Distortion
Jan. 19th, 2012 04:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
intheheartTitle: Distortion
Rating: PG-13 for swearing and the POV character being a terrible person.
Summary: The net closes.
Date: Summer 2006
AU: Framed
Notes: I love all my characters. I am even fond of Yvonne, in a strange, twisted way. This guy, I want to die in a fiery car wreck. Just FYI.
WARNING for terrible-personhood, anti-immigration speech, and sexism.
George Colin Clark IV was in trouble.
Not that anyone knew it yet. He hadn't been caught, after all. But there were... people. Called themselves investigators, poking their noses where they didn't belong. This city owed him, damn it. The Clarks had practically built New York, and what did he get for it? Immigrants and women taking what should have been his.
He clenched his fists just thinking about it, then consciously relaxed them.
A Clark did not get caught. A Clark did not go to jail.
He would have to do something.
And he knew just who to blame.
--
George knew office gossip better than anyone else. He knew who to talk to, what to say, and he knew that there was nothing like denying a nonexistent rumor to not only start it, but to convince others of its veracity.
So he told Missy Gillis, the most talkative woman he'd ever known, that he didn't believe the rumors that Gail Hirschfeld was pilfering money. Nor, he told her, did he believe that Gail was nepotistic enough to help her daughter over all the other children in New York.
A grain of truth, he knew, was also helpful for conviction.
--
The investigators-- God! How he hated them! Jumped-up self-important arrogant little bastards-- would need more evidence than a few rumors, of course. So he found Louisa Torrence, the stupidest intern that ever breathed, and told her he had a file that he'd borrowed from Hirschfeld and would she please put it back in the desk. The little idiot agreed, promised secrecy, and went bouncing off to lay false evidence.
The best part was that Louisa would get blamed if the incident was ever uncovered, not him. He could always deny everything. Who'd believe that brainless twit over a Clark?
--
He'd always treasure the look on her face when they came to escort her out.
He'd hated Gail Hirschfeld from the moment she walked into the office, sized him up, and dismissed him wordlessly. As if anyone cared about her job. He was important. He was a real politician. She was just some appointed official. Probably no one in the city even knew her fucking name, and yet she had the balls to act like she was important. Fucking bitch. Probably fucked her way into her position.
He'd done the public a service, if he thought about it that way.
--
He'd always treasure the look on his father's face, too, when he drove up in his brand new Lexus.
Cut George off, would he? His son and heir! Well, George had an counter to every false accusation the old man had thrown at him. Lazy? He'd made all this money. Irresponsible? He'd cleaned up after himself. Careless? He hadn't gotten caught.
By the end of tonight, George calculated, he'd be back in his family's good graces. By the end of the week, that bitch would get the chop. By the end of the month, everything would be perfect.
He smiled.
Rating: PG-13 for swearing and the POV character being a terrible person.
Summary: The net closes.
Date: Summer 2006
AU: Framed
Notes: I love all my characters. I am even fond of Yvonne, in a strange, twisted way. This guy, I want to die in a fiery car wreck. Just FYI.
WARNING for terrible-personhood, anti-immigration speech, and sexism.
George Colin Clark IV was in trouble.
Not that anyone knew it yet. He hadn't been caught, after all. But there were... people. Called themselves investigators, poking their noses where they didn't belong. This city owed him, damn it. The Clarks had practically built New York, and what did he get for it? Immigrants and women taking what should have been his.
He clenched his fists just thinking about it, then consciously relaxed them.
A Clark did not get caught. A Clark did not go to jail.
He would have to do something.
And he knew just who to blame.
--
George knew office gossip better than anyone else. He knew who to talk to, what to say, and he knew that there was nothing like denying a nonexistent rumor to not only start it, but to convince others of its veracity.
So he told Missy Gillis, the most talkative woman he'd ever known, that he didn't believe the rumors that Gail Hirschfeld was pilfering money. Nor, he told her, did he believe that Gail was nepotistic enough to help her daughter over all the other children in New York.
A grain of truth, he knew, was also helpful for conviction.
--
The investigators-- God! How he hated them! Jumped-up self-important arrogant little bastards-- would need more evidence than a few rumors, of course. So he found Louisa Torrence, the stupidest intern that ever breathed, and told her he had a file that he'd borrowed from Hirschfeld and would she please put it back in the desk. The little idiot agreed, promised secrecy, and went bouncing off to lay false evidence.
The best part was that Louisa would get blamed if the incident was ever uncovered, not him. He could always deny everything. Who'd believe that brainless twit over a Clark?
--
He'd always treasure the look on her face when they came to escort her out.
He'd hated Gail Hirschfeld from the moment she walked into the office, sized him up, and dismissed him wordlessly. As if anyone cared about her job. He was important. He was a real politician. She was just some appointed official. Probably no one in the city even knew her fucking name, and yet she had the balls to act like she was important. Fucking bitch. Probably fucked her way into her position.
He'd done the public a service, if he thought about it that way.
--
He'd always treasure the look on his father's face, too, when he drove up in his brand new Lexus.
Cut George off, would he? His son and heir! Well, George had an counter to every false accusation the old man had thrown at him. Lazy? He'd made all this money. Irresponsible? He'd cleaned up after himself. Careless? He hadn't gotten caught.
By the end of tonight, George calculated, he'd be back in his family's good graces. By the end of the week, that bitch would get the chop. By the end of the month, everything would be perfect.
He smiled.
