Dedication:

To beautiful monsters and the Masters' that tame them.

 

Acknowledgement:

Penelope Barber my fantastic editor. Thank you for striving with me to realize my vision of London Brown.

 

 

London Brown # 7

Confessions of a Philanthropist

 

The philanthropist's introduction: If you are joining me for the first time read on otherwise pick up at the date.

The more corrupt the state, the more laws.

Publius Cornelius Tacitus (55-117) Roman historian.

 

I'm Rhys Christos Edward Stowell, a philanthropist on the verge of exile from a suffocating state of corruption. My lack of conformity to perceived norms has earned me a reputation of being difficult. I rather like it that way.

Beguiled by a woman who uses the oldest profession to torture herself and punish those that love her, I'm ever her dutiful friend. The rebellious son of an elder in the Church of Christ. A man without direction.

Despite the recent completion of my LL.M (Master of Law) at the University of Cambridge, I've yet to set a course in life. No rush either, my life was decided before I was adopted. I will sit in the House of Lords and be the next Earl Stowell. Choices I make are just to pass the time.

These are the confessions of a philanthropist (Bastard son of a Whore). My confessions.

 

January 10

I tossed the packaging into the alley garbage for the pay-as-you-go cell sold by the subsidiary of a major distributor. Once off the grid, I couldn't return until I got back home and left again. I had to stick to the blind spots. The city surveillance would show no trace of me leaving my flat. I'd rented this apartment because I could vanish from the location. Though, at the time I'd had no intention of ever using the knowledge to my advantage. Further proof I'd eventually lose the war as with this very moment's battle. I'd made up my mind sometime in the wee hours of the morning. CJ Carrington and I needed to have a face to face where I made clear he'd never hurt Desniah again.

London was off harloting Desniah's body to men while I cleaned up what she had clearly failed to, a situation that put Desniah at risk too. I wonder if she intentionally botched cleaning up to keep Desniah co-dependent.

Once I inserted the SMS card, I dialled Caden Jacob Carrington the fourth's number. It had been easy enough to obtain.

"CJ Carrington," said the self-assured asshole.

"I know what you did to the Williams girl. If you don't want everyone else to find out too, you'll meet with me at ten pm next to the Hammersmith Bridge on the asphalt path by St. Paul's school."

I hung up. For me to get to the Hammersmith Bridge would be a short walk. Fifteen minutes by foot. I'd take my time so not to loiter about long enough to be noticed. I'd given him less than thirty minutes and he was approximately seventeen away by car.

Desniah never called Caden, CJ, despite the fact that everyone else did. I'd always assumed it was because of the nickname she'd give him of Cade. I'd venture to believe it had everything to do with what CJ had done to her.

The Carrington men had ruined her, the father and son. The apple hadn't fallen far from the tree.