You Will Pay for Isabella

Dearest Inaya, 

There are two ways that you can spend your life, my love, the first being to live for yourself and be completely forgotten within the next century after your death, and the second being to live for others and create a legacy that lasts forever. 

I want to tell you why I was determined to make sure that you would always be haunted by my name, in this life and the next. 

When your mother and I met, I was crisply 18 and about to start my career as a successful businessman, just as my father had planned. I would work my way up into taking over his company, and become one of the most world-renowned entrepreneurs while I did it. 

The place smelled of smoke, the football game competed with MTV for sound space, and the bartender always looked like he was drunk, yet this was one of the classiest establishments in all of Manhattan. She was a uniquely charming woman, almost enough to distract me. Her lips were full and bright, her hair bounced on her shoulders, and her hips were thick and curvy, but of course not too curvy. She was (one of) the perfect 10s I had been searching for. She stirred the olive around her drink in such a dainty manner, looking around the bar as if she was asking for something. 

I know you have heard this story a thousand times, my dear, but I feel it is important for you to grasp every detail of this for a wider context. I walked over to her with my business card in hand, checking my hair in the reflection of the window as I walked past. 

“The names David” I said to her, as smooth and as nonchalant as I could, sitting down on the barstool next to her. She swiveled around and her eyes met mine, before mine fell quickly to her tan collarbone and then stopped soundly at her cleavage. 

“Isabella” she said, in a sweet but firm tone, with a hint of a Spanish accent. I slipped the business card across the bar and under her martini class with one hand, and grabbed onto hers with the other. I stared into her gorgeous brown eyes for just a second, lent down and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then walked away and paid for her drink. I needed her to know and remember exactly who I was, if she was going to be a part of my American dream. 

She would look stunning on my arm, next to my two kids and my newest skyscrapers and private jets. She would complete my ideal public image, making business with me irresistible to any self-respecting American bloke. 

And she did. She made it easy for me to cover up any mistakes that weren’t meant to be disclosed, do business with people from her country and beyond, and outshine any lousy politician who was caught with an intern. Every magazine and newspaper front page we were on it, we were like the Megan and Harry of the 80s (except my hair is way nicer than Harry’s). 

When the 1990s had rolled around I easily owned half of the Manhattan skyline, and was working my way over to Brooklyn by the day. You had been born and my life was shaping up to be perfect. But, Inaya, here is where she ruined it all. 

I had been working on a project with one of the up-and-comers in the technology industry. He was a smart kid, graduated from Harvard or Stanford or something. I liked his attitude. Win at the expense of anything. 

It was a new investment. I’d give him a property and he’d give me some of the shares of his company. It was the perfect way to break into a whole new industry. 

Isa liked the idea. She really liked the idea. Every evening when I came home and talked about it she would jump up and down, throw her arms around me, and we would dance. I know she thought her life was perfect. All she had to do was look pretty and make a public appearance here and there while our servants did all of the dirty work. She didn’t even have to cook or clean, and I gave everything to her. I still don’t understand why she felt the need to destroy it all. 

When the news went public the papers went berserk. The New York Times and the Washington Post wouldn’t stop calling me. I was followed back to my apartment by the paps. Everyone wanted to hear about this new deal, and I was praised left and right on Wall Street. The leftists went crazy about some “rich getting richer” bullshit. Maybe if they worked a little harder they would be able to as well. 

This newfound fame meant that I was given a sort of unspoken power. I could speak about what I wanted because the people trusted me. I meant who wouldn’t trust someone who owns almost all of New York and 40% of the world’s biggest tech company? I started to preach my philosophies. I believed in traditional American Nationalism, and the values that came with it.

That’s when Isa suggested becoming a politician. She said I knew what I was talking about, and that I would be doing a service to the American people. I believed her, and it wasn’t the craziest idea ever. Of course I knew what I was talking about. Little did I know this was all a part of her master plot. 

While I was tied up with board meetings and election campaigns, she was tied up with a certain young tech nerd. You know, the guy with short curly brown hair that she told a six year old you was just the chef. Or the cleaner? Well what she meant was her awful love affair. 

Sure, I had been around too. But that doesn’t justify her actions. She was supposed to be the one! The American dream woman I had dreamed of! Who did she think she was?

To put salt in the wound, they worked together, diluting my shares in the company down to 3% just to get other investors involved. And just like my father had warned me, it was all in the fine print. I had been outplayed. I had lost at the expense of someone else’s win. It felt like everything had been ripped away from me. Millions of dollars, my business partner, and my supposed partner in crime. 

And of course, I had lost you too. Because every time I looked at your soft pale skin and your little eyes with long lashes, all I could see was her. You looked exactly like her, all the flipping time. Every time I saw you, I saw the beautiful woman I glanced at from across the bar. How dare you. 

You weren’t supposed to avoid the accident, but your idiot mother decided to take the limo with that prick Jason instead of her own daughter. You were still at school waiting to be picked up with a few of your friends. By the time you had caught a ride and made yourself comfortable at someone else’s house, your mother was dead. Jason was too. “Shock Accident Kills Two NYC Royals” was printed across the Times’ front page the next morning. 

I don’t regret what I did, especially because I managed two birds with one stone with Jason involved. I just wish I would’ve finished you at the same time. Now I was being consoled and praised for being a single dad. I had to fake tears at each public appearance, and get the help to dress you in black for the funeral. You were what seven? Eight? I don’t know if you understood then, but I know that you need to now. 

I still wish you had died. 

And I lived with that every day. I couldn’t escape her face each time I looked at you. She might be dead, but her soul was still living through you. As you grew up, you acted more and more like her, and all I could think about was revenge. Revenge for ruining my life. That is what you deserved. 

Inaya, darling, I’m sure you know the rest. The presidency, the backlash, the total world domination. I was the only president except for Truman that had the balls to nuke another county. I had to get rid of the extremists one way or another—they were hurting my agenda. 

I wanted my name to come after you forever. I would be remembered for centuries the way I was going. Like a King Henry or a Stalin. So I kept going. The people cried and tried to overthrow me. Too bad they forgot who they gave power to. I continued, ending each continent after another. By the time you were 25, there was only one functioning continent left. 

I don’t know if you resented me then, or if you were as brainwashed as all of my followers, but I sure hope you resent me now. I don’t care that I’m on my deathbed. If I die tomorrow I will be content with the fact that I have ruined the entire universe for you and your mother.

I am sure that my legacy will last forever, because how can you forget the person who nearly ended the entire world. 

Every history book I’ll be in it. You’ll be the casualty. The one who is reminded every single day that her father is as evil as I am. 

You are half of me. No matter how far you run, no matter if you decide to hide, you’ll always have 50% of my DNA. And don’t worry, the other 50% is your mother’s so you can be sure to betray anyone and everyone who’s ever trusted you. 

You’re all alone now. Now you can finally pay for what she did to me. 

Kind regards, 

Father