Gemotions

Rain lashed against the overflowing gutter, mirroring the tempest brewing inside Beatrice. She’d found the wallet tucked behind a loose brick in the alley, a careless discard. It was fat, bulging with crisp hundred-dollar bills. A driver's license confirmed the owner’s identity: Arthur Finch, a man who’d once laughed cruelly at her struggling art career.

Her fingers traced the embossed name on the leather. A smile, thin and predatory, played on her lips. She thought of the gallery owner who'd turned her away, the critiques that had stung, the countless rejections. Arthur, with his smug smile and casual pronouncements, had been the apex of her frustration.

She pocketed the wallet, the weight a delicious secret. Later, she would find the perfect frame for her masterpiece, the one that would forever shame Arthur Finch.