04-21-2022, 01:35 AM
(This post was last modified: 04-21-2022, 01:35 AM by Zechariah Meijer.)
He had looked into Mrs. Sonia Carrington. Plenty of former clients, though not a lot of friends. Except one …
He was doing it for the child, of course. She was a pregnant, desperate thing that would hardly do well alone. With her, he could cement far more than just a respectable middle child legacy. He could eclipse Chaim in success. He could make his father blush and sputter, and his mother tearfully renounce him before coming around next time her ink well felt too full.
He could humiliate everyone (including himself) by marrying this whore and taking her damned whorehouse.
That she came to visit him was not unprecedented, but neither was he anticipating it. Mr. Benjamin answered the back door; Zechariah was reading in his office instead of catching up on his non-dirty mail.
He was surprised to hear a guest brought in from the back rather than the front, but hid his pulp novel in a drawer before calling a preemptively annoyed, “come in.”
When he saw who it was, however, the annoyance shifted to an evaluating look.
“Sonia. Good to see you. Make yourself comfortable.”
It was a comfortable room – Zechariah had made sure of that much. It was the room he spent the most time brooding away in. There was a seat across the desk he sat at, as well as a couch with throw pillows.
He was doing it for the child, of course. She was a pregnant, desperate thing that would hardly do well alone. With her, he could cement far more than just a respectable middle child legacy. He could eclipse Chaim in success. He could make his father blush and sputter, and his mother tearfully renounce him before coming around next time her ink well felt too full.
He could humiliate everyone (including himself) by marrying this whore and taking her damned whorehouse.
That she came to visit him was not unprecedented, but neither was he anticipating it. Mr. Benjamin answered the back door; Zechariah was reading in his office instead of catching up on his non-dirty mail.
He was surprised to hear a guest brought in from the back rather than the front, but hid his pulp novel in a drawer before calling a preemptively annoyed, “come in.”
When he saw who it was, however, the annoyance shifted to an evaluating look.
“Sonia. Good to see you. Make yourself comfortable.”
It was a comfortable room – Zechariah had made sure of that much. It was the room he spent the most time brooding away in. There was a seat across the desk he sat at, as well as a couch with throw pillows.
