and herd them in the same direction?
It's like the New York Daily Journal comes up with a story and then the other newspapers run it. And shortly after the newspaper comes up with the story and the other newspapers copy it, the cable news channels and local news pick it up and run with it and before you know it the whole fucking thing is a story by itself.
What else is there? Aside from being a Russian spy with a tendency to fuck stepdaughters, I've apparently been cheating my business associates. I've been stealing from my company and shortchanging my fucking employees.
I've also been allegedly constructing buildings with cheap and shoddy materials. That's a new one. So the fact that they withstood earthquakes while everything around them collapsed is just too much of a coincidence, huh?
Don't worry; I'm not angry at you. I'm just pissed the fuck off at the situation.
If it were just me, I would tell the fucking press to go fuck themselves. I could care less and I'd just weather it by pulling out my cock and taking a piss on their fucking shoes.
That's what I do. That's how I roll.
But I can't do that.
Because for the first time, I care about someone more than I care about myself.
I have to worry about Penny.
I have to worry how this shit is going to affect her.
So I can't just beat the shit out of the people who are hissing at me on the street. I can't just ignore what people say, and do more of it to piss them off even more. I have to figure out a way through this.
"Morning," I tell Joyce as I get to my office. "Just how bad is the shit storm that's going on?" I ask.
Joyce looks at me and she purses her lips.
Fuck.
I can already tell it's going to be pretty fucking terrible.
"You're going to need to make some decisions quick," she says after a pause.
"What kind of decisions?" I ask.
"Whether you want to retain me as counsel in the event you get indicted on felony charges," Joyce replies back to me without even batting an eye.
Holy fucking shit.
"What are you fucking talking about, Joyce?" I ask her and sit down. I don't know how much more I can take of this.
Joyce throws a newspaper on my desk.
It's a picture of Penny and I. We're walking down Fifth Avenue. She's looking into a window and I'm holding her from the back.
We look very much in love, which we fucking are.
The headline above it reads, "Just How Much Did The Father Pay To Have Sex With His Daughter?"
Jesus fucking Christ.
This shit ends here.
Don't worry. You don't gotta shake your head at me like I'm a pussy. It's time to man up and fight back. It's obvious just turning the other cheek and letting the newspapers gorge for a few days before moving on isn't going to work. Not this time. They're not going to stop until I'm dead or they're broken.
And I sure as fuck am not dying anytime soon.
But I gotta do this smart.
"The article goes on to insinuate you pimped Penny as well as used her for sex yourself," Joyce says and I roll my eyes. "If nothing else, the District Attorney could make trouble for you just for the hell of it."
No. The DA isn't going to do shit to me.
Because I'm going to put a stop to it.
I stand up. "This fucking ends now," I tell Joyce. She looks at me for a long second. I think she sees the resolve in my eyes or something because all she does is nod.
"Okay, boss, sure thing," she says with a bit of smile. Is it one of relief? Reassurance? "What do we do then?"
I pause for a second. That's a pretty fucking good question.
"Call a press conference," I tell Joyce. "Make sure the New York Daily Journal has as many seats for as many reporters as they want. I want them front and fucking center."
Joyce nods to me. "Okay," she says as she takes notes. "What should I tell them the conference is about?"
I smile.
Now I can see exactly how I'm going to fucking beat them.
I'm going to wear them the fuck down. Take their questions and throw them right back at them until they realize just how stupid and nonsensical they are.
"Tell them," I say and think for a moment before it comes to me. "Tell them it's about my feelings for my stepdaughter, Penny."
Joyce looks at me with a flash of concern.
I nod to her to tell her that she heard correctly.
She shakes her head as she walks away to go make the arrangements.
She probably thinks I've gone insane.
Maybe I have. Maybe I'm going to fucking explode.
But before I do, I swear to fucking God I'm grabbing some of those motherfuckers and taking them down with me.
Penny