Chapter 803: Goldie Thorne's Painting

“You got it. Don’t worry, we’re gonna get this done right,” the thug leader said, bowing and scraping.

Adrian Hawthorne pulled a large sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to the gang leader. Goldie Thorne had drawn it. Adrian didn’t quite understand the sketch himself, but Goldie had assured him that if his father saw it, the old man’s blood pressure would spike high enough to pop a vein. Since Goldie was the expert in these unsavory matters, Adrian had simply brought the paper along.

“Stick this paper on that woman. Don’t tear it,” Adrian ordered.

The thug leader took the paper and stared at it for a long time. What the hell was this supposed to mean? The artist’s skills were abysmal. Even the handwriting was a crooked scrawl, uglier than the thug’s own penmanship. Still, the sequence of images was legible enough, laid out like a crude comic strip.

The first panel depicted a city gate with a sign hanging above it: *Toll Fee, Fifty Cents*. The second showed an endless stream of passersby—all men. Every time one passed through, fifty cents was paid, and the gatekeeper beamed with greed. The third panel featured the gatekeeper reporting his earnings:

“Report, Lord Hawthorne. Twelve travelers passed through last night. They all said the gate is too dilapidated and fifty cents is way too expensive.”

It was three panels in total, drawn with zero technical skill. Even the thug found it pathetic. Yet it was so straightforward that a fool could grasp the literal meaning. The confusing part was putting it all together. Why stick a drawing of a broken gate onto Bernice? It made absolutely no sense.

Not daring to ask questions, the gang leader carefully folded the paper away. He definitely couldn’t afford to ruin it. He was genuinely terrified of Adrian. For someone so young, the kid was ruthlessly calculating and terrifyingly smart. There was no way a street thug could outwit him.

In truth, even if he had asked, Adrian wouldn’t have been able to explain. While any seasoned street-hustler would instantly grasp the crude sexual metaphor, Adrian’s youth shielded him from the world’s seamier realities. It would likely be a few years before the punchline finally hit him.

Inside the room, Bernice sank deeper into despair. Ashton Road was exactly where she and Ethan Hawthorne lived. All the neighbors there thought she was Mrs. Hawthorne. If she were dumped on Ashton Road in her current state, anyone with functioning eyes would know exactly what had happened to her last night. Ethan would find out, and he would absolutely be disgusted by her. She couldn’t just sit here waiting to die. She had to find a way to escape.

Forcing herself up, Bernice pushed through the agonizing pain radiating from her bruised flesh and aching bones. But she barely managed a few steps before her strength gave out. She collapsed to the floor, the loud THUD alerting the thug leader outside.

“Keep a close eye on her,” Adrian said coldly. “If you fail to do exactly as I’ve instructed, your signed confessions will magically appear on the police chief’s desk.”

“Don’t worry, boss! Nothin’s gonna slip through the cracks. My boys are watchin’ her inside. She ain’t goin’ nowhere,” the leader promised, bowing profusely. He was terrified of angering the boy and actually getting turned in to the authorities.

Muffled shouts of reprimand echoed from the room. Satisfied that she was being monitored, Adrian relaxed slightly. “Between eleven and noon is the busiest time on Ashton Road. Take her over then.”

“Will do. We’ll be right on schedule,” the thug promised, then asked with a fawning smile, “So, uh, when are we gonna get those confessions back?”

Adrian sneered. “What’s the rush? Do the job right, and you’ll get them back.”

“Right, right, of course. I ain’t in no rush, just askin’.” The gang leader didn’t dare press the issue. He hated the kid’s guts, but he was completely powerless against him.

Not wanting to linger any longer, Adrian quickly departed. As for Bernice, she was about to discover exactly what purgatory tasted like.

That wretched woman had wanted to send his mother to hell, so he was giving her a preemptive trip to purgatory. It was the perfect opportunity to give his father a massive surprise, too. He only hoped Goldie’s ugly little doodles would actually give Ethan an aneurysm. If the shock paralyzed the old man permanently, even better. Adrian would gladly play the role of the universally praised, dutiful son.