Chapter 137: Frank's Scheme
"I haven't seen her in a while. What's she pretending to be sick for?" Kevin said, ignoring Kate.
They were South Side people—not North Side suits in ties. Nobody here talked politely.
"She's probably hiding until Halloween so she can jump out and scare kids," Frank quipped, taking a sip of his drink.
Tommy sighed regretfully.
"God gave her the body of a devil…"
Almost every man at the bar finished the sentence at the same time:
"…but the face is ugly as hell!"
Kate scowled at them.
"You're all going straight to hell."
But this was the South Side. No one cared.
This wasn't the era of politically correct moral policing yet—old-school American values still ruled.
"So what's actually wrong with Butterface?" Kevin finally asked, curiosity winning out.
"She's got chronic indigestion," Antoine replied.
"What, from nonstop whiskey and blowing guys?" Frank chimed in.
Antoine shook his head.
"She went to the hospital. Turns out she's got severe heart disease.
Her heart muscle's basically done. She's got a few months left—unless she gets a transplant."
"Damn," Kevin muttered.
Life really was unpredictable.
"She paid into the city retirement system for years," Antoine added quietly,
"and now she won't live long enough to collect a cent."
He took a drink, and the bar fell into a brief, somber silence.
Everyone felt it—Dottie's fate hit a little too close to home.
Everyone, that is, except Frank.
In Frank's mind, a plan was already taking shape.
Frank wasn't the type to just talk—when he had an idea, he acted.
He grabbed a cigarette from the bar and walked out of the Alibi.
---
Meanwhile, William had arrived at a used car dealership and bought himself a Mercedes-AMG—secondhand, of course.
When he returned from the Underworld universe, he'd brought back a stash of gold and U.S. dollars, stored in his personal space.
Some of the bills might have had duplicate serial numbers—but the anti-counterfeiting technology was identical to real-world currency.
Even bank machines couldn't tell the difference.
The dealer's bill scanner didn't react at all.
Just like that, William drove the AMG to a parking lot not far from the Illinois Institute of Technology.
He sent Theresa a text.
After being out of contact with William for so long, Theresa had been bored out of her mind.
She'd lost interest in older men like Gregory, but deep down she still had that itch—to be someone's secret.
Just as she was debating how to stir up a little excitement, her phone buzzed.
William.
Asking her to meet at their usual spot.
Because her relationship with her family was strained, Theresa hadn't gone home for the summer—she was still staying on campus.
She locked her phone, jumped up excitedly, and went straight to her closet.
After picking out what she considered her most eye-catching outfit, she headed out of the sorority house.
---
At the parking lot, William leaned against his car, sipping a can of Monster Energy.
He was thinking that Steve should've brought Estefania to the U.S. by now.
No idea where that guy was hiding, though.
He figured he'd have to check the chop shop later and see if Steve had surfaced.
"Hey, William!"
Theresa was already waving as she walked toward him.
"Hey. Long time no see."
William was just about to bring up the matter of the lot at 2120, when Theresa suddenly rushed forward, grabbed his head, and kissed him hard.
"Jesus—what are you doing?" William muttered.
Honestly, if he weren't worried about accidentally hurting her, he would've pushed her away.
But today, Theresa wasn't taking no for an answer.
She yanked open the AMG's door and shoved William inside.
Then she climbed in after him.
Bang.
The door slammed shut.
Two hours later—
"Shit, was all that really necessary?" William muttered. "I came to see you about something important."
"Fuck you," Theresa shot back. "You disappeared for months. Do you have any idea how miserable I was? Does Amanda even know you're back?"
William glanced at her, mildly surprised she'd brought Amanda up.
"What—worried Amanda might find out?"
"Please," Theresa snorted. "What do I have to worry about? If anything, I kind of enjoy sneaking around behind her back."
William chuckled.
"So you're knowingly being the other woman. That's a pretty questionable value system."
Theresa responded by flipping him off.
"Alright," she said lazily, clearly satisfied now. "What was this 'important business' you mentioned?"
William reached under the seat and pulled out a thick manila envelope.
"Buy the vacant lot next to 2119. The money's in here."
Theresa took it, peeked inside, and raised an eyebrow.
About fifty thousand dollars.
For an empty lot with no building on it, that was way more than necessary.
The extra was obviously meant as her personal cut.
"Are you insane?" she asked. "The South Side has zero investment value. Why are you always buying land there?"
She genuinely didn't understand him.
Theresa wasn't poor—after her mother died, she'd spiraled, turned self-destructive, and developed a habit of being the other woman, but her instincts for money were still sharp.
From a normal investor's perspective, the South Side was garbage.
William wasn't surprised by her reaction.
Right now, nobody believed in the South Side—Black neighborhoods, Latinos, Irish drunks, and a handful of racist old bastards clinging to white supremacy. Not exactly prime real estate.
But William knew what was coming.
He'd seen the future.
Urban redevelopment.
Rising rents.
Gentrification.
The poor would be priced out, forced to leave—or end up homeless.
And when that happened, property values would skyrocket.
Still, he didn't bother explaining any of that.
"Just do what I said," he replied calmly. "It's not your money anyway. Buy the land. Whatever's left is yours."
Theresa shrugged.
"Wow. Are you keeping me now?"
She glanced again at the envelope—old hundred-dollar bills, all of them.
She couldn't help wondering what kind of big, illegal score he'd pulled off over the past few months.
This money definitely wasn't clean.
"Do I really need to keep you?" William said dryly.
"Fair point," she replied, shrugging again. "You've already got dirt on me anyway."
She didn't seem especially bothered by that fact.
Truth was, Theresa had always had a streak of self-destruction in her.
Otherwise, she wouldn't keep choosing to be the other woman.
It was all just another way to claw her way out of the pain left by her mother's death—
only she'd chosen the wrong method.
And the wrong method only ever led deeper into ruin.