3.0. Mrs Elphinstone

Notes: Yes she is Roisin.

888 Spire Apartments. A beautiful sprawling Uptown triplex. The most ostentatiously overpriced apartment. Some people would pay anything, for the most prestigious address anywhere in the City. Money mattered nothing to them.


Roisin Elphinstone stepped out of the elevator. Clad in an immaculate silk dress, with pretty flowers stitched on thread by thread by hand. She straightened her skirt. Housekeeper Johanna trudged wearily behind.

“Keep up, Jo!” She snapped. “And be very careful of those boxes!” She added with a sneer. Roisin had no patience for slowness. Obviously oblivious to the fact the poor housekeeper had to lug her heavy luggage all the way up, with much added precaution lest she risk breaking one of Roisin’s obscenely overpriced antiques. She loved antiques; she loved the intricacies of their designs. And she loved the fact they were priceless. They could not be slapped into a mould, and replicated. The calibre of modern craftmen could never hold a candle to the classical Old Masters, according to her.

“She needs to justify her exorbitant wages.” Roisin thought to herself. “I don’t pay her for nothing.”


Roisin Moonglow-Elphinstone walked around her apartment. It was a present to herself, from her lovely divorce settlement. Rumours had it that her (now former) husband paid a billion just to get rid of her. “Whatever!” She shrugged. She refused to drop the ‘Elphinstone’ though. It was more prominent than her last name for sure. And it helped her tremendously to achieve her status in high society.

Rule Numero Uno: Never piss Roisin Elphinstone off.


Roisin eased herself to one of the overstuffed chairs. Another pricey piece of designer furniture no less. To her, nothing was to her taste unless it reeked of excessive luxury. And she couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed at her apartment. It was not grand enough.

“Whatever! I’ll call the contractors tomorrow!” She had more pressing things to think about right now. Roisin had inherited her grandmother’s shrewdness. (Though certainly not her diligence. Rachel worked hard.) She would pay any amount to get things done. And they better get it done. She invested, and she wanted returns.

“I wonder what’s the progress with Tony,” she thought, “That guy cost me a ridiculous pound for his services…”


She checked her phone. She let out a fiendish grin. “Great! Hope she enjoy the crash.” She clapped her hands. “She can forget about getting a place in society, ever again.” She sneered, “What a tacky, classless twat. People like her don’t belong anyway.”


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