When I arrived in Washington D.C., it was certainly everything the duchess had gabbed about. At every event I went to, the room was always overflowing with politicians in their finery, throwing taxpayers' money about everywhere. However, to my dismay, almost all of them were happily married. And the ones who were unhappily married still refused a good time any way. It would just be my luck to come to this city when suddenly every elected official turned honest.
Yet, all was not lost. For while I may not have found a government official in this city, I did find a very intriguing man one evening. A wealthy and handsome young banker and financier by the name of Frank Banks. I kid you not, a banker with the last name of Banks. It's like finding a librarian with the name of Booker. He was president of some of the largest banks in town, with his wealth spreading to a palatial estate and lots of it tied into the stock market overseas. I presented myself to him that one evening, and before I knew it, he was already completely captivated with me. He proposed that we meet for dinner over the course of the next few evenings, before he was practically on his knees for engagement. Of course, never being one for breaking an ardent admirer's heart I readily accepted.
It was only after our marriage that I could see why Frank proposed to me so suddenly. He was quite the impulsive man himself, always jumping into decisions full steam ahead without any regard for what may happen. I suppose that's how he made some of his best financial decisions, yet he seemed to quickly spend as it came, going though it like water. But despite his fast nature, he was rather the suave and charming gentleman, and often very thoughtful. Unlike stingy Ambrose, Franklin spared no expense when it came to what I wanted. If it was a ring - "Of course, my love!" If I wanted to host a party, it was "Whatever my darling wants." Needless to say, I grew to feel completely content in that estate, and felt at last I was in the true lap of luxury. However, after a few months went by, Frank began to get more caught up in his work, and continually stayed late nights at the bank. Yet, I was more than reasonable with this change of lifestyle...after all, I had my money to keep me company.
But soon that company began to grow more and more scarce. Frank himself wasn't spending nearly as much as he had been before, and his once generous gifts and flow of money for me had dried up as well. I naturally suspected the worst...somehow Frank blew all of our assets and we were completely wiped out. Luckily, the truth wasn't nearly as heart wrenching, but it was still just as infuriating. All those long nights that Frank had supposedly been plugging away in the bank were rendezvous all across the city with more amorous lady admirers of his.
The truth finally revealed itself when I had stayed up late one evening to discuss the situation with him, when through the door the lout entered. He was stinking drunk, reeking of whiskey, and staggered into the hall as he twirled a garter belt around his finger. I demanded the meaning of this situation, and in his drunken stupor he professed four times "I love you, dear!" as well as spilling the beans on his late night liaisons with six other women. Now, being the levelheaded woman that I am, I am very forgiving and was willing to overlook the fact that my dear husband was a cheating low-life drunken worm. Yet, when he refused to back down on any of his spending, I'm afraid it was just his time to go.
As he stumbled into the drawing room (and attempted to make love to a statue in the corridor on his way there), I quickly slipped upstairs to our chambers. Rummaging through my wardrobe, I happily retrieved an old friend. At this point, after realizing marble wasn't a comfortable substitute to make out with, Frank was soundly passed out on the sofa as I entered the room. Standing over the two-timing drunk, all I could do was smile. So peaceful, so sound, dreaming without a care in the world...
WHACKITY WHACK!
Frank's passing I must admit was a lot quicker and more cleaner than Ambrose's. It was almost a satisfying and triumphant feat to see how quickly his snoring head came flying off. Disposing of Frank's body however proved to be more difficult without a river nearby. The only solution was to bury him in the backyard, which while dirty and arduous, proved to be more of a happy task for me. Particularly the fact of seeing the slime get slowly covered in dirt as he so richly deserved.
When morning arrived, I once again feigned worry and alerted the police of my dear husband's disappearance. I cited that I had known of his illustrious nightlife, and eventually the questioning then fell into the locating of his drunken floozies. Eventually the police search led them nowhere, and after two months with no clues in sight, Frank was pronounced dead and his entire estate and wealth justifiably fell upon my feet.
With my expanded wealth, life for me now had become a full-time luxury. I treated myself to only the finest that money could offer, and the parties I hosted only increased in grandeur. It seemed with Frank's fortune I finally was now set for life...except for the fact that I was soon down to only a paltry two thousand within the year. I admit I have no head for numbers and perhaps should have kept a closer eye on my finances, but the situation was dire. I needed money immediately if I wanted to keep my social standing, but where to find it? I went around to a few close friends I had made in the city, but none of the greedy misers even gave a helping hand to a grieving widow like me. I didn't want to resort to it, but the writing on the wall was very clear: I had to single out another filthy rich man...