Ransom Drysdale: Manipulation

Murderers and Money

Ransom Drysdale got out of prison less than twenty-four hours ago and he's already being nagged by his father.

The thirty five year old had been in jail for three years for two counts of attempted murder, one count of murder and arson. His sentence was twenty-five to life before the murder was thrown out on a technicality. The detective who had recorded his confession accidentally deleted it before making a copy.

Only serving three years for the two attempted murders, and the fire, getting out with daddy's money, lack of evidence, the family name and good behavior.

His mother left his father after he had cheated on her and she wanted nothing to do with either of them ever since. They live in a small shabby house. Pure disgust running through Ransoms veins a he sees the trashy shit hole he has to call home.

The ceiling so low he almost hit his head on it. Two bedroom one bath house. The kitchen, dining room, living room and the front door basically combined into one.

The only thing him and his father owned anymore worth value were their cellphones and his precious car. His sense of fashion not changing while in prison but his budget getting in the way.

Wearing t-shirts and sweaters with kakis or jeans. Only wearing sweats at night. He learned how comfortable they could be in prison.

"Ransom I spent all of our money on getting you out, this house our phones and to keep that ugly ass car of yours. You need a job. You get one or you get out." His father yells through the small house as if they weren't only feet away.

"What do you suggest I do then father? Be a barista? Oh no, wait! Maybe a babysitter. Or a nanny." Ransom snaps back.

"I have a friend, her daughter owns a bookstore, its very small but very successful, it pays well and you won't have to do much. And you love to read." More sympathetic this time, Richard, trying to get through to his stubborn son.

"Good god. Fine. Whatever. Give me her number, I just need to get out of this fucking hell hole."

Ransom hands his father his phone, Richard struggling to find the contacts app in his sons phone. Once he found it, he put her name and phone number in. Looking at the name over his fathers shoulder, he chuckles. "She sounds rich." Ransom, Rude as he is, snatched the phone and went into his joke of a room, slamming the door behind him. Nearly knocking it off the hinges.

He plops down on his rock hard bed and calls her, wanting to get this over with. Three rings and the line was picked up. "Hello?" A sweet voice, confused. "Hi, is this Hermione?"

She stutters, "U-uhm, may I ask who's calling?"

"My name's Ransom Drysdale, my father gave me your number. I was hoping to get a job and was wondering if you were hiring."

Ransom Drysdale!? As in the man who killed his grandfathers help, attempted to kill another and tried to kill his grandfather?

But her motto was to treat everyone equally. And she did need help. It was just her working at her little bookstore now. Her latest employee quit, no reason given. Although she suspected she was just bored.

"Do you like books?" Slightly shocked by her unwaveringly calm tone. Everyone knew who Ransom was and what he did. "I do like books." He simply replies.

"Good, tomorrow, 9am, Hale Bookstore." He smiles at how easy it was to get her to hire him. His manipulative, sociopathic nature immediately mustering up a plan.

"Yes ma'am." He smirks and she can practically hear it on the other end of the phone. She hangs up and goes back to her writing. A writer she was. Several of her own books being displayed at her store.

She was a very popular author, but she liked her small, homie, chic bookstore. Her apartment above it. Just as warm and comforting. Doing well enough financially to buy several mansions, she still decided to keep it small. Saving half of her multi-million dollars and the other half going to charities and family.

Once Ransom got off the phone he pulled up Safari. Doing his research. Confirming his suspicions of her infinite wealth. He smirked. Going through his plan again in his mind.

How he would earn money without lifting a goddamn finger.