Faces of Viviette Goodchild

CHAPTER 2

Viviette Goodchild

"Perhaps I have been too lenient on you, that you have forgotten the sum of your ambitiousness," my back facing him as I stated my concern to the owner of the restaurant.

I have recently recollected the outstanding debt his family had to us, The Goodchilds, A careless mistake on my part, as I have been preoccupied for days. This freshly proud man was hauled out from the cathouse while being erect, and now he had kept his head low while sitting feet away from my oak executive desk, an undoubtedly shameless creature.

Facing him, my profile covered with the mask that is implemented by the household. It is intended for the privacy and security of each one of us.

"I have recounted on how your esteemed father grovel as he pleads that we assist you to your endeavors — as to which we didn't disapprove, but — everything has its own term, and unfortunately to you, it had ended. And I am here to collect it," I started in a matter-of-factly manner,

"Please, give me some more time. I have not yet collected the fees from my other patrons. A little more time, I will give you anything else, please," his shaking hands clasping together as he kneeled for mercy.

"You made your dignified father swallow his pride, and yet, here you are, pleading for leniency. Now, sit on the chair. As much as I hated your guts, you're still a guest," He stayed silent as I took my time to think through the process of the proposition I'm about to offer without raising any suspicions and had come to a decision.

"I have queries, as I am not confident if you were aware of the contract you have signed — do you have a knowledge that you signed a contract under this company's regulations when we aided your father?"

"Yes, madame, I am very much aware that the company have access to the feeds from the public domain, and my restaurant is under the classifications of a public domain,"

"I'm surprised! Apologies for deprecating your capability to comprehend — so, I will be straightforward with you. I want one of your employees," clasping my hand together over the table while sitting on my executive chair.

"Who, specifically madame?"

"I have one in mind. But, I have no pleasure in indulging a visitor such as you. So, if you choose correctly. I will reward you by extending the deadline. But, if you guessed wrong, I will have to collect your due promptly, without reservations, and keep in mind that I have eyes everywhere," I suggested and watched him mull over the lists of people he finds distasteful. I can practically hear the cogs on his brain grinding as he processes every employee's name and credentials.

"I have one madame, this particular man has been wreaking havoc on my business and had abused one of my competent employees secretly,"

"I see — Do you have a photo?"

"Yes, madame. Here it is." he placed his phone on my desk where the face of the man had been laid bare.

"Very well, you may go now,"

"Thank you, madame — for giving me a chance," As he bowed his head one more time,

"Don't get too confident. This will be the last chance you will have. Now, go!" then he exited the door silently and courteously.

I removed my mask and massaged my forehead when I heard a knock on the hardwood door that separates me from the open.

"This is Spencer, young miss,"

Spencer Hall, the head of my security, and the holder of my information, if any of my documentation gets publicize, Spencer will be the first in line to be receiving the oldest Goodchild's wrath. Regardless of the graveness of obligations he had undergone and will be undergoing, he stayed by my side since I can remember. He is the only person I trusted.

"Come in," I responded as he entered. He brought the whiskey and coffee that I ordered.

He combined the two beverages in equal proportions swiftly: the kind of flavor that I fancy. "Young miss," as he offered me the concoction.

"Do you have all the information about the man?"

"Yes, young miss. His name is Nikolai Chekov. An immigrant with a forged identity. He also had multiple crimes from different aliases," and hands me a handout that contains more of his information.

"An infamous petty criminal. Shoplifting, harassment, and domestic abuse. Garbage." navigating further data, I started to resent the man severely.

"Young miss, there is something that I noticed, a pattern on the credentials of every employee, the restaurant owner has," Spencer stated,

"What are those?" picking up my interest as he fills me with new information.

"All of his employees are misfits, immigrants, and have a criminal record. People that are considered to be on the bottom of the hierarchy,"

"I have no interest in his entanglements," gobbling up the remains of my mildly intoxicating coffee, "and also, I want you to prepare all the equipment necessary for this and please include the cattle prods."

"Yes, young miss," as Spencer left my office to make some arrangements.

Half-past Twelve: forgotten midday meal caused by my impatience established absolute ruthlessness underneath my pleasant facade. Escorted by spencer as he gave me the mask, obscuring the images of every undiscovered member of Goodchild.

Bearing the Goodchild's name comes with responsibilities, associates, and enemies as we are revered, feared, and despised all the same. We bend and create societies within our autonomy that are envied by other elites. Even branches of the government weren't spared from the influence, as we generously funded their greed and selfishness while running the whole city like an empire, a corrupt environment dressed in lavish households and luxurious diners.

Our power and wealth grew immensely over the centuries of contracts and partnerships made by my cunning ancestors, and now my grandfather, which resulted in his descendants' living in isolation, for our existence can be leverage to our own downfall. A lifestyle we siblings have tolerated. There's no freedom from being a Goodchild.

"We have arrived, young miss." Spencer had awakened me from my deep thoughts.

An abandoned building that is owned by ours, its sole purpose is to break people's minds who had wronged us.

"Your guest is set on his seat, young miss. Are you sure that you'll be the one who's going to do it?"

"Are you questioning my ability to conduct proper torture?" As I furiously questioned his queries,

"There is no fitting punishment for this man, and I have no care if I kill him in the process,"

"I apologize, young miss. I'm just afraid of the prying eyes and ears that might surround us at the moment, and this might endanger you." Voicing his concerns, that I had put into consideration, but my unhinged rage had taken over me. There's no turning back.

I just faced him, and it's enough for him to understand that I have no intentions of stopping. He leads the way to where the man was placed, in the basement area of the building, where, no matter how loud the screams he will release, no one will hear him, a perfect place to commit dreadful crimes.

As we arrived in an unoccupied room where all the tools have been settled, I inspected every piece of equipment and studied the appropriate way to use it that can ruin his psyche without fail.

"Where is the voice changer?"

"Here it is, young miss." As he put the small briefcase on the table and opened it, fastening a small microphone behind my mask that levels on my mouth. I wore a black hooded, oversized jacket, baggy unisex jeans, and a cheap sneaker that will be, later on, discarded. This attire is far from my style, but it will conveniently conceal my gender.

I demanded, through my mic, and produced a low pitched voice.

"Let's start, shall we?"