The next morning Rob went down to breakfast. His mom was up and moving about the kitchen preparing the family’s breakfast. Rob closely studied her t... see if he could get any hint of what had happened last night. There was none. Rob was both relieved and disappointed at the same time. He reasoned that this could be an entertaining summer. There was Mrs. Zamora next door, whom he had not even seen yet, but he was sure she wanted some more of his big dick and the possibility that he’d get to do. She turned and looked at me, smiling.“But what if I like not being the daughter of that monster,” she said. “Please tell me who I am.”“Well, you’re a dead ringer for a porn star to disappeared without a trace over a decade ago,” I said as nonchalantly as I could.“What’s my name?” she asked. Not “her” name; she was already bonding with her new looking. Never saw that coming.“Cherry,” I said.“Porn star, huh?” she said, small smile fixed to her face. “Would it be possible to get me some. She was a little eccentric and owned far more cats than I could count—I had tried once, only to give up after passing the hundred cat mark—but I loved her dearly. Every time I came over, she would offer me home-baked cookies and a tall glass of milk. I visited her at least once a day for most of my childhood. But, mere days after my eleventh birthday, she passed away. No one knew the true cause for her passing, but many believed the cats turned on her and ate her alive. I never believed such a. It wasn’t all coming out of my own pocket. I was constantly calling people, thanking them, and writing notes to them. He was slinging mud left and right, and any semblance to the truth was accidental. He brought up the ‘billionaire buying a seat’ theme, the ‘murderer’ theme, the fact I was disowned, that I was a ‘rogue vigilante’, I was ‘unstable and mentally deranged’ (that one he got from some shrink he bought who never even met me.) He even claimed that I didn’t need a cane and that I was.