#bankruptcy discharge

[girderednerve]

the mine safety & health administration passed a rule requiring coal operators to put up enough collateral to cover their full black lung benefit obligations in case of bankruptcy, everybody say yaaaaay

[mspiggy]

i still haven't heard back from my bankruptcy trustee on whether or not my bankruptcy is going from 9 to 21 months yet... also still don't know how much my payment is gonna be and today's the day it gets autopaid... 🙃

[jeppsonlawmo]

Discharge Student Loans with Bankruptcy

Learn about discharging student loans through bankruptcy in this informative article. Discover the requirements for qualifying, the different types of bankruptcy available, and the potential impacts on your credit and financial future. Get the answers you need to make an informed decision about your student loan debt. Call our Missouri law firm today if you’re ready to take the first step at a secure financial future!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

One of America’s most corporate-crime-friendly bankruptcy judges forced to recuse himself

Today (Oct 16) I'm in Minneapolis, keynoting the 26th ACM Conference On Computer-Supported Cooperative Work and Social Computing. Thursday (Oct 19), I'm in Charleston, WV to give the 41st annual McCreight Lecture in the Humanities. Friday (Oct 20), I'm at Charleston's Taylor Books from 12h-14h.

"I’ll believe corporations are people when Texas executes one." The now-famous quip from Robert Reich cuts to the bone of corporate personhood. Corporations are people with speech rights. They are heat-shields that absorb liability on behalf of their owners and managers.

But the membrane separating corporations from people is selectively permeable. A corporation is separate from its owners, who are not liable for its deeds – but it can also be "closely held," and so inseparable from those owners that their religious beliefs can excuse their companies from obeying laws they don't like:

https://clsbluesky.law.columbia.edu/2014/10/13/hobby-lobby-and-closely-held-corporations/

Corporations – not their owners – are liable for their misdeeds (that's the "limited liability" in "limited liablity corporation"). But owners of a murderous company can hold their victims' families hostage and secure bankruptcies for their companies that wipe out their owners' culpability – without any requirement for the owners to surrender their billions to the people they killed and maimed:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/11/justice-delayed/#justice-redeemed

Corporations are, in other words, a kind of Schroedinger's Cat for impunity: when it helps the ruling class, corporations are inseparable from their owners; when that would hinder the rich and powerful, corporations are wholly distinct entities. They exist in a state of convenient superposition that collapses only when a plutocrat opens the box and decides what is inside it. Heads they win, tails we lose.

Key to corporate impunity is the rigged bankruptcy system. "Debts that can't be paid, won't be paid," so every successful civilization has some system for discharging debt, or it risks collapse:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/bankruptcy-protects-fake-people-brutalizes-real-ones/

When you or I declare bankruptcy, we have to give up virtually everything and endure years (or a lifetime) of punitive retaliation based on our stained credit records, and even then, our student debts continue to haunt us, as do lawless scumbag debt-collectors:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/12/do-not-pay/#fair-debt-collection-practices-act

When a giant corporation declares bankruptcy, by contrast, it emerges shorn of its union pension obligations and liabilities owed to workers and customers it abused or killed, and continues merrily on its way, re-offending at will. Big companies have mastered the Texas Two-Step, whereby a company creates a subsidiary that inherits all its liabilities, but not its assets. The liability-burdened company is declared bankrupt, and the company's sins are shriven at the bang of a judge's gavel:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/01/j-and-j-jk/#risible-gambit

Three US judges oversee the majority of large corporate bankruptcies, and they are so reliable in their deference to this scheme that an entire industry of high-priced lawyers exists solely to game the system to ensure that their clients end up before one of these judges. When the Sacklers were seeking to abscond with their billions in opioid blood-money and stiff their victims' families, they set their sights on Judge Robert Drain in the Southern District of New York:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/23/a-bankrupt-process/#sacklers

To get in front of Drain, the Sacklers opened an office in White Plains, NY, then waited 192 days to file bankruptcy papers there (it takes six months to establish jurisdiction). Their papers including invisible metadata that identified the case as destined for Judge Drain's court, in a bid to trick the court's Case Management/Electronic Case Files system to assign the case to him.

The case was even pre-captioned "RDD" ("Robert D Drain"), to nudge clerks into getting their case into a friendly forum.

If the Sacklers hadn't opted for Judge Drain, they might have set their sights on the Houston courthouse presided over by Judge David Jones, the second of of the three most corporate-friendly large bankruptcy judges. Judge Jones is a Texas judge – as in "Texas Two-Step" – and he has a long history of allowing corporate murderers and thieves to escape with their fortunes intact and their victims penniless:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/07/hr-4193/#shoppers-choice

But David Jones's reign of error is now in limbo. It turns out that he was secretly romantically involved with Elizabeth Freeman, a leading Texas corporate bankruptcy lawyer who argues Texas Two-Step cases in front of her boyfriend, Judge David Jones.

Judge Jones doesn't deny that he and Freeman are romantically involved, but said that he didn't think this fact warranted disclosure – let alone recusal – because they aren't married and "he didn't benefit economically from her legal work." He said that he'd only have to disclose if the two owned communal property, but the deed for their house lists them as co-owners:

https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/24032507-general-warranty-deed

(Jones claims they don't live together – rather, he owns the house and pays the utility bills but lets Freeman live there.)

Even if they didn't own communal property, judges should not hear cases where one of the parties is represented by their long term romantic partner. I mean, that is a weird sentence to have to type, but I stand by it.

The case that led to the revelation and Jones's stepping away from his cases while the Fifth Circuit investigates is a ghastly – but typical – corporate murder trial. Corizon is a prison healthcare provider that killed prisoners with neglect, in the most cruel and awful ways imaginable. Their families sued, so Corizon budded off two new companies: YesCare got all the contracts and other assets, while Tehum Care Services got all the liabilities:

https://ca.finance.yahoo.com/news/prominent-bankruptcy-judge-david-jones-033801325.html

Then, Tehum paid Freeman to tell her boyfriend, Judge Jones, to let it declare bankruptcy, leaving $173m for YesCare and allocating $37m for the victims suing Tehum. Corizon owes more than $1.2b, "including tens of millions of dollars in unpaid invoices and hundreds of malpractice suits filed by prisoners and their families who have alleged negligent care":

https://www.kccllc.net/tehum/document/2390086230522000000000041

Under the deal, if Corizon murdered your family member, you would get $5,000 in compensation. Corizon gets to continue operating, using that $173m to prolong its yearslong murder spree.

The revelation that Jones and Freeman are lovers has derailed this deal. Jones is under investigation and has recused himself from his cases. The US Trustee – who represents creditors in bankruptcy cases – has intervened to block the deal, calling Tehum "a barren estate, one that was stripped of all of its valuable assets as a result of the combination and divisional mergers that occurred prior to the bankruptcy filing."

This is the third high-profile sleazy corporate bankruptcy that had victory snatched from the jaws of defeat this year: there was Johnson and Johnson's attempt to escape from liability from tricking women into powder their vulvas with asbestos (no, really), the Sacklers' attempt to abscond with billions after kicking off the opioid epidemic that's killed 800,000+ Americans and counting, and now this one.

This one might be the most consequential, though – it has the potential to eliminate one third of the major crime-enabling bankruptcy judges serving today.

One down.

Two to go.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/16/texas-two-step/#david-jones

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

[i-mushi]

Cumpounding Debt (Salesman/OFC)

VERY NSFW, unfinshed but 165k of absolute filth. In case anyone wants to start from the beginning again:

“And your parents said they would pay for it.”

Ivy swallowed a larger mouthful of wine than she meant to. He held his glass lazily, eyes razor sharp. “Yes, but there were some problems, sir.”

“About $200,000 in problems,” he said, and Ivy’s cheeks turned red. “And American student loans have interest too, don’t they?” She couldn’t meet his eyes, mortified he knew not just about the debt but the extent of it. She was deep in the hole and not crawling out anytime soon. “Student visas don’t allow you to work either, do they?”

She shook her head mutely. 

“Pity you have no one to confirm you are an upstanding citizen, that is the English, right?” Ivy couldn’t help looking up sharply at that, his smile most definitely a smirk now. He hadn’t touched his wine, the glass dangling in his hand, sex and sin seated on the couch. Ivy sensed the devil offering a deal.

“I don’t,” she admitted warily.

“What would you do with a full visa, Ivy? Would you leave Korea?” He leaned forward, watching her with something behind those eyes.

“No, sir.” She still owed money to the school, and she still couldn’t bring herself to speak to her parents. Her debts would follow her no matter where she went, it hardly mattered what country she was in. At least she’d chosen Korea and she had a friend here.

She waited but he didn’t interrogate her further, his eyes just taking her in. She fought not to squirm on the couch, his visible chest a tempting spot for her gaze. 

“Take off your dress.”

Ivy lowered the glass she’d almost raised to her lips. She looked at him confused.

“What?”

“Tsk, forgetful brat.”

“Sir?”

He nodded meaningfully at her, crossing one ankle over his knee and taking a sip from his glass.

His smile was a challenge, expectation readily apparent. That smug look riled her almost as much as the chaste touches all night. Her skin had been humming, wondering, wanting, and now he just wanted to order her around?

She drained the last of her wine glass.

“Is this part of the job, sir?” Ivy challenged.

He broke out into possibly the first genuine smile Ivy had ever seen on him. “Do you want to pay off your debt?”

“Yes.” She stubbornly left off the sir.

“Then go ahead.”

Chapter 1 under the cut, read the rest on Ao3!

She got the job because Granny K vouched for her.

Ivy didn’t know her as Granny K back then though. She was just the grandmother of Kim Sun-hee, her roommate at the prestigious foreign language department of Sungkyunkwan University, just someone Sun-hee occasionally chatted to on the phone. 

It was all a bit of a mess from start to finish. Ivy had been an international student at the university until she’d gotten a confusing series of phone calls and then some formally stamped letters. As they were in high-minded, legalize-Korean she hadn’t known what they meant, not until the director of the international student program requested her presence.

Her parents hadn’t paid the tuition. They’d taken out student loans in her name, private not federal because she was an international student, and credit card debt to cover her costs. They’d told her she’d had a scholarship, that’s why they’d indulged her dream, even though she should have seen the signs: the lack of interest in the details of her college career, the vague “you’ll do great” cards without any other message, no “are you sure?” questions when she spent Christmas in a different country on the opposite side of the globe.

Her parents had told her it was fine, they’d been saving for her college and she’d pay them back in their old age. Apparently not though, at least not when things started bouncing back and her mother had that DUI and car accident. Now Ivy was thousands of miles away with over $100,000 in student loan debt, not dischargeable even in bankruptcy because her parents had taken it all out in her name to cover their own misdeeds and recklessness. Apparently she also owed the school itself money, since some of those loans hadn’t covered fees and housing, and her parents had promised to pay in installments and hadn’t. The director had told her she wasn’t permitted to leave Korea without either paying off what she owed the school—roughly $50,000—or some guarantee she would.

She’d been too distraught to ask a lot of detail, horrified by the gaping pit she’d been dropped in. Ivy didn’t have a job, she was on a student visa that explicitly denied her the ability to get one. She didn’t have a degree either, being one year from finishing, so getting any work that wasn’t low-paying would be even harder. How could she pay off this debt? How could she look her parents in the eye knowing they’d done this to her without any warning or thought to her future?

Immediately after that meeting had been a blur. Sun-hee had been the only person she could turn to her, too embarrassed to tell the other international students what had happened and too removed from everyone she’d grown up with in America. Sun-hee had been there when she’d come back to their room white as a ghost, shaking and crying. She’d wrapped Ivy up in a blanket, given her hot tea and one of her grandmother’s special cakes she’d been saving for after exams, and let Ivy blubber the whole story out in broken Korean. 

With Sun-hee’s grandmother’s help and Ivy’s meager savings from the spending money she’d been given—all a lie—they rustled up enough to cover her housing the rest of the spring semester, and so long as she didn’t fail all her classes she could keep living in the dorms. But after the semester the school wouldn’t let her continue to take her classes, and she was only allowed to stay even now on the grace of the director and the promise that she’d make the payment installments her parents had not. 

Ivy still didn’t know how she was going to do that, especially with the first one looming three weeks away, but she had the first paper of the year to write and a thousand more tears to cry while she figured it out.

#

She picked up jobs at the tutoring center for English first. Her Korean was passable enough that she could manage even with the younger kids, so Ivy snapped up as many of those jobs as she could. It wasn’t really fun work for her and it paid like crap. The cushier private tutoring gigs Sun-hee texted her ads for wanted proof of her worth: references, glitzy teaching jobs, a bachelor’s degree. Ivy applied to them all, and she even got a few interviews, but only landed one. The boy, also a college student at another upstanding university Ivy was 90% sure he got in because of his parents, seemed mostly to pity her more than anything, especially when her stomach growled during lessons. Her cafeteria money had been taken back toward her debt so she subsisted on cheap ramen, Sun-hee’s generosity, and whatever free food was on campus. 

Every time Han-gyeol looked at her like that when her stomach interrupted their practice conversations she wanted to shake him. He paid her in cash for the lessons and was otherwise fine though, accepting of her stumbles as she learned how to teach him as much as actually teaching him. He could have been brattier given his excessive wealth, but he mostly just seemed so ignorant to her situation. Even so she dreaded going to his lessons.

Ivy paid the first installment by the skin of her teeth. When she started googling whether Korea let people sell plasma she knew her options were getting more and more dire. She was young and blonde, and at least she’d had sex before. The internet told her there was a market for foreign escorts, assuming she could stomach it. 

Her third, maybe fourth, session with Han-gyeol to help him read an American newspaper for class, Ivy spent speculating if someone like him would hire someone like that. He did seem attracted to her, when he wasn’t shooting her pitiful looks. He wasn’t bad looking either, even if his sense of fashion was so fashionable it bordered on weird. Then she saw his father as she left that night, biting her lip with shame as she accepted the rice ball and the wad of cash, him trying to be generous, her trying to escape as fast as possible. His father had a politician’s perpetual frown and heavily wrinkled forehead, stomach bulging a little over his belt, hair graying as he pulled a beer out of the fridge. It was more likely someone who looked like him would want a pretty blonde prostitute to hang off his arm at a skeevy “upscale” bar. Ivy cringed internally even as she thanked Han-gyeol and started the walk home. It took an hour because she didn’t dare waste her little money on a bus ticket, and she passed more than a few questionable clubs and bars, but she didn’t look up and didn’t consider it. There had to be something else out there, any other work.

Then she was offered that job. 

Granny K cleaned houses for a living, despite being 75 years old and looking at least 100. It was the job that put her children through school, though she’d slowed down now so she only worked on Wednesdays. At least that’s what Sun-hee told Ivy, though she hadn’t been able to weasel any details out of her grandmother. Granny K had told Sun-hee she might be able to get Ivy hired at the agency she worked at, and Ivy was so impossibly grateful for even the option she’d actually burst into tears when Sun-hee told her. Since that lesson with Han-gyeol and seeing his father she’d been struggling to pick up more tutoring jobs, especially since she needed to pass her classes too, and she had one more week before her next installment was due. Ivy had been forced to go back to wondering if escort work would pay until Granny K made the offer. If she had to be on her knees to beg for money to get rid of this debt she’d do it, but she’d rather clean a thousand floors on her knees than suck a thousand cocks. 

Sun-hee coordinated their meeting at Granny K’s house, and at Granny’s insistence Sun-hee went to class instead of skipping to help translate. Ivy wished her friend could be here to smooth things over, especially since Granny K was difficult to understand, at least until they got past the pleasantries to talk about the job.

“He is dangerous,” the older woman warned, setting down a bowl of soup in front of Ivy, enunciating every word. 

“Dangerous?”

“Ask no questions, don’t speak about anything you see.”

“Um,” she chuckled nervously. “Granny, maybe I don’t understand but what—“

“Sttt!” She snapped her chopsticks in Ivy’s direction. “No questions!”

From what Ivy could figure out at this meeting was that Granny K wasn’t employed by a cleaning agency at all but a single person, and they'd told her to train up a replacement. It was clear whoever she worked for wanted discretion because they were dangerous, and someone like Sun-hee had all the world at her fingertips. Granny K’s granddaughter wanted to be a lawyer; Ivy wanted to eat more than once a day this week. 

“All you do is clean the house?” she clarified, grateful for the meal even if the thought of this job made her queasy. 

“Every Wednesday,” she nodded. “No questions, no speaking.”

Ivy had a class Wednesday morning, but she wasn’t going to get her degree anyway if she couldn’t pay up by next week, so it hardly mattered. 

“Can I come with you tomorrow?”

#

That first day Ivy could feel her breath coming quicker than usual as Granny K showed her the elevator that led to the penthouse suite. It was a fancy building in a fancy neighborhood somehow only a bus ride away from the school but a million miles in income. They didn’t enter by the front door but the underground garage, which was full of cars that gleamed made by brands Ivy didn’t even recognize except they all made sports cars. 

Granny K knew him only as the Salesman in her ancient flip phone, and she was clear he was to be referred to as “sir” whenever they had to speak, which was very little. He texted Granny K what he needed outside of cleaning, usually picking up dry cleaning or sometimes small errands, and she did it, no questions asked. Ivy desperately wanted to ask if the house cleaning involved blood, bodies, or a sex dungeon, but Granny K’s most important rule she would not bend on: do not ask; do not talk about it; be blind to everything in the Salesman’s business and go home with a fat check.

In another life Ivy wasn’t sure she could live like that, working for a shady man who’s name she didn’t even know. Things had changed drastically.

At least he wasn’t there that first day. He was working as he often was, so Granny K only rarely saw him. As she’d warned Ivy while they got on the bus, the house was almost definitely bugged. Head down, no questions, Granny had told her, and Ivy didn’t dare do otherwise. 

The penthouse was stunning as soon as the elevator doors opened. Sleekly modern, with a hefty grey couch and massive central fireplace backlit by a wall of windows and the Seoul skyline. To the left was a piece of woodwork doubling as a dining table, a long wooden bar with a full set of glassware for every type of drink imaginable, and a massive open kitchen behind it with state of the art cookware. Behind the kitchen at one corner of the building was a balcony shrouded in neatly groomed bushes complete with small hot tub. Indoors, right of the fireplace was a sunken TV set up and couch, then closed doors that led to a corner office, two guest rooms, and bathrooms bigger than Ivy’s dorm room. The master bedroom commanded almost an entire side of the building in windows alone, with a closet big enough for a car, and an attached private gym. The whole apartment was absurdly plush with nearly a 360 degree view of Seoul and so much marble, mahogany, and crystal it should count as a small palace. 

It didn’t even look like it needed to be cleaned, but that was, Ivy supposed, the magic of routine cleaning every week and an occupant who was gone more often than not. She wondered if he hosted parties and if there was extra cleaning for that, or a locked room for the sex dungeon or dead bodies.

Mid-gawp in the foyer, Granny K put a broom in Ivy’s hand and indicated the entranceway. “Clean!”

They cleaned the bathrooms, kitchen, entryway, and living room. The guest rooms got a cursory dusting, as did the expensive looking modern art piece that stood in one of the windows off the living room, and the office was also dusted and vacuumed. Unlike the other rooms in the house this one had a little personality, with two huge computer monitors, a locked set of filing cabinets, and a wall of knickknacks from all over the world, including a whole series of elaborate masks, from Japanese Noh to Italian Carnevale ones.

There was almost nothing to clean in the kitchen except a few mugs and small plates, but they put the sheets in the washer, fluffed the pillows, wiped down the windows, and took out the trash. Granny handled the laundry while Ivy packed suit after suit, some European brands some Korean, in colors from charcoal to slate to midnight black, into dry cleaning bags. It was a lot of work for one person, Ivy had no idea how Granny had managed for so long.

Around 1pm the bell chimed and Ivy jumped at the kitchen counter she’d been scrubbing, but Granny K tsked and went to retrieve a box of groceries, which they packed away neatly into the fridge and cupboards. Ivy only had her hand slapped a few times when she moved to put things in the wrong place.

By 4pm they were done. Everything was swept and shined, polished and placed just so, and the home could have doubled for an interior design magazine. Everything was either modern art, museum worthy, or that weird in between that interior designers thought looked cool but had no actual purpose or didn’t seem designed for humans. It had been stunning at first, but after a long day of work Ivy found she didn’t much like the place.

Two days later Granny K called her to say she’d be paid a quarter of her salary for 6 months to be trained with an advance—already in her bank account despite Ivy not giving Granny K her account details—and then the details could be worked out from there. Apparently she’d passed whatever test the Salesman had put her through.

Creepy as the thought of being watched and the direct deposit she hadn’t authorized was, when she heard the figure from Granny K she had to make her repeat it. It was enough to cover her installment and keep her fed. If she scrimped and still worked tutoring jobs the rest of the week, along with eating ramen and rice most of the time, she’d be at least she’d have enough to rent a small, seedy apartment until she got the full salary. Too many ifs really, but that was a lifeline of hope Ivy desperately needed, no matter how sketchy the man who held it.

#

Ivy didn’t meet the Salesman until her fourth month cleaning the apartment. 

The semester had ended, and Ivy hadn’t been able to get an apartment despite saving up enough for the cheapest listings she could find. No one wanted to rent to a foreigner with no credit history and a student visa on the verge of expiring. She was in talks with the school to change that, but she didn’t exactly have gainful, legal employment. Her direct deposits for the work kept coming every week and there were no taxes, physical checks, or questions, but also no paper trail and not even a name to put on a resume. Right now her gig with Han-gyeol and on-campus tutoring were the only things she could legitimately point to for work experience.

At the moment her pay—with help from the tutoring jobs—was enough to cover a week at a hotel that didn’t advertise itself as a love hotel but almost definitely catered to the hourly spender. It didn’t come with a kitchen, so Ivy had gotten a little portable outdoor grill, a cooler, and bought a bag of ice every other day, and only cried herself to sleep sometimes. Whenever she walked past a homeless person on the street though it reminded her that she wasn’t at that point yet. In two more months her money would quadruple too if she was lucky, and then she would be able to afford something better. With enough money in hand someone would rent to her, she had to hope that.

She and Granny were quite the team now cleaning the fancy apartment. They each had their separate chores, and Ivy was learning the monthly and bimonthly chores too. She almost felt comfortable as she did it, cleaning being a relatively mindless activity. However, this Wednesday was the second time Ivy would be handling the day alone. Granny had another appointment with the physical therapist, but she really needed to talk to a surgeon. Her hips just weren’t what they used to be, and Ivy had insisted she take more breaks or at least do the less physically laborious work, like sitting down to fold the clothes. 

The first time Ivy had gone to clean the apartment alone she’d been a nervous wreck up until she’d realized she was alone, at which point the urge to snoop had become almost unbearable. Only that intimidating quiet and the sense she was most definitely being watched had shut that down. She’d done her job and gotten out.

This time the elevators opened and Ivy carried her bag in, replenishing some of the cleaning supplies, and quietly thinking to herself this was the week to flip the master mattress and change the guest room bedding, not that Ivy had seen any sign of their use. There were no parties or guests at all really, she’d only seen two glasses of wine left in the sink once, but the guest bedrooms had been untouched. Probably the Salesman worked too much, or just never had people home. Maybe because he was a germaphobe or a neat freak—

The clink of a plate in the sink startled her to stillness. Oh fuck…

“Hello,” a man’s voice greeted in Korean, coming around the corner from the kitchen. Ivy sucked in a sharp breath, caught somewhere between instant attraction and utter horror at meeting her employer without Granny K beside her. Of course he had to be stupid wealthy and stupid hot.

“Uh, um—“

“You must be Ivy.” He was still speaking Korean, but her name would have jumped out at her even if she didn’t understand his words. That smile was all charm and good looks, one eye crinkled just slightly more than the other. He stood there in casual sweats, socks, and a grey v-neck sweater holding a coffee mug. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She stumbled over the formal Korean and dipped the most awkward bow she’d ever done, suddenly doubting every rule of the culture she’d ever learned.

“Would you prefer to speak in English?” he asked with an accent, switching languages effortlessly and that smile never wavering. 

“Oh! Only if you’re comfortable,” she said, speaking a little slower just in case he wasn’t totally fluent. She was surprised at all that he spoke some English, though depending on what sort of business he did he might use it. He didn’t look like a hitman or a member of the mafia, but maybe that just made him more dangerous.

His dark eyes swept over her attire critically and Ivy felt a dull red fill her cheeks. She didn’t dress nicely to clean someone’s home obviously, but the small stains on her sweatpants and the slightly tattered cuff of her secondhand sweater made her feel embarrassed. He was so put together and his home so well-heeled she felt every inch the street bum. 

“Hm, I had wondered why Soon-ja recommended an American,” he said still in English.

“I intend to work very hard,” Ivy said formally in Korean, another phrase she’d perfected while trying to find any job that would take her. 

He smiled at her, head tilted slightly. He had to know what a weapon that smile was. “I’m sure you will. Please, continue your work.”

Ivy felt a weird buzz in her head at the way he said that. She stood very still as he walked by her to the office, his hair cut short on the sides and swept as neatly as a model’s, the sweater he wore some fine cashmere that hinted at an athletic frame. She couldn’t help the quick glance at his butt in those designer lounge pants before hurriedly opening the cleaning closet for the broom and pan. If she was lucky that was all she’d ever see of him again. 

#

“You can’t tell me anything?” Sun-hee whined at dinner Friday night, both of them seated in a cozy corner booth of a nice barbecue place to celebrate her big job offer. She was going to work as a secretary at a law firm for a year while she prepped her law school application. “Granny K never says a word but I know it has to be a famous person. Why else would it be so hush-hush?”

“I know, but I really can’t. It’s Granny’s biggest rule.” Without a name Ivy couldn’t google the Salesman, but she was sure he wasn’t an actor or politician. Dangerous was right, and she didn’t want to jeopardize this job. She needed the money, the love hotel she was living at came with a lot of weirdos, and she was just glad that the front desk was basically automated. She didn’t know how she’d look a receptionist in the eye or Sun-hee if she ever found out the dire straights Ivy had been forced into.

“He’ll never know, I swear to never tell a soul.” Sun-hee made a cross over her chest. 

“ ‘Three may keep a secret if two of them are dead’,” Ivy quoted, badly translating it into Korean and grateful the waitress came over with their food right then. 

Sun-hee grumbled good-naturedly, distracted by the spread of meat to barbecue. “At least it’s money. Look, you have a safe place to stay, right? You know I have a single room this summer and could sneak you in.”

“Thanks, Sun-hee, but I’m okay.” It wasn’t the most convincing based on her friend’s expression. Ivy slumped over her drink. “You’ll get in trouble if I’m caught and we can’t do that. I should be full time in two months, I’ll be fine.”

“We can be roommates when I graduate,” Sun-hee offered, smiling brightly. “Then we can get a great place!”

Ivy bit her lip. She was so tempted to live with her friend in some cool high-rise apartment, and they’d go all out decorating it, but Ivy had so much debt the last thing she could afford was a high rent. Even split, the cost of rent in Seoul was no joke, and Sun-hee shouldn’t have to live in a crappy place if she could afford better.

“Let me get all the paperwork done first,” Ivy said instead. “Plus, who knows how things will go with this boy?”

“Oh please, he’s cute but there’s no way I’m moving in with a guy as soon as I graduate!” 

Successfully distracted, Sun-hee launched into a story about her new boyfriend and Ivy swallowed down the jealousy and sadness of how carefree she was. It felt like she spent all of her spare time either tutoring, applying to jobs, or ignoring her growling stomach to sleep, even though less than six months ago she’d been as hopeful and fun as Sun-hee. 

#

The next week Granny couldn’t make it on Wednesday again, her doctor insisting the cleaning job was too much physical labor for her. That meeting with the orthopedic surgeon loomed closer as Ivy rode up the elevator. She was nervous for Granny K and the potential surgery, but also anxious about whether she’d see the Salesman again. Last week had left an uncomfortable feeling in her belly.

Ivy stepped off the elevator and took off her sneakers, glancing up to see the Salesman sitting on the living room couch by the fireplace. He looked up and they made eye contact, her’s wide and surprised, his pleasantly amused. She almost felt a bizarre urge to ask him if he lived here, given Ivy thought she might come here more often than he did.

“Uh, hello, sir,” she greeted awkwardly in English, giving a half bow after freezing like a deer. His piercing gaze fixed her in place before that snake-oil half smile softened his features. No wonder he was so rich, people probably bought whatever he was selling when he looked like that.

“Did you get caught in the rain?” he asked, gesturing to the windows. A few droplets had hit them now and the sky was noticeably grayer. 

“No, I must have just missed it,” she murmured, uncomfortable and unsure about this small talk. 

“Ah, that’s good.”

He kept looking at her like he really had nothing else to do, and maybe he didn’t but Ivy did. Maybe he was off work today or not feeling well, though he looked perfectly fine. What on earth did he do in his downtime? The TV remote had never been moved as long as she’d been cleaning here, and there were no other visible hobbies. That computer setup definitely wasn’t for gaming. 

“Um, I’m going to clean now,” she announced, heading to the closet with the supplies. 

“When you’re done I have another job for you.” 

She paused with the closet door half open. “Another job?”

He looked amused at her, that smile on his lips again. “Finish this one first, won’t you?”

Ivy was thankful for the closet door to hide the burn in her cheeks. It hadn’t really been scolding, but his tone had just the right mix of condescending and knowing that made Ivy feel transparent. When he’d said another job her first thought had been a bonus paycheck, maybe enough to squirrel away for a down payment and a treat for dinner. 

He probably had no idea what it was like to live paycheck to paycheck like she was now or deal with the bureaucratic nightmare that was her visa closing on her like a noose. She may not be in a position to ask for much but she did have needs, and she didn’t need some rich snob to shame her about that.

It took her a few hours to work through the house, the Salesman disappearing into his office mid-morning. He stepped out to make some kind of quick stir-fry for lunch that smelled wonderful and forced Ivy to spend extra time cleaning the master shower so he couldn’t hear her stomach grumble. Normally Ivy paused to stuff a rice ball or some other convenience store snack into her mouth but her stomach was all twisted up today and her egg salad sandwich paled to whatever home cooking he was doing. She wondered if he cleaned up the pots himself and that’s why they were never in the sink for her and Granny K to scrub.

He eventually settled back down on the couch with a book, and Ivy had to keep crisscrossing the living room for supplies, half her mind on him sitting there. He wasn’t doing anything, she chastised herself, so why couldn’t she stop stealing looks? She tried to ignore him but he might as well have loomed as large as Michaelangelo’s David in the room: big, beautiful, and staring. He watched her with that same vaguely curious smile, eyes following her every movement even when she was sure he was looking at his book. She skipped vacuuming the living and dining rooms and was almost grateful to be done wiping the kitchen counters down, one of the last chores. 

She may have dragged it out a bit, but eventually she had to carry a bucket of sponges and rags back to the closet, the first signal the shift was done. What was the other job? Did she need to ask or would he say something? What could it possibly involve? She should have asked Granny K more details about those side jobs she’d done.

“How is your Korean?” he asked in the language, closing the book in his lap to look at her with expectant curiosity. 

Ivy’s free hand was outstretched for the cleaning closet door, the other holding her bucket of supplies. “Um, I am still learning all the time,” she said hesitantly. When she dared to meet his eyes his eyebrow was slightly raised. Ivy felt unaccountably unnerved by that look. “I can understand more than I can speak.”

His face broke into a smile and the small wrinkles at his mouth and the crinkling of his eyes were unfairly beautiful. “That is the way of the learner. Would you like to learn about the new job?”

Ivy squeezed the handle of the bucket. “Yes please.”

His smile got a little fuller at that. “I am going to a formal dinner and need a date.” 

“A date?” Surely she hadn’t heard that right. 

He tilted his head and quirked his lips, and then his eyes ran over Ivy slowly, undressing her. It shouldn’t have been hot, but Ivy felt a shudder run down her spine just the same. No one had ever looked at her like that before.

“Yes. I think you’ll look very good.”

Her cheeks betrayed her, flushing red. There was no way he didn’t know his effect on women. His smile became a smirk and he nodded his head at the garment bag hanging from a hook over the front closet door that she hadn’t even noticed, so consumed with cleaning under his watchful gaze. “Try it on.”

Ivy hesitated, but he waited patiently, like a cat waiting for the mouse to creep out of its hole. She put away the bucket and went over to the other closet, unzipping the bag to reveal a black dress inside with sheer, ruched sleeves. It was hard to get a sense of the style but she saw heels also tucked into a front pocket. There was no label, but considering the rest of his home this probably wasn’t cheap.

“Use the guest room to shower and get ready,” he instructed. “You have three hours.”

Ivy zipped the garment bag back up slowly, so many questions flying through her head she didn’t even know where to start. This was… was he implying…? Or was it some foreigner thing? Did he want her to listen in on something? Spy or prostitute?

She was thinking too much and he knew it. She heard the soft snap of his book shutting and then the rustle of clothes as came around the couch. 

“You need this work, Ivy,” he reminded her in English, coming so close she could smell his cologne and natural musk. He took the garment bag off its hook and handed it to her. “You’re a quick learner, otherwise you wouldn’t be so successful in college.” Her eyes went wide as he tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, acting so familiar and so unperturbed by it. “Now go get ready.”

She knew the Salesman had done some kind of background check before hiring, but it was alarming how he knew such personal details. He had to know about her debt, didn’t he? What about the visa difficulties? Did he know where she was living right now? Shame and horror mixed together noxiously in her throat as Ivy shut the guest room door behind her, garment bag in hand. And what had that been with her hair? Her cheek burned where his palm had barely brushed it. A man like that could have anyone; she had to be reading into it too much because she hadn’t had sex or felt remotely interested since her last boyfriend, before all this horror had started. 

Actually, why did he need her for a date? If anyone could hire a foreigner escort it was him, or even just ask a model. Whatever the Salesman was doing with this dinner Ivy had a bad feeling about it. He was clearly using her because she needed the money, as he’d said, but there had to be an ulterior motive. 

She’d already taken the dress though, and she fully expected it would fit well, so it was really too late to say no to this dinner. If she walked out of the apartment right now she’d be out of the job that paid for practically everything she had right now, and she’d be back to square one. She had enough to cover a week more at the hotel before she’d be begging Sun-hee and Granny K for a place to stay, and then it would be the streets. Either that or show up at the embassy and risk being caught in the middle of a political or diplomatic incident—or more likely thrown in Korean jail. 

That thought got her feet moving. Ivy stepped into the familiar bathroom and opened the drawers, finding what she’d always known was in them because once a month she dusted them: shampoo, conditioner, hair dryer, curling irons, and, to her surprise, a drawer of makeup and a waxing and shaving kit. That hadn’t been there before.

He’d been planning this obviously, but he’d waited until the night of the event to tell her. Red flag, as though everything else about him wasn’t.

Ivy had never gotten to use the shower before though she’d cleaned it a million times, so that was exciting, and three hours gave her some time. She washed her hair and body with the expensive shampoo and then spent most of her time waxing her legs and, because she was the level of bush that was the stubbly time between trimmed and shaved, she shaved her vulva too. Feeling clean and soft and a little readier to tackle the evening, she stepped out with one of the super fluffy towels she’d washed but never used before, only to realize she had a small dilemma. 

Her bra was a sports bra because cleaning did sometimes get to be sweaty work, but even more importantly was her underwear. 

She was freshly showered so she didn’t want to put back on the dirty underwear she’d worn all day, and it was one of her “cute”, fun purchases before she’d known how much debt she was in. This pair was a boy brief style with Pikachu on them, which absolutely did not match the green and black sports bra she was wearing or the formal dinner she would be attending. The drawers in this guest room were all empty, but maybe…

Ivy unzipped the garment bag and took the dress out this time. A form-fitting, short black dress of expensive material, it had sheer, bunched up sleeves and a low neckline with a heart-shaped design. The shoes were four-inch high heels with red bottoms, her size of course. An investigation of the other pockets turned up nothing though. 

Okay, one problem at a time, she thought. Get ready first.

Ivy blowdried her hair, put in a little product to make it bounce, and, after a little experimentation, did her makeup as well as she could. She didn’t have any jewelry, but considering the cut of the dress no one would be looking at that anyway.

When she stepped into it Ivy couldn’t help the burst of excitement as she pulled the tight dress on, not quite able to zip the back up. Even so it cinched at her waist and accentuated the shape of her hips, but it sat very high up on her thighs. Ivy was a little alarmed how short it was, especially how much it rode up when she was sitting. With the low neckline and wide shoulders she couldn’t have worn a regular bra anyway. As it were, she had to adjust her boobs a bit so she didn’t flash a nipple, the center v of the cut dipping quite low. Ivy had never worn anything like it, but when she crossed her legs to test the length she could feel the wetness between them. She was soft as a dove there too, and without panties this was going to be a little too hot. 

Ivy checked every drawer in the room and bathroom again but found nothing, and rechecking the garment bag too also came up empty-handed. She either wore her old panties or went without.

Biting her lip in the mirror, Ivy slipped on the black high heels, tightened the straps, couldn’t believe how outrageously comfortable a pair of heels could be, and said fuck it to underwear. If she was going to sleep with him anyway might as well skip the embarrassment for the last night of high-rolling fun she’d probably ever have.

#

He was waiting in the front hall adjusting his cuffs when Ivy stepped out just shy of three hours later. It had seemed generous at the time, but she’d gone back and forth over her hair and makeup for a good chunk of it, not to mention fretting over the dress itself. His head came up slowly, gaze sharp and then molten hot as he ran it over her body. “You look beautiful.”

Ivy flushed. He looked absurdly good too in a three-piece suit in a dark black that accentuated the effortless cut of his hair and the lines of his fine jaw and cheekbones. The low-grade arousal that came from a fresh shave was not helped by the look of the Salesman. This was going to be a long night. 

“Um, there is a button and a zipper,” she murmured, pointing to her back. He moved immediately, gliding over the floor to sweep her hair aside and pull the zipper up tight, the smell of him making her dizzy as he buttoned her up. One hand just skated the curve of her waist as he stepped back. 

“Ready?”

#

He drove a Maserati of course, and Ivy wondered how many of the cars in the garage were his. The dinner was at the top floor of some outrageously stunning hotel somewhere in Seoul. She had no idea what the name of the place was, overwhelmed by the valet, the doorman looking at her legs in appreciation, and the Salesman’s arm snaking around her waist to hold her tight to his side as they walked in.

Ivy didn’t know a single face or remember a single thing from the night except that she ate well, he cut her off after two glasses of wine, and she wasn’t the only one staring at him all night. Sometimes his hand was on her low back or hip, guiding her around, thumb occasionally rubbing her side, chatting in fast, business-jargon Korean to whoever these wealthy people were. Ivy wasn’t expected to say anything beyond a hello or two in English, a doll on his arm, but his hand burned where he touched her. Every tilt of his head that moved a lock of hair, every smile and smirk, those appraising eyes that looked at her every now and then, it made it hard to focus on everything around her.

She escaped once to the bathroom where one of the woman there had made some offhand comment about only a few good-looking men here to her friend. Ivy felt a bizarre possessiveness and pride to be on the arm of the one of those few, even though he was twisting her’s to be here. She didn’t want to feel that way, she wanted to get this night over with, ease the craving between her legs and sort through her confusing feelings in the morning. When a different drunk women left without her glass of whiskey Ivy downed it in front of the mirror. If she was fucked up in the head at least she could blame the alcohol tonight. 

When she’d stepped back out, whiskey still burning her tongue, he’d been like a beacon in the crowded room, pulling her in while others stared. When she sat down the Salesman didn’t seem to notice, turning to answer someone across the table, but his hand slipped over her thigh, hot against her bare skin. Ivy stiffened a moment, surprised, then relaxed. Her knees were firmly together only because her pussy was wet and tingled and the tight cut of this dress made spreading her legs uncomfortable anyway. The Salesman’s hand didn’t move, but Ivy did notice the man directly across from her was staring, his eyes firmly fixed where the dress began on her breasts, bare centimeters from her nipples. She glanced at the Salesman who didn’t look her way.

Through dessert his hand stayed in place, and as the night wound down and people began to say their goodbyes the Salesman stood up, offering Ivy the hand that had been on her thigh. It was warm and surprisingly soft, and he tugged her to his side, arm sliding around her waist. He led her over to the front table and offered their thanks to the host, some older man who grunted in incomprehensible Korean. Then the Salesman guided her out the door, squeezing her hip. 

They didn’t speak as they waited for the valet to bring their car around, too many others from the dinner around still chatting with each other, though with noticeable slurring or over-enthusiastic tones. If he was touched by alcohol at all Ivy couldn’t guess, he’d nursed drinks all night and she wasn’t sure he’d sipped a single one. When his Maserati pulled up the Salesman opened the door for her. 

She got in, glad his body blocked the possible flashing as the dress rode up nearly to her hips. His teeth were white in the dark before the door shut, and then he got in on the other side.

“You were perfect tonight,” he complimented as he pulled the car away from the curb. 

Ivy blushed, trying to even her breathing out. “Thank you. Um, what was this?”

“A dinner to close a deal,” he said, which explained almost nothing. “Did you have fun?”

Fun? Half of her attention all night had been on not rubbing her thighs together, having spent the evening on edge, and the wine and atmosphere had only made it worse. Now they were back in the car alone, heading to his apartment. Fun wasn’t how she would have described it. Aggravating? Hot? A blur of arousal and confusion?

“Yes.”

He glanced at her as he stopped for a signal, the glow of the late night lights throwing his handsome face in sharp relief. He seemed to see something in Ivy’s expression because he started to smirk at her, eyes sliding down her body before he was pulled away by the light change.

“Did you like the dress?”

“Yes.”

“I think you’re forgetting something,” he murmured, expression still that aggravatingly teasing look even as he drove. 

Ivy immediately thought of her lack of panties and pressed her thighs tighter together. Gods she hope he couldn’t smell how wet she was.

“What?”

“Sir,” he said silkily, and Ivy blinked, startled to realize she’d forgotten that rule—and that he wasn’t talking about her panties. 

“Yes, sir?”

“Good girl.”

Fuck, forget the smell, she was going to leave a wet spot on the leather seat. 

#

The rest of the drive was quiet, but the smell of his cologne and the casual closeness of sitting in the car together made Ivy hyper aware of every breath she took. Her foot itched but she didn’t dare move, playing the velvety way he’d said “good girl” and the pleasant jolt that had shot through her on repeat in her head. She’d never felt like this about a man before, intoxicated by his attention.

Despite time seeming to ooze by with every breath they were pulling into the underground garage before she realized how far they’d driven. The Salesman parked seamlessly into a space between a Porsche and a Land Rover then turned off the engine. He didn’t say a word as he got out, but Ivy had barely opened the door before he was there, holding it for her. 

“What are you thinking?” he asked, his look saying he had some idea already.

The empty space between her legs felt more obvious than ever as Ivy followed him out from between the cars to the elevator. “Um, it’s late, I don’t know what time the buses stop.”

He looked down at her, still taller despite her four inch heels. His fingers stroked over her hair for a moment before he wrapped a fistful and gently but forcibly tugged. A startled gasp escaped Ivy as the sensation shot down to her cunt and his smile was positively wicked. “I won’t repeat myself again.”

“Sorry sir,” she said quickly, and he released her hair, some of the golden strands sliding through his fingers slowly as he pulled his hand away.

“I have two guest rooms,” he reminded her, “and I’m the one keeping you out late.”

“This is part of the job, sir,” she murmured, not very convincingly. The elevator chimed and the doors soundlessly opened. She stepped in but he waited a beat, standing outside.

“Mm, and you are a hard worker, aren’t you?”

He didn’t look at her in the elevator as it rode up and up, but the tension between them was overwhelming. He looked so unbothered, not even shifting his weight, while Ivy swore she could feel her pulse in between her legs.

The elevator was too efficient. They were at his floor before Ivy could figure out what to say in response, and then the Salesman was striding out into his home, toeing off his expensive shoes and peeling off his jacket. It was unnecessarily sexy how he tossed the jacket aside and rolled up his sleeves, still in the matching vest, on his way to the liquor cabinet, part of the bar that separated the living room from the kitchen. 

“Wine?” he called as Ivy unstrapped her heels and placed them by the exit. Her old, beat up sneakers still sat there, appallingly out of place. 

“Sir?” 

He was smiling when she rounded the corner, pulling down two dangling wine glasses Ivy had hand-cleaned at some point. Had he boozed and smiled at another woman here just like this, the way he was with her? Had she washed those glasses out and made his bed without realizing someone else had lain in those sheets?

Those were ugly thoughts that she tried to banish as he expertly popped the cork and poured out generous glasses. He offered one to her, and the way he smiled made her unsure if he was happy or just enjoyed watching the fly fall into his web. 

“To a successful night.”

“Geonbae,” Ivy murmured, hating the way her heart jumped at his pleased smile as she tapped her glass to his with the Korean word for cheers. He’s probably a monster, she told herself even as she sipped wine that probably cost as much as her rent, don’t let him talk you into anything you don’t want.

But he’d make it so good… the insidious voice in her head said, reminding her that she was standing with this handsome man without a bra or panty on. This dress sat so high on her thighs that if one of his long fingers dipped beneath it he’d know immediately that not only was she bare, she was wet.

“—Taste?”

“Hm?” Ivy asked, almost choking on the wine. She hadn’t fully understood whatever he’d said in Korean except the last word. Taste what? Her?

“Do you like the wine?” he corrected in English, looking amused as she looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Oh yes.” There was a beat of silence, his gaze so heavily on her. “Sir.”

He relaxed, setting his glass down and popping the buttons on the vest of his three-piece suit and shedding it, dropping it on the console carelessly. He only undid the top buttons of the white shirt beneath, exposing creamy smooth skin.

“When did you move to Korea?” he asked, walking to the couches Ivy had cleaned a thousand times and been too afraid to sit on. She’d always eaten her lunch standing in the kitchen like the servant she was. 

“Two years ago.”

“For university?”

He sat down like he owned it, legs spread, arm over the top of the couch, watching her as she tried to sit primly and failed because this dress was so tight and so short. The U-shape of the couch let them face each other over a coffee table. 

“Yes, sir.”

“And your parents said they would pay for it.”

Ivy swallowed a larger mouthful of wine than she meant to. He held his glass lazily, eyes razor sharp. “Yes, but there were some problems, sir.”

“About $200,000 in problems,” he said, and Ivy’s cheeks turned red. “And American student loans have interest too, don’t they?” She couldn’t meet his eyes, mortified he knew not just about the debt but the extent of it. She was deep in the hole and not crawling out anytime soon. “Student visas don’t allow you to work either, do they?”

She shook her head mutely. 

“Pity you have no one to confirm you are an upstanding citizen, that is the English, right?” Ivy couldn’t help looking up sharply at that, his smile most definitely a smirk now. He hadn’t touched his wine, the glass dangling in his hand, sex and sin seated on the couch. Ivy sensed the devil offering a deal.

“I don’t,” she admitted warily.

“What would you do with a full visa, Ivy? Would you leave Korea?” He leaned forward, watching her with something behind those eyes.

“No, sir.” She still owed money to the school, and she still couldn’t bring herself to speak to her parents. Her debts would follow her no matter where she went, it hardly mattered what country she was in. At least she’d chosen Korea and she had a friend here.

She waited but he didn’t interrogate her further, his eyes just taking her in. She fought not to squirm on the couch, his visible chest a tempting spot for her gaze. 

“Take off your dress.”

Ivy lowered the glass she’d almost raised to her lips. She looked at him confused.

“What?”

“Tsk, forgetful brat.”

“Sir?”

He nodded meaningfully at her, crossing one ankle over his knee and taking a sip from his glass.

His smile was a challenge, expectation readily apparent. That smug look riled her almost as much as the chaste touches all night. Her skin had been humming, wondering, wanting, and now he just wanted to order her around?

She drained the last of her wine glass.

“Is this part of the job, sir?” Ivy challenged.

He broke out into possibly the first genuine smile Ivy had ever seen on him. “Do you want to pay off your debt?”

“Yes.” She stubbornly left off the sir.

“Then go ahead.”

She opened her mouth, couldn’t find a way to phrase the million thoughts in her head, and shut it. His smile slowly widened.

“If you’d rather just clean this apartment for a pittance that’s fine.” He waved an arm to encompass the huge, cold space. “But if you’d like to pay off your debt, get your visa, and make something of yourself eventually, well…” He looked meaningfully at her and then gestured at the floor. 

Take off the dress, get on your knees, and beg.

He was so unbearably smug it made Ivy angry, and the wine stoked the fire in her belly. “I want some ground rules,” she told him in English, and he laughed, eyes closed, head back, amused. 

“I’ll negotiate,” he acquiesced, “but consider this an interview.”

It wasn’t much but she felt a little less manipulated if there was a discussion, and frankly she was still wet between the thighs. Ivy set her glass a little too firmly down on the coffee table and stood up. “Will you unzip me, sir?”

He sobered from his laughter quickly, lidded gaze watching as she walked over, turning around when she reached him. His hands on her waist pulled her down beside him to undo the top button and lower the zipper of her dress. 

From neck to sacrum he exposed her bare back, the lack of bra immediately obvious, the lack of panties not clear until Ivy was stepping out of the dress entirely. She couldn’t see his expression since he was behind her, but his hands immediately cupped her bare hips, this time tugging her back so she was seated on his lap. He might have most of the power here, but she did have a chip on this bargaining table.

His thumbs caressed her hips and then the tops of her thighs, exploring the naked, unexpected terrain, as Ivy luxuriated backward. She felt ridiculous uninhibited, nude in an all-but-stranger’s lap, his expensive clothes rubbing pleasantly against her skin. 

“All night like this? What a little whore you are,” he murmured, thumb finally reaching the softness of her totally bare mound. It didn’t take more than a nudge to coax her legs apart, her head falling back on to his shoulder. 

“You forgot something sir,” she repeated, and he laughed, low and sexy, as his other hand cupped her breast. He tweaked her nipple as his lips trailed up her throat, and Ivy groaned, wishing he’d do more. She’d been worked up all night, and at this point had sold her soul, so at least she’d get a nice glass of wine and an orgasm for her trouble. 

When she made to touch herself or perhaps even reach back and touch his undoubtedly silky soft hair, he made a tsking sound. 

“Needy thing, you get what you want? I get what I want. And this body is mine.” He suddenly cupped her bare sex, startling a soft moan from her. “Now get on your knees.” The fingers that had been holding her cunt retreated, reminding Ivy that this wasn’t about her pleasure, she was merely a vessel for his. The thought shouldn’t have made parts of her throb but it did. 

She stood up slowly then turned and sank to her knees. The Salesman’s eyes were all black, pupils blown, but his hair was still neatly parted, and her fingers itched to mess it up. He looked at Ivy with possession and expectation, his cock tenting his fine suit pants obscenely. 

Some wanton sexual beast had taken over her, the same one that had been disappointed by her partners in the past. She opened his fly and tugged down his black pants to find silk boxer briefs and a considerable erection.

Whoever had said South Korean men were lacking did not average in the Salesman. Flushed and heavy with arousal with a darker head filling with blood, Ivy actually hesitated at the sight of him. She’d only given a few blow-jobs in her life and never one that mattered so much, especially to someone with such high expectations. She took him in her grip but paused, assessing where to start. 

“Go on,” he instructed, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, like he had earlier, out of place in such a lewd act. “Have you done this before?”

“I have,” Ivy said defiantly, squaring her shoulders. He hummed lowly, clearly amused, but didn’t say more, letting her figure out her way from here. 

She ended up licking first, starting at the slit then around the soft head, discovering his taste and texture for herself slowly. She enjoyed the soft hitches in breath and the subtle thrusts of his hips when she hit a particularly spot just right. It was difficult though, having to be mindful of her teeth, mind on what her tongue was doing, jaw aching and drool starting to escape her. She tried to take him deeper and almost gagged. When she pulled back to catch her breath he was sipping wine, as though her efforts were barely holding his attention.

Nervous now, Ivy returned to his length, toying with the salty precum of his slit, pleased to hear the clink of the glass on the table at that. Her hand worked over the length she couldn’t easily suckle or swallow as she slurped around him, his knees pressed against her shoulders, breathing in his unique scent of cologne and clean sweat. She was unsure how to make this better or what to change until his hand landed on her head, tightening almost to the point of pain in her hair. 

“Breathe through your nose,” he instructed, and when she obligingly took a breath he thrust up, pushing his length deeper into her mouth. Ivy jerked, surprised, but he grunted, and squeezed the back of her head, holding her in place. “Relax your throat, hollow your cheeks, that’s a good girl.” On his next thrust she choked, sputtered, and he waited another moment before pulling back, then thrusting again. The tip of him hit the back of her throat and she breathed out harshly before sucking in air. It took her a bit to figure out his rhythm and how to breathe, finally tentatively licking at his tip when he drew back.

His next few thrusts went deeper and then he started to speed up, using her mouth, uncaring of the tears escaping the corners of her eyes or the tight grip on her hair. “That’s it pet, such an eager fuck toy. Here I thought I’d have to make an effort for you, and yet you didn’t wear a thing to dinner under that dress, did you? Should have made you cum on my fingers while Jin Sun-heon watched across the table. Were you wet then? Are you wet now?”

Ivy groaned because somehow she was, even though her throat felt raw and she literally choked with each slam of his hips. Her mouth was overfull of him, the haze of the discomfort from her knees to her scalp sharpening the edge of pleasure he’d been honing all evening. 

He jerked his hips a final time and pulled back, a splatter of salty bitterness hitting her tongue and cheek before the rest hit the top of her bare breasts. He worked his cock in quick, efficient movements as the last weak spurts escaped, watching her as she unconsciously licked her lips clean.  

Ivy’s breath was rough, her throat and mouth sore, eyes huge as her employer stared at her, his mouth slightly open, cheeks warm, and the hottest look in a man’s eye she’d ever seen. 

“Stand up, pet,” he instructed, and Ivy barely registered the words, just staring at the sheer lust he was made of in that moment. She snapped to awareness when he grabbed her nipple cruelly and twisted. “Stand up.”

She did, and he wrapped one big hand around her left thigh and pulled it beside him on the couch, so she was awkwardly half-standing half-astride him. It opened her pussy lips enough that his inspecting hand came back wet. “You’re soaking, slut,” he commented, thumb lazily swiping at her clit to make her jump. “I should have you ride the corner of my coffee table for that sloppy blow-job,” he murmured, sending a jolt through her at the image. “But you have to learn somewhere,” he continued, petting her pussy casually, thumbs spreading her lips obscenely and then rubbing up her slit. Ivy desperately wanted to grab her own breasts or something, give herself some kind of contact beyond his fleeting, assessing touch. Her legs were trembling as she stood there for his inspection.

Two fingers unexpectedly slid into her soaking depths, and Ivy cried out, almost losing her balance. She grabbed his shoulder and he bit at her breast, a sharp pain that he soothed with licks. She couldn’t stand back up with the way his fingers thrust into her, thumb rolling her clit, and she was unable to stop rutting his hand. When he slapped her ass the sound resounding through the room.

“Oh!” she yelped, startled and impossibly more aroused.

“Do you want to come?” he asked, looking into her desperate eyes, his own hair finally tousled, so boyish with the face of the devil. “Beg me.”

“Please,” she tried, only to be slapped again, her foot on the ground trembling. His hands inside her found that delicate, sensitive spot and rubbed mercilessly, Ivy’s knees almost giving way. He spanked her ass again and she moaned. 

“Please what?” He sucked her nipple into his mouth, worrying the bud with his tongue. Ivy’s leg gave way and her other knee hit the couch. He tutted, pulling his fingers free until he wasn’t touching any of her at all, and Ivy couldn’t stand it. She reached for him and he batted her hand away. 

“Desperate, aren’t you? For such a little whore you are so easy, pet.” His voice was like sin, chocolatey and soft and dangerous, oh so dangerous. “Has anyone touched you like this?”

Ivy shook her head furiously, her cunt so empty it nearly hurt. The sting of his slap again felt so good, and she barely twitched, bliss so close to mind.

“Liar.” He sounded affectionate though, indulging, as his hand remained on her backside, caressing the flaming skin. She arched her back, breasts jutting up as she groaned. “You’ve never had it this good, never had someone give a cocksleeve like you what she needs,” he crooned. “I’ll make it good, love, just ask.”

“Please…”

His lips brushed the skin of her breast lightly, not enough, and his hand simply held her there. She felt the burst of his breath as he laughed when her hips canted forward instinctively, searching for his touch, her hands squeezing his shoulders. Ivy could feel her pussy clench on nothing. Gods, she never been so turned on her life, everywhere aching for him, so close to an impossible edge.

“Please sir, I need to come, please, let me come. Make me come, sir.” It didn’t feel degrading to Ivy as she blurted out the words, it almost felt uplifting, asking for what she needed. His hand was there immediately, fingers tracing the seam of her lips, shifting the hood of her clitoris aside to play with the bud.

“Good girl,” he praised as he sunk three fingers inside her, smirk widening as Ivy keened. The Salesman rewarded her with their first kiss, his lips caressing and soft, tongue tangling deeply with her’s. Ivy wanted to devour him but it was hard to focus when she was so overwhelmed with sensation. His hand was buried inside her, pumping deep, while his other held her hair pulled tight, his mouth ravaging her’s. 

He drove the breath from Ivy’s lungs, fingers pounding up and into her, hitting that spot deep inside while his thumb caught her clit. Her breasts were bouncing as she rode his hand, utterly nude while he sat fully dressed on his couch, curtains wide open, and it was too much, the whole night has been too much, and Ivy sobbed as she hit her peak. She shook as his fingers rolled and rubbed her clit, pressing mercilessly inside her as she came. 

“Good girl, sweet whore, that’s my slut,” he was whispering as Ivy swam back into the real world, slumped against him and breathing hard, her thighs still quivering slightly.

When she opened her eyes he was looking at her with indulgence, and Ivy was too exhausted to fight the rush of pleasure at how satisfied he looked. 

“Take this suit to the dry cleaner tomorrow,” he told her, caressing her cheek. “You got it all wet, pet.”

Ivy was sure of that, dripping wet and shaking from what he’d done to her. He kissed her softly, almost lovingly, hands trailing over her cum-splattered body. She hummed against his mouth, pleasure-drunk and exhausted, the wine and the stress earlier tonight capping it off. 

It took a moment to register that she was being picked up in a princess carry, head lolling back on to his shoulder. Ivy barely recognized the hallway or the bed, only waking up a bit more as the Salesman pulled the blankets up, the ones she’d cleaned and made up the bed with earlier that day. 

“Sleep,” he murmured, smiling face the last thing she saw before she drifted off to sleep.

#

The next morning should have been a harsh awakening, one filled with a horrible awareness of what she’d done, but Ivy just felt good.

God, she hadn’t actually had good sex like that in, well, ever. She’d also slept like a rock on a decent bed for the first time in a long time. It truly took her a moment to realize she still smelled like semen, she was naked, she was in her employer’s guest room, and breakfast was set up on a tray by the bed. The clock told her she’d slept late, almost past 10am. 

A small note sat next to the plate of toast, a bowl of kimchi, and a smaller, covered one with rice and a fried egg on top, along with a covered mug of tea. In neat Korean characters Ivy read: “A reward for last night.”

Reward? she sounded out the word several times, trying to figure out his meaning. Was this breakfast a reward? Or would she find something else when she left the guest room? How long could she linger?

No matter what Ivy wasn’t leaving without a shower and a fresh change of clothes. She found a new set of stylish jeans and a light shirt in the bathroom, complete with a lacy pair of red lingerie and a matching bra. She hadn’t heard him come in and leave any of this, which was a bit scary.

The shower cleaned up the tacky spend left on her, and Ivy had a weird jolt in her stomach when she touched it. Shouldn’t she feel dirty? Used? She’d just whored herself out to “interview” for a full-time position as what? His personal escort and plaything? Why couldn’t she get properly mad at him for coercing her to have sex with him, calling her degrading things, and taking advantage of her situation? Was she that depraved?

How was she ever going to enjoy regular sex again? 

The bra and panties were lacy and a thong, and wearing them under such regular clothes felt like an intimate secret known only to her and him. None of the clothes had tags on it but it was still her size, and she wondered if he’d gone to a shop and gotten these himself or had someone else on his payroll do it. A secretary? Maybe a courier delivered them?

Ivy brushed out her hair, fixed her makeup, and quickly ate the breakfast despite it being cold. She even found her phone charging beside the bed after she’d left it in the foyer last night, having no place to carry it while at the dinner.

There were no missed calls or messages when she turned it on, just a news alert about train delays. She refused to be disappointed, at least until her calendar reminder pinged, telling her she was about to be late for her next lesson with Han-gyeol.

Ivy bit her lip. She couldn’t get across town to Han-gyeol’s home in time, and the last thing she wanted to see was his face anyway. That fratty, well-off kid with no sense who had paid her in cash while staring at the hollows of her cheeks hungrily. He had no common sense but he meant well, though he had no idea how to do well. He was a boy in comparison to the Salesman, and Ivy just wanted to go home and process what she’d signed up for last night.

She texted Han-gyeol: I can’t make today, I have a fever.

Please take care of yourself, he responded. Ivy almost expected another message, maybe about making up the lesson or her fee, but he didn’t say anything.

Done with breakfast and dressed, Ivy looked at the rumpled, dirty bed sheets. Should she wash them? She wasn’t technically on the clock, or was she? If she left them she’d have to do it next Wednesday anyway. 

She stripped the bed and carried the sheets out almost like a shield, nervous about what he would say or do when she saw him. Would he act like it was nothing? Expect weekly repeats? But the apartment was empty and quiet, his bedroom door ajar, sheets rumpled, no sounds in the kitchen or office. He must have already left. 

Thank god. Her nerves could only handle so much. Ivy put the laundry in, tidied up the glasses from last night and the… pan he’d fried the egg in. She’d never seen that before, and she felt touched by it even though frying an egg was hardly impressive. He could well have given her nothing except the boot, so to speak, or even just ordered something in.

While the laundry ran she made up the guest room bed again and then his, lingering an extra moment in his room. His scent here was nice, and now she knew it wasn’t just expensive cologne but also his shampoo and something else entirely him. 

The sheets were moved to the drier as Ivy gathered his suit together for the dry cleaners, pausing in the foyer to get the jacket and vest parts, only to see her black dress there too. Should that be cleaned? She’d likely never wear it again but it shouldn’t be put away dirty. Figuring he could afford one more thing on his dry cleaning bill, Ivy put both outfits in the bag. Only when she was done with everything, washed sheets folded and lights off, putting her ratty shoes on after she’d put away the heels in the shoe closet, did her phone chirp with an alert.

New deposit! 

Ivy opened the email, eyes widening at the number. That was… that was more than she made in two weeks cleaning this apartment. She didn’t need to make up Han-gyeol’s appointment with a paycheck like that. Shit, she’d have the downpayment soon enough on a new place at this rate. 

Maybe this was the reward that she’d earned with her body last night, she thought as the elevator closed on the apartment and the events of the last 24hrs. Finally Ivy started to feel some disgust with herself. She wanted to ask him what the night had meant, what he’d been thinking, and… did he want to do it again? 

#

The first thing Ivy did with her bonus was buy steak. She hadn’t eaten beef in ages, but now she went to a restaurant and deliberately ordered it, paying the bill in cash just because she could. It was freeing, exhilarating, even if the rest immediately went to rent, groceries, and the next installments plus paying down the principle on her highest interest loan. 

She wished there was someone she could talk to about that night. She didn’t dare tell Sun-hee lest her grandmother hear about it, and there was no one in America Ivy was close to anymore. She wasn’t even sure she wanted next Wednesday to come or not, anxious and excited and confused by it all. Talking it all out would have helped, but for Granny K’s ultimate rule of discretion. Plus, Ivy had reasoned that if her phone wasn’t bugged she’d be surprised. In the days after that Wednesday night she’d taken to putting it in a pot in her apartment and always playing music so she could pretend at some privacy. Not that there was anything to hear.

Well… except at night. Ivy would leave her phone charging in the bathroom, heavy ceramic pot lid cracked for the cord to snake through with the bathroom door slightly ajar, while she settled on the bed with the absurd mirrored ceiling.

Buying the vibrator had been terribly embarrassing, the proprietor of the sex shop watching her a little too closely, but her fingers just weren’t going to do it now. The first night home she’d tossed and turned, unable to forget how uninhibited she’d been, how sexy, strange, and wonderful she’d felt on that couch with him. Despite being the one straddling him and usually the person who was asking her partner to do something different, he’d been in charge, not asking but taking what he wanted and giving what she needed. He’d pushed so many boundaries the field had been covered in red flags but she’d come so hard, and the most alarming thing was Ivy didn’t care. 

I’m completely insane, she thought as she thrust the vibrator inside her, trying to hit that spot he’d found so effortlessly and failing. 

I should hate him, I should feel violated, she thought as she folded her knees up and widened her hips, imagining how dark his eyes would be and how smug he’d look if he knew she was masturbating to him. She didn’t know how it’d feel to have him inside her but it had to be better than this.

I shouldn’t have liked that, she thought as she roughly groped her breast the way he had, trying to keep her harsh breathing down so no one would hear. 

Gods I want to do it again, she thought as orgasm crashed over her, shorter and weaker than the night before but still worth it. She laid there with the vibrator switched off inside her, obscenely exposed, and wondered what he’d think if he walked in right now.

That I’m a desperate slut and he knew it. 

[kemetic-dreams]

Anthony Burns was born enslaved in Stafford County, Virginia on May 31, 1834. His mother was the slave of a certain John Suttle and served as a cook for the Suttle family. She bore 13 children in total, with Anthony being her youngest. Anthony's father was rumored to be a free man who worked as a supervisor in a quarry in Virginia who later died from stone dust inhalation.

Burns's master, John Suttle, died shortly after Anthony’s birth. His widowed wife took over his estate and sold Burns’s older siblings in order to prevent bankruptcy. Eventually, Burns’s mother was also sold, or rented out to some other family. Anthony did not see her for two years, when Mrs. Suttle went to collect the revenue from her being hired out as a laborer. When Anthony was six years old, Mrs. Suttle died. Her property, including Anthony, was inherited by her eldest son, Charles F. Suttle.

In order to repay the family’s existing debts, Charles mortgaged his slaves and continued his mother’s financial practices to prevent further bankruptcy. During this time, Burns began his earliest tasks while enslaved. Burns looked after his niece so that his sister was available for labor, and stayed at the House of Horton where his sister lived and worked. Here, Burns was introduced to education by the children who lived there; they taught Burns the alphabet in exchange for small services.

At the age of 7, Burns was hired out to three single women (referred to as maidens in the historic text) to work for $15 a year, paid to his master. His jobs included running necessary errands and collecting their weekly supply of cornmeal from the nearby mill. It was during this time that Burns was first exposed to religion. At the age of 8, Burns went to work for $25 a year and was again offered a chance to learn. In this job, the children taught Burns how to spell through their own spelling worksheets from school; in return, Anthony performed antics for their entertainment. Burns worked in this capacity for two years and left due to poor treatment.

Burns was next leased by William Brent. Brent was the husband of a rich young woman, and lived off her wealth, including the labor of numerous slaves. His wife was extremely kind to Anthony and he stayed there for two years, earning Suttle a total of $100. Under Brent’s supervision, Anthony learned about a land up North where black people were not enslaved. He began dreaming of his escape and freedom. Anthony refused to remain under Brent’s employment for a third year, although Suttle was satisfied with this position. Suttle humored Burns’s wishes to find his own employment, since he knew it was worth more to have a willing slave than many reluctant slaves.

Anthony entered the hiring ground to find a new master under a lease hire arrangement. Eventually, Suttle entered negotiations with Foote, who wanted Anthony to work in his saw-mill for $75 a year. Anthony was 12–13 years old at this time, and did not want to remain enslaved. In his new capacity, Anthony continued his education with Foote’s daughter, but otherwise dealt with many cruelties. Foote and his wife proved to be Anthony’s severest owners, and beat even their youngest slaves without sympathy. Some 2–3 months into his service, Anthony mangled his hand in the wheel after Foote turned it on without prior warning. Anthony was discharged because of the injury and was returned to live with Suttle as he recovered.

While recovering from the injury to his hand, Anthony had a religious awakening, that superseded other experiences. Simultaneously, Millerism was introduced to his small county in Virginia, and Burns was excited by the religious fervor that spread like wildfire. Suttle refused his request to be baptized, saying that Anthony would turn to sin if he joined the Church.

However, after Anthony returned to his employment under Foote, Suttle gave Anthony permission to get baptized. Suttle took Anthony to the Baptist Church in Falmouth, which accepted everyone in its congregation. During mass (communion), the free whites and enslaved blacks were separated by a partition. Two years later, Anthony was given the chance to preach to a group of church members and appointed as a preacher at this church. Anthony used this new position to preach exclusively to assemblies of enslaved persons, although Virginia nominally required all-black congregations to be supervised by a white minister. According to Anthony, if a law officer discovered the blacks in their meeting, any enslaved persons who did not escape would be put into cages and given 39 lashes the following day. Additionally, Anthony performed marriages and funerals for enslaved persons as a preacher.

As previously mentioned, Anthony returned to Foote’s employment after his hand healed. He finished his year of service and was hired by a new master in Falmouth, Virginia, where his church was located. His new master loaned Burns to a merchant for six months of his year of service. Burns was treated horribly by that man, so he refused to remain with the lessee after his year of service was completed.

For the next year, Anthony moved to Fredericksburg, Virginia, where he worked under a tavern-keeper. He earned $100 for his master by this service. A year later, Anthony went to work in an apothecary in the same city. He met a fortune teller who promised him freedom within the next few months.

A short time later, Suttle hired William Brent (Anthony’s former master) to manage hiring out his slaves for fees each year. Brent moved Anthony to Richmond, Virginia, at the end of his year of service. The young man was excited to work in a city with ships that sailed down the James River and then through the Chesapeake Bay to the North. In Richmond, Brent hired Anthony out to his brother-in-law, whom Anthony did not get along with. By this time, Anthony was skilled at reading and writing, especially compared to other slaves. With his knowledge, he set up a makeshift school to teach slaves of all ages how to read and write; this was kept secret from their masters in Richmond. At the end of his year of service with Brent’s brother-in-law, Burns was employed by a man named Millspaugh.

Millspaugh quickly realized that he did not have enough work for Anthony to earn a profit on him, so he set Anthony out into the city to work small jobs and earn money for him. Although they originally set up a daily meeting, they changed it to meet up once every two weeks since Anthony only made a small sum, if any, each day. In his job search, Anthony was pushed to escape by the sailors and freemen he worked with. The only thing holding him back was a sense of religious duty towards his owner, but he justified his escape with the Epistle to Philemon and eliminated any religious qualms he had with leaving. In one of their biweekly meetings, Anthony gave Millspaugh $25 as his earnings that month, and after being presented with such a large sum, his master required Anthony to visit him daily. Anthony refused and walked out on his master without his consent, thus making his escape much more pressing than it would have been if he had had two weeks to plan and execute it. Anthony devised a plan with a sailor friend he met during his work on a vessel in the harbor, and one morning in early February 1854, Anthony boarded the vessel that would take him to the North.

We went to bed one night old-fashioned, conservative, compromise Union Whigs & waked up stark mad Abolitionists.

— Amos Adams Lawrence, Conscience Whig, on the Anthony Burns affair, 1854

Anthony Burns left Richmond, Virginia one early February morning in 1854. His friend stowed him away in a small compartment on the ship, and Anthony immediately fell asleep after days of anxious and long nights. Upon waking up, the ship was already miles out of the harbor and on its way to Norfolk, Virginia before heading to Boston, Massachusetts. On the journey, Burns was stuck in the same position and in the same compartment without room for movement for a little over three weeks. In that time, he suffered from dehydration, starvation, and extreme sea sickness. His friend brought him food and water every 3–4 days, and it was just enough for Anthony to survive the trip to Boston.

The vessel reached Boston in late February or early March (the exact date is unknown), and Burns immediately began seeking new employment. At first, Anthony found a job as a cook on a ship, but was dismissed after one week since he could not make his bread rise. Next, Burns found employment under Collin Pitts, a colored man, in a clothing store on Brattle Street. However, Anthony only enjoyed one month of freedom in this capacity before being arrested.

While in Boston, Anthony sent a letter to his enslaved brother in Richmond and revealed his new home in Boston. His brother’s owner discovered the letter and conveyed the news of Burns’ escape to Suttle. Suttle went to a courthouse in Alexandria County, where the judge ruled that Suttle had enough proof that he owned Burns and could issue a warrant for his arrest under the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850. The warrant was issued on May 24, 1854 and stated that Watson Freeman, the United States Marshal of Massachusetts, was required to arrest Anthony Burns and bring him before Judge Edward G. Loring to stand trial. On that same day, Deputy Marshal Asa O. Butman, an infamous slave hunter, was charged with the execution of the warrant.

On May 24, 1854, Butman scouted out Burns in the clothing store before arresting him. His goal was to make a peaceful arrest in order to not incite mob violence and have the mob rescue Burns before he could be returned to the South. After Burns and Pitts closed down their store, they walked separate ways to go home. While walking, Butman stopped Burns at the corner of the Court and Hanover street intersection and arrested him under the guise of a jewel store robbery. Burns, knowing he was innocent of that crime, complied with Butman and peacefully walked with him to the courthouse. At the courthouse, Burns expected to be confronted by the jewelry store owner, but was instead met with U.S. Marshal Freeman. In this moment, Burns knew he had been caught under the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850.

By the first day of the trial, the prosecutors had succeeded in keeping the trial hidden from the public. However, Richard Henry Dana Jr. was passing by the courthouse an hour before the initial examination and heard about the proceedings of the day. Immediately, Dana entered the courthouse to talk to Burns and offer him his professional help. Initially Burns declined, citing it would be of no use, but reluctantly agreed due to Dana’s insistence.

In the initial hearing, the plaintiff (Charles Suttle) put William Brent on the stand to further verify Burns’ identity along with Suttle’s testimony. Brent was also asked to recall his conversation with Burns and Suttle the previous night right after Burns’ arrest, but Dana intervened on behalf of Burns and got the evidence thrown out for the time being. At the end of the hearing, commissioner Loring agreed to push further proceedings back to May 27, but they were again delayed until the 29th due to Burns’ late appointment of counsel. In an interview, Theodore Parker, witness to the trial, cited that Burns's hesitancy to accept counsel came from fear over how well Brent and Suttle knew him.

During the duration of the trial, Burns was kept in a jury-room under constant surveillance of armed guards. In this time, the guards tried to provoke and trick Anthony into slipping up and admitting to his status as a slave, but Burns evaded their tactics. The closest Burns came to self-admission was at the provocation of Suttle, who was outraged the public saw him as a harsh and abusive master to Anthony. Suttle asked Anthony to write a letter proving the contrary, but Leonard Grimes, a Boston clergyman and abolitionist, had Burns destroy the letter after seeing it as evidence to be used against him in the trial.

The final examination began on May 29, 1854. Armed soldiers lined the windows of the courthouse and prevented all officials and citizens from entering the courtroom. Even Dana, Burns’ senior counsel, couldn’t enter the courtroom until late into the examination. Thus, Charles Ellis, Burns’ junior counsel, was forced to begin the examination by arguing that it was unfit to continue while Suttle’s counsel carried firearms, but Loring rejected this sentiment. During the plaintiff’s argument, Loring approved their request to present the conversation between Suttle and Burns as evidence from the night of his arrest. As their final piece of evidence, they admitted the book that contained the Virginia court’s ruling in favor of Suttle.

When Burns’ counsel presented their defense, they focused on proving that Suttle’s timeline was off and they lacked sufficient evidence to show Burns was the slave who had run away. They brought in William Jones, a colored man who testified that he had met Anthony on the first day of March and described his relationship to Anthony through their time together in Boston. In addition, the counsel knew that the commissioner would be hesitant to accept the testimony of a colored man, so they called up 7 other witnesses to validate his story. As one of the witnesses, the counsel called up James Whittemore, a city council member of Boston. Whittemore testified that he had seen Burns in Boston around March 8, and identified him by his scars as proof.

In Loring’s final decision, he admitted that he thought the Fugitive Slave Act was a disgrace, but his job was to uphold the law. Loring stated that Suttle produced sufficient evidence to prove the fugitive slave Suttle described matched Anthony’s appearance, thus he ruled in favor of Suttle.

It has been estimated the government's cost of capturing and conducting Burns through the trial was upwards of $40,000 (equivalent to $1,303,000 in 2022).

Among the citizens interested in Burns’ trial was the Committee of Vigilance, which was founded after the passage of the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850. The goal of the group was to prevent the execution of the Act for fugitives in Burns’ position. It was effective due to the diversity of its ranks, ranging from people of every socioeconomic status and race. In Burns’ case, the committee debated between two courses of actions: attacking the courthouse to forcibly rescue Anthony, and creating a crowd when they removed Burns from the courthouse to act as an immovable barrier. Between these two propositions, the committee ruled to go forth with the second and more peaceful plan, and additionally posted men at the courthouse to make sure the officials did not try to move Burns without their knowledge.

Although the committee itself agreed to go ahead with the peaceful plan, a faction of men planned to rescue Burns from the courthouse themselves. On Friday evening, May 26, the entire committee dispersed from their meeting in Faneuil Hall at around 9 p.m., when the men planned to hold their assault. By that time in the evening, they had gathered at least 25 men, all armed with various weapons such as, revolvers and axes. The crowd picked up members from the committee meeting as they made their way to the courthouse, and began their attack by breaking down the doors with axes and wooden construction beams. After breaking into the courthouse, a fight broke out between the guards and rioters, and resulted in the death of one of the guards, James Batchelder.

The riot did not get far after the police arrived as back-up, resulting in the arrest of many abolitionists. However, it is highly unlikely the attack would have been successful in rescuing Anthony since he was held in an extremely secure room in the top floor of the courthouse.

A grand jury indicted three of those involved in the attack at the courthouse. After an acquittal of one man and several hung juries in trials for the others, the federal government dropped the charges.

After the riot, President Franklin Pierce sent the United States Marines to Boston to aid the police in preventing further violence. Following the riot, the entire city of Boston was excited and awaiting the next phase of the trial. Once Loring’s decision was announced in favor of Suttle, the abolitionists began their preparations for Burns’ movement.

Following the trial, Marshal Freeman was tasked with successfully moving Burns from the courthouse without interference from the crowd in Boston. Jerome V. C. Smith, the mayor of Boston, was responsible for maintaining a peaceful crowd. With this news, the citizens of Boston set up interviews and tried to persuade the mayor to join their side of the cause and free Burns. Initially, the crowd succeeded in convincing the mayor to only implement one military company to guard the courthouse the day Burns was moved. Like Loring, Smith was against the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850, but did not feel as strongly about upholding it. Despite the mayor’s orders, Marshal Freeman felt as if one company would not be enough to maintain order while Burns was moved, and pushed the mayor to call in more troops. Mayor Smith ended up implementing an entire brigade of state militia to help clear the streets on the day of Burns’ transfer.

While the mayor was planning for crowd control, Freeman put together a band of 125 citizens of Boston to help move Burns. The Marshal swore these men in and armed them with various weapons, such as pistols and cutlasses. From the date of Loring’s decision until his departure on June 2, Burns was kept in the same jury room he was in during the trial. Throughout this time, Burns’ friends began making plans to purchase his freedom and no matter how much money they offered, Suttle refused to negotiate as long as Burns was under his service.

At 2 p.m. on June 2, 1854, Burns was escorted from the courthouse by Marshal Freeman and his men, along with an additional 140 U.S. Marines and infantrymen. State militia brigades lined the streets to keep the crowd at bay and to prevent any interference with the procession. Along their route, citizens left symbols to indicate the funeral of Burns’ liberty and freedom. One man suspended a black coffin and others draped their windows to show Burns they stood with him. At one point in their route, the guards made an unexpected turn into a road lined with spectators. The officers ran at them with bayonets and beat their way through the line of bystanders. One man, William Ela, was beaten with muskets down on the pavement, cut in the face, and put into confinement. Eventually, the officers and Burns reached the wharf where the vessel headed to Virginia was scheduled to depart from Boston. At 3:20 p.m., Suttle, Brent, and Burns left Boston for Virginia.

As a result of Burns’ trial, Massachusetts passed the most progressive liberty law the nation had seen up until 1854. The law stated that slave claimants were not allowed to be on state property, fugitive slaves were required to have a trial by jury, and slave claimants had to produce two credible and unbiased witnesses to prove the evidence in their case. Burns’ trial was the last rendition hearing for a fugitive slave in Massachusetts. Additionally, Loring suffered severe consequences at the hands of abolitionists in Boston. Harvard University refused to re-hire Loring in his faculty position in their school, and the Massachusetts legislature voted to remove Loring from his state position as a Probate Judge, but the governor never approved the removal. However, in 1857, a new governor was elected to the position and signed Loring’s removal address. This action prompted severe anger from politicians in Washington, D.C., and President James Buchanan appointed Loring to the Federal Court of Claims when a position opened up.

After leaving Massachusetts, Burns spent four months in a Richmond jail where he was prohibited from being in contact with other slaves. In November, Suttle sold Burns to David McDaniel for $905 and McDaniel brought Burns to his plantation in Rocky Mount, North Carolina. As an owner, McDaniel was firm and strong businessman, who constantly sold and traded his slaves. He had as few as 75 slaves on his plantation and as many as 150 slaves at other times. Burns was employed to be McDaniel’s coachman and stable-keeper, which was a relatively light workload compared to that of other slaves on the plantations. Instead of lodging with the other slaves, Burns received an office and ate meals in his master’s house. Due to this level of respect, Burns vowed never to run away from McDaniel as long as he was his master.

In addition to Burns’s level of care as a slave, Burns attended church twice while serving four months under McDaniel. Burns even held illegal religious meetings for his fellow slaves. Although discovered by McDaniel, the master did not punish Burns as he would have another slave. The overseer on the plantation resented Burns getting such special treatment, and threatened him with a pistol during one of their quarrels. Burns reported only to McDaniel as his supervisor and recognized only his orders. During these months of enslavement, Burns failed to notify his Northern friends of his location in the South.

One afternoon, Burns drove his mistress to a neighbor’s house. In the outing, a neighbor recognized Burns as the slave who had caused commotion with his trial in the North. A young lady overheard the neighbor recalling the story, and repeated it in a letter to her sister in Massachusetts. Her sister, after receiving the letter, told the story to her social circle, including Reverend Stockwell, who told Leonard Grimes. He was a known abolitionist who had spent his life helping fugitive slaves escape from Washington, D.C. Later he built the Church of Fugitive Slaves in Boston. Stockwell wrote to McDaniel to begin negotiations for Burns’s purchase, and McDaniel responded, saying he would sell Burns for $1300. In the two weeks before they left for Baltimore to meet McDaniel and Burns, Grimes collected sufficient funds for Burns’s purchase, while Stockwell covered the expenses for their journey. Grimes departed by himself after Stockwell failed to show up.

McDaniel knew he was going against public sentiment in North Carolina by selling Burns to the Northerners, so he swore Anthony to secrecy. On their train to Norfolk, a confidant of McDaniel spread the rumor that the fugitive slave notorious from Boston was on board the train. Many passengers and even the conductor were outraged. The latter said he would not have let Burns onboard if he had known who he was. McDaniel held firm and kept the crowd at bay in their journey. When they arrived in Norfolk, Burns boarded their ship to Baltimore before McDaniel did. There he encountered another curious, unruly crowd. When McDaniel arrived, the crowd's anger was directed at him. Some men tried to buy Burns for more money than Grimes was paying for his freedom. McDaniel refused but compromised with the crowd by agreeing to sell Burns if the purchasers never arrived.

In Baltimore, Burns and McDaniel met Grimes at Barnum’s Hotel. They arrived two hours after Grimes, and immediately began negotiations. The payment was delayed after McDaniel demanded cash instead of the cheque Grimes produced. Eventually, the cash was exchanged, and Anthony’s freedom was purchased. Upon leaving the hotel, Grimes and Burns met Stockwell at the entrance. He accompanied the men to the train station. Burns spent his first night as a free man in Philadelphia.

Anthony Burns reached Boston in early March, where he was met with a public celebration of his freedom. Eventually, Burns enrolled at Oberlin College with a scholarship. He entered a seminary in Cincinnati to continue religious studies.

After briefly preaching in Indianapolis, in 1860 Burns moved to St. Catharines, Ontario, Canada in 1860 to accept a call from Zion Baptist Church. Thousands of African Americans had migrated to Canada as refugees from slavery in the antebellum years, establishing communities in Ontario.

Burns died from tuberculosis on July 17,

[witch-ren]

Finally, I'm determined enough to post this AU here.

Co-author: @i-havent-the-balls

Warning: gambling, drug and alcohol addictions mentioned, as well as self harm, but NOT graphically described.

Mouthwashing: commune AU

The setting stays the same: something similar to retrofuturism, people are actively travelling in space. Curly used to work in Pony Express, but then they went bankrupt, crash happened and Curly was severely burned.

But he had completely another crew. He also had friends and fiance. After getting back to Earth (which happened much earlier), Grant was abandoned by his friends and — a bit later — by his fiance. Grant doesn't blame them, but he's deeply saddened and devastated.

And he starts a resocialization group.

The group is unofficial, and all the meetings are happening in a local anti cafe. Grant is taken there by his caretaker, because he couldn't afford leg prosthetics and uses a wheelchair. He usually dresses up in dark colors, sometimes going for a total black outfit, and covers his legs with a dark blanket. It also warms him up, since everything starts in March.

Daisuke is a gambling addict. He's usually wearing cool tones and lets his horny/erotic side be shown a bit. He also has longer hair at the start, with severely bleached ends. He lost a lot of money at a casino and, realizing that, decided to drop gambling. However, he lacks social interactions now — and this is the reason why he's the part of this group.

Anya was raped by one of professors at her university. She's studying online and then brings her works to the university (A/N: system based on my own experience), and this is when and where everything happened. Anya spent a lot of money on emergency contraception and then — on her advocate. This almost made her into depression, but Anya decided to overcome herself — or, at least, try to do so. During group meetings and library visits she's wearing sweaters, blouses, midi or maxi skirts.

Swansea is an alcoholic. He signed up to the group shortly after an argument with his wife. He had to move to his friend's house, but he hopes to reunite with his wife, because he still loves her and doesn't want to hurt her feelings. Swansea's wardrobe in this AU is pretty basic: cool desaturated tones, polo shirts, a few button downs, simple jeans or sweatpants and of course his sneakers.

Jimmy is a) homeless and b) drug addict. In chronological order. At some point parents kicked young Jimmy out of their house, Jimmy started making music to have some money, but tried weed once and eventually became addicted to heavier things. At the start of the story he lives in a shelter and tries to quit drugs. At group meetings he wears long sleeved shirts under T-shirts, or hoodies with fingerless gloves, all of that to hide self harm scars. In this AU he also experiments with his hair and has his left eyebrow pierced.

Back to the plot!

After several meetings, in April, Grant encounters lack of money, which means he can't pay for his caretaker. He accidentally mentions that, and Anya, who has a car and a driving license, volunteers to drive him home and help him with house chores. Grant's house turned out to be a bit bigger than she thought. Anya fried some chicken nuggets for Grant, as he asked, helped him with shower and going to bed, loaded his dishwasher and fell asleep on the coach in the living room.

The next morning, thanks to Anya, Daisuke joined them. He helped Anya with vacuuming and washing the floors, then shopped for groceries, did the laundry and cooked some food. Grant invited Anya and Daisuke to live at his house, and they agreed.

During the next meeting Jimmy says that his shelter is about to be liquidated due to bankruptcy. Grant tells him that he will search for other shelters, but Jimmy leaves the meeting and overdoses on drugs. Swansea finds him and calls ambulance. When Jimmy was discharged from the hospital, Grant invited him to move to his house. Jimmy hesitated, but agreed.

Turns out that they don't need to meet at a certain place to be together. Grant invited Swansea... and noticed how his house became a bit more home.

Home where he can feel loved and accepted. Just like everyone around him. Of course, these people are different, but they slowly get along with each other. And Grant will do his best as a leader to support them too.

Next post: coming soon.

[follow-up-news]

The Supreme Court on Thursday blew up the massive bankruptcy reorganization of opioid maker Purdue Pharma, finding that the settlement inappropriately included legal protections for the Sackler family, meaning that billions of dollars secured for victims is now threatened. The court on a 5-4 vote on nonideological lines ruled that the bankruptcy court did not have the authority to release the Sackler family members from legal claims made by opioid victims. As part of the deal, the family, which controlled the company, had agreed to pay $6 billion that could be used to settle opioid-related claims, but only in return for a complete release from any liability in future cases. Justice Neil Gorsuch, writing for the majority, said the Sacklers could have declared bankruptcy but instead sought to piggyback on the company's own bankruptcy proceedings in an effort to resolve pending legal claims. "They obtained all this without securing the consent of those affected or placing anything approaching their total assets on the table for their creditors," Gorsuch wrote. "Nothing in present law authorizes the Sackler discharge," he added.

[massiveladycat]

you're probably reading this blog to hear about part 2 of tanner starling. if you haven't read it yet go to part 1!! TANNER STARLING - THE SON OF HERMES - DESCENDANT OF DIOMEDES - SCORN OF APHRODITE AND ARES Ever since Tanner was young, his mother was hauling him from neighborhood to neighborhood, from city to city, occasionally state to state. He never understood why, and he always had many questions; Where was his father? Why were they moving so much? Eventually, Tanner's mother caved and told Tanner that he was a demigod early on. Yes, that put them in much more danger, but she'd decided it may be better to tell him now why his father was absent. Tanner's mother was a descendant of Diomedes, the Greek hero that so famously split Aphrodite's wrist open and sliced Ares's stomach with his spear. Aphrodite and Ares, furious, had taken matters into their own hands and cursed Diomedes's future kids, grandkids, descendants. The Aphrodite curse made it so every relationship they had romantically would end terribly. The Ares curse? Much more intense. The Ares Curse sent both Deimos and Phobos after them. The two brother gods had quite a bit of free-time, so they'd spend that chasing after Diomedes's descendants. Everytime Tanner's mother got even a hint about the two gods approaching, she packed up and left. That means Tanner's mom often had to haul him to another place, ranging from a hotel several blocks away or across the state. Tanner sometimes resented her for it because he never got to stay in the same district long enough to make friends, but he understands why she does it to protect him. Tanner's mom was in middle class, so she did worry about money a lot and having to move constantly did almost put her in bankruptcy, so she was always shocked when she found money in her bank account whenever she needed it. She didn't know that it was Hermes's doing, trying to take care of his lover and son from afar. neither of the Starlings knew, but Hermes was protecting them in many ways; sometimes, Hermes would come down from Olympus and ward off Phobos and Deimos and tell them to fuck off. Speaking of Hermes . . . Tanner and him aren't on speaking terms. They're very awkward with each other when they try to communicate, and Tanner still resents his father for never answering him. Hermes never responded whenever Tanner tried praying to his dad in his youth, such as, "Help me," or, "Please come back, Mom misses you, I miss you." Hermes never came, and it lowered his affection and respect for Hermes majorly. Every time Tanner had a soccer or basketball or football game (in middle school and elementary school, he was knee-deep in all sorts of athletics), Hermes was there, disguised as a regular mortal and screaming extra loud when Tanner scored, though Tanner never knew who the guy who showed up at his games repeatedly was.  Tanner tried to approach him and thank him for cheering so much for him, but the man always suddenly vanished in the crowd when Tanner looked at him. Tanner didn't go to Camp Half-Blood with much of an issue; he already knew he was a demigod and he was elated he'd always have somewhere to stay. However, his mother got into a car crash, and she needed to stay in the hospital as she couldn't be discharged, so Chiron took custody of Tanner and let Tanner stay in Camp Half-Blood as Cabin 11's Co-Counselor. And Tanner's happy there. Would love to hear about your PJO OCs; maybe Tanner and them would get along if they met!!

[onihcinimkcin]

As Gernsback's example had shown, it was useful for a pulp or magazine publisher to create multiple publishing companies, and most did so. When trouble arose, one company could be placed into bankruptcy and have its intellectual property bought out by one of the publisher's other companies. The purchaser company would then be legally shielded from responsibility for paying the debts of the bankrupt company (even though the editors stayed the same, as did the office addresses). Those unpaid debts included money owed to the hapless writers, some of whom were already getting a bad deal by being paid "upon publication" instead of "upon acceptance." Payment upon publication forced writers to wait weeks and months for their payments, with no guarantee that their work would ever see print. It was a delaying tactic that allowed publishers to build and manage inventory at no cost while holding onto their money longer—maybe even long enough to see the debt discharged in bankruptcy. A more insidious practice was (to use a modern term) to "repurpose" an author's work: present it as original material by changing the title and the character's names—and stripping away the original copyright notice. The trade magazines of the late 1920s and early 1930s are overflowing with complaints from writers who had been so victimized. One of the chief practitioners of such dirty dodges was Harry Donenfeld, the future publisher of DC Comics, the main rival of Marvel Comics to this day.

—Blake Bell and Dr. Michael J. Vassallo, The Secret History of Marvel Comics (Fantagraphics, 2013): pg. 18.

Martin Goodman, founder of Marvel Comics, would do the same:

It took two years, but on January 5, 1942, the FTC slammed both Goodman and Silberkleit for deceptively reprinting stories as new fiction, substituting new titles for the original titles, changing the names of characters and, "without obtaining the sanction or authorization of the authors of stories, [substituting] pseudonyms or so-called 'house names' for the authors' names or pen names." They were also sanctioned for stripping the original copyrights and claiming the work as their own.

Over the next two decades, three more FTC judgments against Goodman would follow. (Ibid., pg. 28-29.)

Gernsback, it's worth noting, is Hugo Gernsback, publisher of Amazing Stories and namesake of the Hugo Awards. Silberkleit is Louis Silberkleit, the L in MLJ Magazines, the precursor of Archie Comics.

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this press release from the Center for Biological Diversity:

The Florida Department of Environmental Protection has agreed to a draft Clean Water Act permit that will require more robust oversight of pollution from the Piney Point phosphate facility.

Today’s agreement, which was spurred by a lawsuit from conservation groups, includes establishing enforceable limits on harmful effluent discharged into Tampa Bay.

After allowing the facility to operate without a permit for 20 years, Florida has also agreed to fund independent monitoring of its impacts on Tampa Bay’s water quality.

The Piney Point phosphogypsum stack is a mountainous heap of toxic waste topped by an impoundment of hundreds of millions of gallons of process wastewater, stormwater and tons of dredged spoil from Port Manatee.

Three years ago, after discovering a leak in the facility’s reservoir liner, regulators ordered the discharge of 215 million gallons of wastewater from the gypstack into Tampa Bay to avert a catastrophic collapse and flooding. The massive, fish-killing discharge of toxic, untreated wastewater followed years of regulatory failures and mismanagement at the facility.

Following the spill, the owners of the site, HRK Holdings LLC, entered bankruptcy. The conservation groups have requested U.S. District Judge William Jung hold HRK responsible for violating the Clean Water Act by discharging pollutants into Tampa Bay without a lawfully issued permit.

During the 2021 wastewater release, Tampa Bay received more nitrogen — nearly 200 tons — than it usually receives from all other sources in an entire year. The red tides that have plagued Florida are fueled by nitrogen.

Following the release Tampa Bay experienced a deadly red tide that killed more than 600 tons of marine life in Pinellas and Hillsborough counties.

“The Piney Point disaster shook the Tampa Bay community to its core. It wasn’t too long ago that shorelines once teeming with life were littered with all kinds of dead fish for months. If you had previously found it swimming in Tampa Bay, it was likely dead after Piney Point,” said Justin Tramble, executive director of Tampa Bay Waterkeeper. “This brings some closure to the past and shifts the focus to making sure mechanisms are in place to prevent even more tragedy in the future.”

The millions of gallons of wastewater discharged into Tampa Bay continue to spread throughout the estuary and into Sarasota Bay, transporting tons of nitrogen and other pollutants into waterways and communities already struggling to manage excessive pollution that has impaired waterways and killed thousands of acres of seagrasses.

The groups involved in the lawsuit are the Center for Biological Diversity, Tampa Bay Waterkeeper, Suncoast Waterkeeper, ManaSota-88 and Our Children’s Earth Foundation.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

John Pavlovitz at The Beautiful Mess:

MAGA Christians really need to stop spiritualizing the man and his movement. It's sinful. It's blasphemous. It’s heretical. It's lousy evangelism. It’s laughable. It’s offensive. It's also just plain asinine. The hypocrisy on display is historic: after spending the 8 years straining to find infinitesimal specks in Barack Obama's eye that they could condemn as moral deal breakers—in the 8 years since, Evangelicals have been perfectly fine with Trump's forest of rotted Redwoods.

In fact, in the most dizzying display of theological spin doctoring, they actually declare that it is precisely his ever-growing trail of personal toxic discharge that supposedly proves evidence of God's hand in it all. The “logic” goes that God uses flawed human beings, so Trump's multiple marriages, his porn star affairs, his sexual assaults, his verbal obscenities, his disregard for rule of law, his compulsive lying, his clear racism, his unrelenting attacks on marginalized communities (things these Christians would have figuratively and almost literally crucified Obama for) are now unmistakable signs that God is using this former President. This is nonsense of Biblical proportions. Trying and draw some line between Jesus of Nazareth and Donald of Florida is about as farcical as you can get without actually spontaneously combusting from the cognitive dissonance. [...]

Trump Christians need to stop passing the buck to the Lord and just own the compromises and sick bedfellows they've been willing to make for Supreme Court seats, anti-choice legislation, weapon stockpiling, and a rapidly assembling white Evangelical theocracy.  Stop namedropping God. God is love, while Donald Trump is incapable of it.

God wasn't generating fake news or showing up at his campaign rallies or stumping for him at nationwide crusades or using him as an expression of their misogyny. God didn't vote for the guy who said he could grab women by the genitalia. God didn't choose the guy who said protestors should be beaten. God didn't go with the guy endorsed by the KKK. God didn't excuse the bankruptcies and overlook the affairs and laugh off the racist remarks. I'm pretty sure people did that—lots of supposedly Christian folks. And God isn't now justifying Trump’s vile nonsense on social media, or creating Constitutional crises, or ignoring the rule of Law, or celebrating LGBTQ discrimination, or laughing off collusion, treason, and human rights atrocities. Again, Christians. We really should stop pretending God is responsible for this fast-food dumpster fire when it's clear whose hand is in it all.

John Pavlovitz is 100% correct in his column about how Evangelicals are blaspheming God by claiming that God chose Donald Trump.

[buzzblend]

Widow loses life savings after ‘firetrap’ developer fails to repay €150k loan

A controversial developer who asked to borrow the life savings of an 81-year-old widow has failed to repay the money after half a decade of broken promises.

In 2017, the widow gave €160,000 in cash to developer Paddy Byrne, who built the Millfield Manor estate in Co. Kildare where six houses burnt to the ground in under 30 minutes in 2015.

The cash was for a penthouse apartment in Dublin she planned to move into.

The development was built by Victoria Homes, a company that was established by Mr Byrne’s sister Joan just before Mr Byrne was precluded from acting as a company director in Ireland for five years.

After viewing plans for the €630,000 property, in a development called Greygates in Mount Merrion, the pensioner withdrew the cash from her bank and gave it to Mr Byrne.

Some €10,000 of this was a deposit, with the remaining €150,000 provided on the advice of a third party who was known to Mr Byrne and the widow, who said the cash would secure a good price.

According to a handwritten receipt, signed by Mr Byrne, the money was provided on May 29, 2017.

But in November 2017 the widow, a retired primary school teacher, found a more suitable home and asked for her money back.

Mr Byrne agreed to this, saying he would have no problem selling the penthouse and promptly refunded the €10,000 deposit.

However, he asked that the remaining €150,000 be treated as a 14-month loan and promised to pay a 10% annual interest rate.

This effectively turned the widow into an unwitting creditor of Victoria Homes.

According to a handwritten agreement, signed by Mr Byrne, the loan was to be ‘paid back from the sales proceeds’ of the penthouse at his Greygates development.

More than half a decade later, the loan remains unpaid – even after the widow made a criminal complaint to gardaí and took legal action to secure a judgement.

As it is a civil matter, the Garda investigation faltered. And because various other unpaid creditors had previously secured judgements against Victoria Homes, the widow is now unlikely to get her savings back. During the Celtic Tiger years, Paddy Byrne was renowned for his €2.4m Sikorsky helicopter and sponsorship of the Irish National Hunt festival.

But in 2011 his then-firm, Barrack Homes, went bust and Mr Byrne declared bankruptcy in Britain with debts of €100m.

He was banned from acting as a UK director for 10 years in 2012.

This ban was scheduled to end in 2022 – and ran the full course – but it only applied in the UK and Wales.

According to the UK insolvency register today, Mr Byrne’s discharge from UK bankruptcy is ‘suspended indefinitely’ until the fulfilment of conditions made in a 2012 court order.

Separately, in Ireland, he was also restricted from acting as a director for a period of five years – which ended in January 2018.

Mr Byrne is also known for building the Millfield Manor estate in Newbridge, Co. Kildare, where half a dozen houses were razed to the ground within 30 minutes in 2015.

A report into the blaze found ‘major and life-threatening serious shortfalls and discrepancies and deviations from the minimum requirements of the national mandatory building regulations’ at Mr Byrne’s development.

Today, having exited bankruptcy, Mr Byrne is best known as the figurehead behind Victoria Homes and associated businesses, which was set up by his sister and her husband in December 2012, while he was bankrupt.

Mr Byrne was not a director or owner of Victoria Homes during the period of his bankruptcy. But, in 2017, Mr Byrne’s sister and her husband stepped back from Victoria Homes, transferring their shares to an offshore entity in Belize city called Victoria Holdings.

In November 2022, the main lenders to Victoria Homes – the Lotus Development Group – forced the firm into receivership for the second time.

In 2020, Lotus had forced a previous short-lived receivership before agreeing a deal that saw Victoria Homes begin trading normally once more.

Today, Mr Byrne appears to have left Victoria Homes behind and seems to be focusing on a new firm instead.

Set up in the summer of 2020, Branach Developments is entirely owned by Mr Byrne and is not encumbered by any bank debt or mortgages as Victoria Homes was.

According to the latest filed accounts, for the year ended 2021, Branach Developments held ‘tangible assets’ of €210,000 and ‘stocks’ of €600,000.

The accounts also show that, in 2021, Mr Byrne provided the company with an interest-free loan of €1,024,438.

Just last week Mr Byrne’s new firm was one of the winners at the National Property Awards sponsored by the Business Post and Deloitte, among others.

At the award ceremony, Branach Developments took home the prize for best sustainability initiative of the year.

However, Mr Byrne, who shuns publicity and is rarely photographed, does not appear to have attended the ceremony and the award was accepted by a colleague.

This week the Irish Mail on Sunday sent queries to Mr Byrne via his mobile phone, his email at Victoria Homes and his email at Branach Developments, without response.

Queries to his solicitor and the separate accountancy firms representing Victoria Homes and Branach Developments also went unanswered as did calls to the numbers on the websites of these firms.

Mr Byrne also previously declined to respond to questions from the MoS relating to the establishment of Victoria Homes during the period of his bankruptcy.

At the time, Mr Byrne appeared to be living at Ballinrahin House, close to Rathangan on the border of Offaly and Kildare.

The home is a luxury build on 26 acres of stud-railed paddocks with six stables and a 1.3km tree-lined avenue behind electric gates.

The property was on sale for €2.8m in 2009, but land registry records confirm that, in November 2014, it was sold to Victoria Homes for a knockdown price of €484,000.

Ownership of Ballinrahin House was transferred offshore to Victoria Holdings in Belize on April 10, 2018, just weeks before Mr Byrne was due to repay the €150,000 back to the widow.

[movieupdatesinfo123]

Despicable Me 4

Despicable Me 4 continues the adventures of former villain became devoted dad, Gru, and his lovable Minions. Movie updates promise a sparkling chapter as Gru faces a new nemesis threatening his non violent existence.

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Despicable Me 4 promises to captivate audiences with its combination of comedy and heartfelt storytelling, attractive to enthusiasts of all ages.

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The discharge date for Despicable Me 4 is eagerly awaited via fanatics international. Movie updates are predicted to announce the date soon, promising greater Minion mayhem and heartwarming circle of relatives moments with Gru. Stay tuned for the respectable statement and put together for any other pleasant adventure inside the cherished animated series.

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Stay tuned for Movie updates on when Despicable Me 4 is coming out. fans eagerly wait for greater Minion antics and Gru's next adventure in this beloved animated collection.

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In end, Despicable Me 4 guarantees to supply every other delightful bankruptcy inside the cherished lively series, mixing humor, coronary heart, and the mischievous allure of Gru and his Minions. As enthusiasts eagerly assume its launch, the movie's updates and availability on various structures make certain visitors can revel in the journey at their comfort. whether or not in theaters or streaming, the popular enchantment of Gru's evolving adventure as a father and former villain keeps to captivate audiences of all ages, promising laughter and heartfelt moments alike.