Lesbian Billionaire

by Olivia Hampshire

  "Look Sal, I didn't study my butt off learning seven languages, kicking everybody's ass in the Navy, and getting a degree in computer science just to spend thirty years wearing a mask and living with no soul. This is not my dream. In fact, this is my nightmare. Now who did you say was behind this?" Debbie asked. Sal took a long, deep sigh, "Congressman Oliver, if I am not mistaken. This is his jet. I believe he wanted to give the business to his daughter as a graduation gift. She just finished high school and she thought it would be nice to own a coffee plantation. That father thing I told you about, you just want to give your little girl anything and everything she demands. You'll see one day…" he trailed off. Debbie was shaking her head again in disgust. So some rich kid wants a coffee plantation and she gets to take it away from hardworking, decent people that ran it well, no questions asked. To do what? Play big kid for a day and then run it into the ground, leaving thousands unemployed and unable to feed their own families? What a sick world. She remembered what Marylynn had taught her about the super rich. Little did Marylynn know the game went both ways, there was always someone richer and more powerful who could take what you had away from you.

  "I'm taking a nap," Debbie told Sal, "I just want to shut my brain off for a while." Sal nodded and waved her away. He stayed up thinking, sipping on a cup of coffee. He was thinking about his own kids, how he saw a lot of his youngest daughter in Debbie. How he hoped she would turn out to be a good kid. He thought about all that he had provided her, and how easy it would be to make it all disappear if he lost his job. But he also thought about how he would never be able to buy her a coffee plantation. Heck, he would be lucky if he could afford to get all three of them safe, decent used cars. Triple college tuition was a doozy, all the kids had come close together, and of course they all wanted to go to different schools, all elite institutions, all out of state. He wished he could do more for them. If he could give them a plantation, or a pony, or a unicorn, he would do anything he could to get it. He understood where Congressman Oliver was coming from. But there was something about Debbie's pure ideas and her beauty that really moved him deep down inside. It made him wish his retirement was here already and he could spend the rest of his days doing good for the world.

  When Debbie awoke back in Washington D.C., Sal had some carefully worded advice for her. "Hey Debbie. I heard you talk about your dream. To do good for the world. This is not the job for you. Don't be like me. A business person fulfilling orders. A person with no soul, as you put it. You don't need to wear a mask and you don't need to give up on your values. You don't need to take my path and end up a yes man waiting for retirement to roll around, being a hit man with no gun for the wealthy and powerful. There's something about you, a real spunk. You can be different, Debbie. You can achieve something much, much greater than I ever will. You can take a different path in life and do something good for people like your father told you. And it is the same advice I would give my own daughters, were they ever interested in listening to a word I had to say."

  Debbie thanked him for his sincerity. When they got to the airport terminal, Sal told her, "we better get back to the Pentagon to make our report. You coming?" Debbie shook her head no. She had a meek, gentle smile on her face and for the first time since Sal had known her she looked fragile, almost child like. "No," she said. "No, I have some good things to do." Sal nodded and gave her a pat on the back and then he was off. Debbie watched him walk away, and then she sat down at the airport bar and ordered herself a Beefeater martini, very, very dry. She had a lot of thinking to do, and she thought the martini would clear up her mind.

  Days passed by and Debbie had not quite figured out what to do with herself. She got a notice of termination from the CIA in the mail, and she knew the little money she had would not last her long. Her Georgetown apartment was expensive, it had a river view, after all, and it had been based off her CIA salary. It was only a matter of time before she got evicted. She needed to find herself a new job. She actually thought seriously about going door to door and seeing if any non profits needed a super powered employee. It wasn't the worst idea. And besides, then she would know she was really doing good for the world.

  She occasionally looked through the help wanted ads and the job postings in the Washington Post but she was distracted. There was something she needed to do, a score she needed to settle. It took a while to put her finger on it, but then she realized what it was.

  More days passed. It was midnight and an older man was sleeping soundly in his large California king bed in his Arlington, Virginia mansion. He was wearing silk pajamas and resting on silk sheets. The bed had a huge antique head board and there was a matching antique night stand that was holding the last, untouched sip of a Tom Collins that he had prepared as a night cap. The man was dreaming of naked women. Big breasted naked women. They were frolicking on a beach in Barcelona, giggling and laughing as they splashed each other with sea foam. There were all sorts of women, tall ones, short ones, thick ones, skinny ones, dark ones and white ones. And they were all beautiful. The man was feeling quite aroused and he was getting a big old stiffy in his sleep.

  From deep within his dream he sensed a presence. It folded in with his dream world, and he imagined one of the beach babes, a sexy Scandinavian chick, was giving him a nice Swedish massage on his penis. He was breathing deep and heavy. She was calling his name out loud, "Congressman Oliver." The words got louder and louder and suddenly he was awake and realized that he had been dreaming. There was a red headed woman standing over him, not a blond Swede, and she was practically screaming his name at this point.

  "Yes, my heavenly angel?" he responded to her calls. He liked girls of all colors, and that included hair color. It had been a long time since he had done the dirty with a fiery red head and this chick was a real knock out. She was wearing a black mask over her eyes, but he could tell from her exposed features that she was gorgeous. But he was put off by the reply the woman gave him. "I, dear, I am your deepest, darkest nightmare risen up from the depths of hell just coming to visit you." And from behind her back she pulled a very large, shiny chef knife from its holster and held it in front of his face. Now he was awake. Wide awake. And his boner was shrinking rapidly.

  "I have a couple of questions for you," she told him. "Answer them correctly and you get to live. Answer them wrong, and you might not. You see, I like to cut off dicks and keep them as trophies, and I would love to have your pathetic shriveled excuse for a cock hanging from my key ring like a lucky rabbit's foot." She held the knife close against his floppy chubster, close enough to make him shriek as she drew a few drops of blood.

  "What do you want?" he begged, "I will give you anything. Whatever you want, please don't chop of my dick!" Debbie laughed. It felt good having this asshole beg her for his member. It felt nice to have the bad guy in the palm of her hand. This is what she had been waiting for. This was the same feeling that she had experienced when she had kicked those frat boys' butts back in college. And she was sure this was the same feeling of power that Helen had gotten when she had saved Debbie from some horny, molesting teenagers. It was the power of justice, and boy oh boy did it feel great.

  "Tell me, Mr. Congressman," Debbie said, "do you know anything about Green Vines Holdings? What about a Perky Coffee?" The congressman nodded. Of course he knew both of those names. "Well, yes. Perky Coffee is my daughter's new company. Well, it will be her new company in four days. A graduation present from me. I'm a good man, you see. I have kids. I love my daughter. Please, she would be heart broken if anything happened to me. Please don't hurt me." This wasn't the answer Debbie was looking for and she pressed the blade again hard against his dick. He yowled and tried to make a move, but he only made things worse for himself. Debbie pinned him hard on the bed. "Don't you make a fucking move or there will be an accident. There will be blood. Capiche?" The congressman nodded, his forehead breaking out in a sweat. He was trapped.

  "Let me get one thing clear right now," Debbie told him, "I got
into your mansion. I know all your hangout spots in the city. I have been researching you and following you for two days now. I know everything there is to know about how you move and how you get around in this world. You might be a father but that doesn't make you a good man. I know all about your shady dealings and how you throw your money around like a heavy weight. I know how you crush the little guy, how you trample on the dreams of hardworking Americans who are also fathers. And mothers, and sisters, and brothers. You are no good, Congressman Oliver. And I know it. I know everything about you. I know what you eat. I know where you go for drinks. I know you like the tittie bars. I know what television shows you watch and when. And I especially know when you go to the Capital Building to play your political games."

  Congressman Oliver was shit scared by now and all he wanted was for this to stop. To go back to his beach in Spain and frolic with his bodacious babes. He didn't want to be here, soaking his bed in a cold sweat, ruining his expensive silk sheets and silk pajamas, trying hard not to piss himself because this crazy chick might cut his dick off for doing it. He had always heard that the Irish could be nutty, but this was taking it to a new extreme.

  Debbie continued with her threats. "Look, man, I am not a cold blooded killer. I just like to cut dicks off. Just for fun. Because that's just the kind of girl I am. But sometimes when you cut off a dick the owner bleeds to death before anyone can help him. Sometimes he is so old he has a heart attack, or he goes into shock and he dies alone and they find his body a day or two later, all cold and stiff. That's not my fault. It's just what happens. It is an incidental. You know, you can't bake a cake without cracking a few eggs. Or whatever. I think you know all about incidentals. I think you know all about the casualties that come from getting what you want. You might know that when you give your bratty little teen daughter a coffee plantation you are ripping it out of the hands of hard working people. You might also know that when your dimwit cheerleader runs that business into the ground, she might destroy an entire village down there in Colombia. But you don't care, do you? I mean, you gotta crack a few eggs. You gotta cut off a few dicks. We all do what we need to be happy and to get by, am I right?"

  Congressman Oliver nodded. He was starting to catch this girl's drift and he thought maybe he had a chance to get out of this situation with his dick in tact. "So what do you want me to do, Miss?" he asked her desperately. "I will tell you exactly what I want you to do," Debbie said. "You are going to tell all the people that helped you set up this little 'national security' situation in order to get your daughter's new coffee plantation to call it off. You are going to call everything off. And if you don't, you already know what is going to happen."

  "Okay, okay," Congressman Oliver sobbed. "I promise. I am going to call the whole thing off. Just don't cut off little Oliver, please. I need him. I can't live without him. I will do what you say, I will make the calls and reverse everything first thing tomorrow. Please, just leave!" By this point he had his eyes closed and he was just begging and groveling. But there was silence in reply to his requests, and when he ventured to open his peepers he saw that the room was empty. The red headed woman was gone. It was almost like it was all a dream.

  For a second the congressman thought maybe it had been a dream. But then he looked down at the sweat stained sheets and the drops of blood coming from his shaft, and he realized it had been real. Very real. He took the last sip of his Tom Collins, his hands shaking like crazy. He couldn't fall back asleep, so he got up and made himself another one, and another one. He drank the whole night away. In the morning he made a series of calls, slurring all his words but making it clear that the deal was off and to stop everything immediately.

  Of course, his daughter was stark raving mad. She had already told all of her friends about her coffee plantation and now she groaned about how she was going to look like such an idiot and everyone was going to laugh at her at graduation. Her dad promised to donate a massive amount of money to her school and to sponsor a big party after the graduation, no expenses spared. "I promise you sweetie, no one is going to laugh at you," he said. He tried to give her a kiss on the cheek, but she pulled away. "That's not good enough, daddy," she said, stomping her feet. "You need to do something big to make this up to me!" Ugh, to be honest, sometimes his daughter really drove him crazy. But she was his precious girl and he would do whatever it took to make her happy. "How about a nice horse ranch out in Montana?" he asked her. He had a friend out there he knew was looking to sell cheap and he figured he could pull of that deal all on his own, no CIA connections necessary. His daughter pouted and tapped her feet, thinking about it for some time, and then she agreed with a smile. "Okay, daddy. That sounds fun! In fact, that is way cooler than a coffee plantation. I love you, dad. You are the best!" And she planted a big fat kiss smack dab on his forehead and skipped away. Phew! Everything had worked out okay.

  Back in the Pentagon, Sal was smiling when he heard the news that the deal was called off and he was to immediately cease and desist his intimidation tactics on Bob and Marylynn Legrange. "By Gob, she did it," he muttered aloud, raising a lot of eyebrows. "Oh, never mind, just a little slip of the tongue," he excused himself and practically skipped away, whistling softly to himself. There was some real good in this world. That girl was a gem. He didn't know where she was going to go in life but he knew wherever it was, she was going to be doing a whole lotta good.

  Meanwhile, Debbie was back in her Georgetown apartment. She was selling whatever she could on Craigslist to try to make some money to break her lease. One thing she knew, vigilantes did not make the big bucks. But that was okay, neither did non-profit workers, but they were still doing good for the world. She knew that her father would be proud of what she was doing, and once again she found herself drawing inspiration from Helen. I mean, if Helen could raise three kids all by herself in a little apartment, Debbie could manage herself, just her own self, without a big fat CIA paycheck. Thinking of this, she pulled out her sailboat and put on the necklace. She admired herself in the mirror. It wasn't the typical adult jewelry, but it was special and it had a certain shimmer to it that caught the eye. For a moment, she thought about calling Helen, but then she stopped. She could never share the truth of her life with Helen and it wasn't right to keep bothering the poor woman, she had enough on her plate.

  So Debbie settled down with her laptop, which was also up for sale, but so far no bites, and she scanned the job postings again. She was looking for something, anything to just pay the bills. She could keep up her vigilante justice by night, but she needed a day job to keep her going through the day. The CIA wasn't it. She had been completely disgusted by it and the political machine that made it run. She knew there must be some other, better way to make a living. A way that involved working with like minded people with good intentions and pure hearts. A way to do good and use her skills and knowledge to make the world a better place. She just knew there was something like that out there.

  Just when she was about to slam her laptop shut in frustration, her phone rang. It was Bob, he was calling to thank her. "I don't know what you did, Debbie, but they have called the whole thing off. We can keep our company!" He could tell from Debbie's tone something was wrong. "Hey, don't tell me you got fired over this, Debbie?" Debbie told him that she had quit on her own free will, it wasn't the life she was seeking. "Well, shit. You must be having a hard time making ends meet. Tell you what, I'm going to send over money for the next six months rent. But I also want to set up a job interview for you. I know just the right place for you to work, trust me."

  Part 2 of the Trilogy,

  Harriet Rothchild, Immigrant to Billionaire

  Chapter 1, Across the Water

  World War II ended in Europe on May 7, 1945. German representatives went to Reims, France and signed a document of surrender, finally giving up a long war that they had been losing for a long time. There was a sense of defeat but also a feeling of relief among many of the people. The country was already in r
uins, their beautiful homeland reduced to rubble. Transportation had all but broken down, and beggars and homeless wandered the streets and crowded the countryside of the once glorious Heimat. There was almost 25 million homeless and displaced people, including soldiers who had long given up the fight and roamed the cities disarmed looking for scraps of food or weaker residents to bully and rob. All of the cities were bombed out, and white flags hung from buildings with their roofs blasted off. Centuries-old churches lay in rubble. In the eyes of the people there was not anger, but just emptiness.

  Of course some people committed suicide. Those implicated in the Nazi atrocities were especially quick to throw in the towel, terrified of how they would be treated in the Allied war courts. Others just kept going on, anxious to find out who would occupy their portion of the country or whether they would be deported to Poland or the Soviet Union. No one that was living in Germany itself was happy about the war's end. But those who had managed to escape and find respite in another country celebrated. The Jews who had escaped the death camps. The Nazis who had left the country before things went downhill and adopted a new identity in another country where they would never be held accountable for war crimes. The developers of the atomic bomb, who were now hoping perhaps there would be no need to let loose such a lethal weapon on mankind. And also some of the Jewish sympathizers who had managed to keep their souls in tact and fly under the radar were thankful that finally this nightmare was over. Among these was included Edward and Bernidette Rothchild.