Chapter 20 – There's Dignity in Meeting Your End Early
"Here. A hundred bucks for next week."
William didn't bother answering Karen's earlier question. He just tossed her a folded bill.
Karen's face instantly lit up.
"Thanks~"
Before he could react, she leaned over the center console and planted a quick kiss on his cheek.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa—hey, calm down, sweetheart! Public place!"
William immediately raised a hand between them, pushing her gently back into her seat.
He didn't mind the idea of "getting closer" to Karen — but definitely not here. Not with half the school's eyes glued to them.
He could still vividly remember the scene from the original show — Fiona and Tony getting caught in the patrol car.
Not a memory he wanted to relive firsthand.
Karen rolled her eyes at him, clearly unimpressed.
"Ugh, you're such a buzzkill. You sure you're even American?"
Then, as if nothing had happened, she brushed her hair back and asked with a sweet smile:
"So… what kind of car are you getting me?"
Karen wasn't in a hurry. She'd been around William enough to understand the type of man he was — not uninterested, just patient. And patience in a man usually meant money.
The kind of money that could change a girl's life.
She wasn't stupid. She knew she was at the age where finding a "sugar daddy" wasn't scandalous — just practical.
"What do you want?" William asked lazily, glancing sideways at her.
In the original story, Karen's problem wasn't that she was evil — just damaged. Her compulsive behavior wasn't an illness, it was a scar left by her father's twisted idea of "purity."
The thought made William's expression darken.
"Maybe I should deal with Eddie soon," he muttered internally.
If that creep ever dragged Karen to another one of those "Father-Daughter Purity Pledges," things could spiral fast.
After all, in the original timeline, that was the event that broke her. Eddie had stood in front of the whole congregation and called his own daughter a whore.
Karen's smile brought him back to the present.
"I think a used Honda Fit would be nice."
She said it cautiously, watching his face for a reaction.
William couldn't help but laugh.
"A used Fit? God, that's garbage. Shouldn't have bothered asking."
He waved a hand dismissively.
"Forget it. You'll get your surprise when the time comes. Now go — class isn't over yet."
"Okay~"
Karen gave a little nod and stepped out of the car, waving as she walked off.
William watched her go, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"What a sneaky little whore."
Then he gave the BMW's steering wheel a light pat and started the engine.
---
Later that night.
William parked the black BMW along a dim stretch of road near the Gallaghers' house — close enough for Lip to notice, but not close enough to seem suspicious.
He sat a short distance away, waiting.
The plan was simple: bait the rat.
If Lip couldn't resist the temptation — if he tried anything stupid — William would catch him red-handed and personally deliver him to the police.
Let him learn the truth of the world: every choice has a price.
The setup worked perfectly.
Moments later, Lip appeared, trudging down the street like a ghost. He'd just come from the hospital, still waiting on his test results.
And in America, hospital "efficiency" was a joke — what took one day elsewhere took three or four here.
So now he had to wait, suffer, and drown his anxiety.
In his right hand, he carried a brown paper bag — the kind used to hide a bottle. Inside, the cheapest vodka the corner store sold.
Drinking in public was illegal, but that didn't stop anyone in the South Side — it just made them creative.
"Huh? Why does that car look familiar…"
Lip slowed as he passed the black BMW, taking a few steps forward before stopping.
Then he backtracked, squinting at the license plate.
Recognition hit him like a slap.
"Fuck… that bastard!"
Rage burned through his head like gasoline.
He stepped forward and kicked the door hard.
"Think you're better than me just 'cause you've got money?!"
His eyes were bloodshot now, raw with humiliation and booze. He glanced around — then spotted a loose brick near the sidewalk.
He took a swig of vodka straight from the bottle, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and picked up the brick.
"Let's see how rich you feel after this."
With a shout, he hurled it.
CRASH!
The window shattered instantly, spraying glass across the pavement.
An ear-splitting BEEP-BEEP-BEEP! followed — the alarm blaring into the night.
The sound echoed through the empty street like a siren of judgment.
But the deafening alarm didn't scare Lip — it only drove him deeper into madness.
"Motherfucker!!!"
With a drunken roar, he lunged forward and began kicking and punching the BMW's headlights like a man possessed.
Glass cracked. Metal groaned. The night echoed with the sound of destruction.
The noise soon drew attention from nearby houses.
"Goddamn it! Whose idiot car is that?!"
A large, heavyset white man burst out of his front door, a baseball bat in hand.
The moment he saw the scene — Lip standing over a vandalized BMW — his face twisted in rage.
"Hey! You little shit! You the one making all that racket?!"
Lip froze.
The alcohol haze faded almost instantly, replaced by a jolt of sober panic.
He glanced at the shattered BMW — William's BMW — and felt his stomach drop.
Oh, shit.
Instinct kicked in. He turned on his heel and bolted.
The angry neighbor shouted after him, waving his bat.
"God damn it! Run, you little punk! If I see you again, you're dead meat!"
Lip didn't look back. His sneakers pounded against the cracked South Side pavement as he sprinted toward home, heart hammering in his chest.
Meanwhile, the BMW's alarm continued to blare through the neighborhood, a metallic scream in the cold night air.
---
A few meters away, William lowered his phone, ending the recording.
Mission accomplished.
He pressed a button on his key fob — click — and the alarm finally went silent.
With calm precision, he switched to the dial screen on his phone and typed three simple numbers: 911.
"Hello? Yes, someone smashed my car. Black BMW. I'm parked on North Wallace Street.
…Yes. I'll wait here."
He hung up, slipped the phone into his jacket pocket, and glanced toward the angry neighbor trudging back to his porch, muttering curses under his breath.
A faint smile touched William's lips.
Patience, after all, was the most dangerous kind of revenge.
---
Fifteen minutes later
A patrol car pulled up beside the wrecked BMW, its red-and-blue lights painting the street in flashes of color.
Out stepped Tony — South Side's favorite cop and, more importantly, Fiona's personal white knight.
The moment he saw William, his brows furrowed.
"You're the one who called this in?"
Inwardly, Tony wondered what the hell William was doing here.
Was he still hanging around Fiona?
To Tony, Fiona was still his moonlight girl — pure, perfect, and heartbreakingly out of reach. Anyone near her instantly became a threat.
"Yeah," William said evenly. "Someone smashed my car."
He nodded toward the BMW — its windshield shattered, hood dented, one headlight hanging loose.
"Any idea who did it?"
Tony's tone was routine, but his eyes betrayed mild satisfaction.
There were no street cameras on this stretch. No witnesses willing to step up either.
Which meant this case would probably go nowhere.
And honestly? That pleased Tony.
He didn't like William. Didn't like how Fiona smiled when his name came up.
"Yeah," William said. "It was Lip Gallagher."
Tony blinked, caught off guard.
"Alright, I'll file the report. We'll investigate who actually—"
He stopped mid-sentence, his brain catching up with what William had just said.
"Wait. Who?"
"Lip Gallagher," William repeated, his tone calm and deliberate.
Tony's face hardened.
"You sure about that? Got any proof? You realize false accusations are a criminal offense, right?"
His voice was suddenly stern, protective — the same way a loyal dog growls when someone approaches its master's home.
In Tony's mind, Lip wasn't a suspect — he was Fiona's kid brother. Untouchable.
William hid a smirk. Typical simp.
Without a word, he unlocked his phone and opened the video file.
The screen lit up — and there it was.
Lip, drunk and furious, screaming curses as he smashed the BMW with his bare hands and a brick.
The sound of shattering glass filled the quiet street once more — only this time, it wasn't an alarm.
It was evidence.