He promised me he wouldn't hurt them.

He saw through my attempt to circumvent the contract. I tried to sign the marriage certificate with my left hand, the non-dominant one. When I touched the nib of the pen to the paper, his large hand wrapped tightly around my wrist, hard enough to leave a burgundy bruise that I found later.

I felt something sharp against my side. Evidently, he had a knife pressed into me. Goosebumps appeared where the knife threatened to pierce my dress and skin. I saw his face get closer to me out of the corner of my eye. "Sign the fucking paper, Violet," he breathed into my ear. "And your brat brother and sister will be safe."

My heart withered at his promise. I glanced back to Klaus, his expression twisted with so many emotions: grief, anger, injustice.

Injustice.

As kind as she was, Justice Strauss proved herself useless right about now. She had been finagled into following the frustratingly simple marriage law: an "I do" from the woman in the presence of a judge and the marriage certificate signed with the bride's own hand. She watched me expectantly as I looked back to the damning paper.

My head went hot and my dress felt too scratchy all of a sudden. My fingers shuddering, I gave the pen to my right hand. On the line, I signed my name: Violet Baudelaire.

My vision blurred, and I felt a burning tear streak down my cheek. I was a Countess.

I stumbled back, my head spinning with these dizzying circumstances. I heard him begin rambling to the audience about how there was no need to finish the play: he had gotten what he wanted.

As the crowd grew upset and restless at the revelation, the smell of burning wood reached my nose. Despite the sweat rolling down my back, ice chilled my veins and my stomach turned to lead. There was a fire somewhere. I looked up to my towering now-husband; he was laughing.

"Where are your precious volunteers now?" he shouted maniacally to the audience.

I heard the dull roar of flames behind me, somewhere behind the stage. I realized that the heat I felt growing behind me was this voracious fire.

"Fire!" a man in the audience screamed.

Chaos erupted.

I was snatched up before I could catch my breath, my hands still clutching the pen and marriage certificate. Smoke stung my eyes and I squeezed them shut.

I would have sworn before her High Court that I heard Justice Strauss call out after me, "Violet! Klaus! I'm sorry! I didn't know!"

Before I knew what happened, I was shoved into the backseat of a car in between two people. I heard gasping and whimpering and coughing; it took me a few moments to realize that it was all my own.

"Shut her up!" my husband shouted. One of his henchpeople clasped my arms and someone's large, rough hand slapped over my mouth. My eyes, still burning, shot open.

The first thing I saw was Klaus as he stood outside the car being held fast by the person of indeterminate gender. His glasses were lopsided and, if the situation had been more happy, I would have laughed.

"Now, my Countess," my husband spat, his shiny eyes dark beneath his unibrow. He smiled predatorily, his yellowing teeth revealing themselves beneath his curling lip. "Say goodbye to your brother forever!"

"You can't keep us away from each other forever!" Klaus yelled. "Violet will escape! Sunny and I will escape from wherever you keep us! You won't win!"

A disgusting scoff escaped my husband's lips. He turned to me. "If she does, I'll kill you and your bitey sister. If you escape, I'll kill her." My husband waved a dirty hand in Klaus' face. "And, I've already won."

A crashing noise came from inside the burning theatre. Everyone turned to the building. "Now let's get the hell out of here." My husband gestured for the white-faced women and the person of indeterminate gender to take Klaus and Sunny (whom I could only assume was still suspended in the birdcage) to some unknown location.

The bald man kept his grip over my mouth until my husband got into the driver's seat of the car.

"You can't do this!" I shouted. "You won't get away with any of this!"

"Oh, my dear Countess," he sneered as he turned around to face me. "Like I said to your know-it-all brother: I already have." He then suddenly snatched away the marriage certificate that I had been clutching tightly.

I looked into his eyes, and I only saw truth. I felt nauseous as I truly saw that Olaf had won. His expression said it all: he had set the fire in the theatre to kill everyone who knew about my and my siblings' plight. He had separated us. He had married me, and now would have access to my fortune. Everything had fallen into place for Count Olaf.

xXx

Olaf threw his own reception at his rotten house, and as soon as they had delivered my siblings to their mysterious location, the rest of his henchpeople arrived to the party.

Olaf kept me within arm's reach the entire night as if to show me off. He flaunted me like a check that boasted a large amount of money, which was exactly what I was to him.

I suppose I was in shock, as I don't remember much of what happened after he brought me into the parlor. All I know is that for hours, I was made to sit upon Olaf's knee and bring him and his troupe food and drinks. Lots of drinks.

As the night wore on, he became more aggressive as he finished off one, then two bottles of vodka. His breath reeked, yet he constantly pulled me closer to himself.

"Boss, where will you go for your honeymoon?" the hook-handed man cackled.

Olaf downed yet another glass and sucked noisily on his teeth. "I must first go retrieve *my* fortune from the bank tomorrow. Then, once I do that, I can go wherever I want with my money," he laughed heartily.

"It's not *your* money," I countered. "It will be money that you've *stolen, but it will never be yours." At my argument, the room became very quiet as eyes darted back and forth between me and Olaf.

Olaf raised one side of his unibrow and clutched his empty glass, his knuckles turning white. Glaring, he pushed is glass into my hands. "Bring me the bottle this time, Orphan," he snarled.

As I stood once again, Olaf snatched my wrist and pulled me down to his face. "Another word out of you, and I'll give you a black eye so bad you won't be able to see out of it for weeks," he hissed. "Understand?"

I nodded hesitantly. He released me and I made my way to the kitchen to grab the bottle of remaining alcohol. I paused and looked up. Olaf was not looking. I could take a swig of the vodka to calm myself and he would never know. My mouth suddenly felt dry and I realized I was thirsty. I slowly brought the bottle to my lips.

"Orphan!" Olaf bellowed. I jumped and hurried back into the parlor. Olaf was staring at me, his arm outstretched.

I handed the bottle to him, and he snatched it from my fingertips. He kept eye contact with me as he then downed the rest of the vodka.

"How is my Countess feeling?" Olaf asked with fake concern. He clutched my chin between his thumb and forefinger and pulled me towards his face. "Is she tired?"

I blinked, suddenly feeling all of his henchpeople glaring at me. I looked to the floor.

"Countess?" he repeated darkly.

"I'm, um..." I started. I glanced up to see Olaf smiling devilishly at me.

"Too tired for words?" Olaf finished. He placed his large hand on my hip possessively. "Wanting to go to bed, are we?" He chuckled. "I think my bride is ready for our wedding night."

I froze, my pulse thudding in my ears. Of all the depraved things, this was not something I expected. I only thought he wanted to marry me for my fortune.

"What?" I asked, my voice thin.

Olaf laughed to his henchpeople at my confusion. "You didn't believe I would follow through with such a tradition?"

Everything in me screamed to run away. I looked around the room in desperation, but Olaf's troupe watched our interaction with perverted glee. I began to step away, but Olaf snatched my arm quickly and jerked me forward with his knee in between my legs.

"Why wouldn't I?" Olaf ran his hands firmly and slowly up my side and back. "You are exceedingly pretty. Any girl would be so lucky to be in your position with such a dashing actor willing to fuck them. Women have begged on bended knee for me to bed them. You should be thanking me," Olaf smirked.

The white-faced women harrumphed in unison, while the other henchpeople laughed.

He put his arm around my waist and pulled me flush against him. He reached up and began to stroke my hair.

"It's time for us to 'consume' our marriage, my Countess," he said. I could feel his sharp eyes on me.

Before I could stop myself, my lips formed the words, "It's 'consummate.'" Noise barely came out of my throat. I looked up at Olaf.

He screwed up his face in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

I looked down to my feet. "The phrase is 'consummate the marriage,' not 'consume,'" I repeated.

Olaf scoffed. "Go upstairs to my room, Orphan. Wait for me there," Olaf ordered me.

I didn't move.

"Did I perhaps not make myself clear, Orphan? Go to my fucking room!" Olaf bellowed as he stood, his voice slurring with the alcohol he imbibed.

I flinched and sprinted to the staircase, tripping on the first step in my haste. My ears burned hot as laughter chased me up the stairs.

Though I had never been there, I found Olaf's room rather quickly, as I had studied the layout of his house from doing chores. I opened the door to his room. I corrected myself—our room. I had to remind myself constantly that I was now his...wife. I wanted to vomit each time I thought myself married to Count Olaf, but at this moment, I wanted to vomit because of the disgusting state of the bedroom.

A musty, wet smell emanated from somewhere in the room. The peeling wallpaper was dirty with neglect. Nothing had been dusted or scrubbed for what I supposed had been years. Dirty clothes carpeted the floor and were strewn about on various pieces of furniture. Empty bottles littered the underside of the queen-sized bed, which had several mysterious stains on the cover. The mattress was without a cover sheet, and my skin crawled at the thought of lying down on the bed.

With a jerk, I realized I was about to do just that.

I had no idea what to do, so I simply stood in the centre of the room next to the bed.

After a long while, I heard the staggering steps of Olaf as he stumbled up the stairs. I wanted to hide. I wanted to run. I looked over my shoulder to the window across the room and even considered jumping out of it. If I lived, I could run. If I didn't...I wouldn't have to endure this already miserable marriage anymore.

The wiry figure of my husband appeared at the door and pushed it closed after he came in. He had a nearly-full bottle of whiskey in one of his hands.

Olaf sniffed and stumbled toward me, his leering eyes boring into my soul. He took a swig from the whiskey bottle.

"Undress," he commanded.

I looked down to my feet, wanting to melt into the floor. "I'm... 14," I murmured.

Olaf's face twisted. "What?" he snapped, leaning forward. His whiskey-haunted breath bombarded my senses.

I cowered further, but raised my voice. "I'm only 14—"

"That just means that once I take you, you'll be *my* Countess forever," Olaf sneered, his voice oily. "Now, take off your clothes, Orphan."

He flopped himself onto his dirty bed, careful not to spill his whiskey, even as drunk as he was.

I fiddled with the hem of my white dress, toying with the idea of dashing out of his bedroom and away from the wretched house.

I must have somehow let on that that was what I was thinking, because Olaf stated, "Don't bother trying to run. I locked the door and I have the key."

I squeezed my eyes shut.

"I don't want to repeat myself a third time, Orphan."

Just get it over with, and then he'll leave you alone* I lied to myself. A sudden burst of bravery seized my arms, and I found myself pulling my dress over my head. I removed my shoes and pantyhose, feeling the cold air brush my skin. I used my arms to cover myself, even my bra and panties.

Olaf chuckled. "Move your arms. I want to see my Countess."

I opened my eyes, glaring at him. His smug expression countered, but I tried not to falter.

"Don't get cocky, Orphan."

"Why should I do any of this?" Courage swelled in my chest. "I did what you said to keep my siblings safe. You have my fortune. What more do you want?"

Olaf's face darkened suddenly, and my courage was extinguished. I regretted everything I had said. He stood, his legs still unsteady from the drink.

"I want to break you, Violet," the way he spat my name was venomous. "I want to see you suffer under me as I burn your world to the ground. So l would suggest you do exactly what I say, because otherwise I would love nothing more than to gut your siblings like fish!"

He stalked closer to me, his eyes burning into me. He stood to his full height, causing me to feel small. My eyes burned with the threat of tears, but I couldn't let him see how he got to me.

Olaf threw back a gulp of whiskey, and I stared at the bottle. If I was going to do this, I wanted to be numb.

"Please, let me have a drink," I pleaded.

Olaf looked down at me in surprise before he laughed. "And waste my good whiskey on an orphan?"

I bit the inside of my lip. A tear betrayed me by falling down my flushed cheek. "It...it's going to hurt," I whimpered. In embarrassment, I clasped my hands and brought them down to cover my panties.

Olaf smirked and brushed back my long hair with his dirty fingers. "I know," he said with exaggerated fake concern. "But look at it this way." He snaked his free hand through my hair and yanked back sharply. I winced. "Aren't you lucky to be deflowered by the world's most handsome, amazing, talented, handsome, and brilliant actor?"

He tossed back the rest of his whiskey and threw the bottle on a pile of clothes.

Olaf's bony hands slithered down my back to the clasps of my bra and quickly unhooked it. He jerked the lingerie off of me and let it fall to the ground. I gasped and shut my eyes, not wanting to see his reaction.

I heard him hum deep in his throat before he hooked his finger around the hem of my panties and slid them down my legs. He made me step out of and away from my undergarment. As he stood back to his full height, his hands ghosted up my inner thigh and paused at my core. Olaf sighed as he hovered his fingers over my heat, barely wisping the pad of his index across my inner lips. I shuddered in disgust, and I looked up to see his lips parted slightly in desire at my movement. He seemed enraptured with my naked state. I desperately wanted to sink to the floor and crawl away to a corner in utter mortification, but Olaf took no notice to my discomfort. His hands continued their journey up my body. He flattened his palms and slid them over my belly and up to my small breasts. He took both of my nipples in between his fingers. He pinched them—hard.

I cried out beneath the sensation of pain and—to my chagrin—pleasure. I choked on a moan and screwed up my face.

A chuckle resonated from Olaf, who then pulled me closer to him. I felt his hardness against my stomach and tried to pull back.

Olaf yanked me back and slammed his lips against mine in a disgusting kiss. His hand came up to cup my face as he caressed my cheek. His tongue wormed its way past my lips and into my mouth. I nearly gagged, as he was a wet kisser. He tasted overwhelmingly like all different kinds of alcohol mixed with his horrible halitosis.

I pulled away and gasped for breath.

"Oh, smile, my Countess," he said, brushing his thumb against my lips. He bent his thumb against my lower lip, slowly prying my mouth open. I wanted to gag, but the shock of his actions stilled me. "You're far too pretty to be frowning all the time."

He smiled villainously at me and cocked his head. "Undress *me, Orphan."

He grabbed my hands and brought them to his shoulders. I pushed off the sport coat he wore and unbuttoned his rather dirty shirt.

I tugged the fabric down, and he let it fall off of his shoulders. I turned my attention to his pants. I swallowed hard, a lump of despair lodged in my throat. I hesitated for a moment. Then, my thoughts strangely went to Klaus and Sunny. They would both be safe if I did this. Wasn't that worth it? Klaus would disagree and insist that he would figure a way out. Sunny would scream in her baby talk that Olaf was nothing but a sorry bastard who deserved a good kick in the balls. But I owed it to my parents to keep my siblings alive. I owed it to Klaus and Sunny. They shouldn't have to suffer just because I didn't want to.

Resolve washed over me as I set to the task of undoing my husband's trousers. They fell to the floor, unveiling his erection as it was straining against his boxers. I wanted to look away.

"Come on, now, Orphan. Don't be a tease," Olaf hissed. "I know I'm a fine specimen." Olaf gestured to his cock.

"I can't—" I choked involuntarily.

Olaf growled throatily and grabbed me by my arms and practically threw me into his bed. In one swift motion, he crawled on top of me and pinned my shoulders against the mattress.

"Please don't do this," I begged, holding my arms against my chest in an effort to cover myself.

Olaf pressed his face toward mine. "You would deny your husband his wedding night?" He pushed his boxers down, exposing his erect penis. "You're being selfish, you filthy orphan."

Olaf spat onto his hand and lubricated his member with it. He spread my legs apart with his knees. "Now don't move, Brat, and maybe it won't hurt as bad," he ordered.

"No-!" I braced myself quickly, but nothing could prepare me for his roughness. He pushed himself unceremoniously into me. I screwed my eyes shut in pain. I was sure I felt something tear inside me from the sudden presence of the large girth of his member. I cried out, tears spilling from my eyes and my whole body tensing.

He moaned breathily, his eyes shut in euphoria. He laughed. "You've got such a tight little cunt, my Countess," Olaf grunted. "Perhaps your fortune isn't the only thing you're good for."

Another sob escaped my lips, words barely forming: "Olaf, please!"

Olaf pulled out of me briefly before he thrust himself in me again. He did this again and again, each time hurting just as bad as the first.

My mind started to go numb, and my hearing became distorted. I knew my mind was trying to save me by forcing me unconscious, and part of me wanted to let myself slip into that void. I wanted to let go, but every time I tried, I was interrupted by the force of Olaf's thrusts.

His gruff voice pulled me back to reality. "Fucking Christ, Orphan," he growled as he pounded into me even harder.

I didn't want to look at him. I didn't want to see his face and how he felt. I looked straight up to the ceiling, praying that it would all be over soon. Fat tears dropped from my eyes, tracing down around my clenched jaw.

I felt him start to lose his fast rhythm as his thrusts became harder and more erratic. Grunts came from his throat as he hunched over my body. Olaf grabbed a fistful of my long hair and pulled down into the bed. He cried out, "Fuck!", before burying his head in my neck and biting fiercely onto my shoulder. I shrieked in surprise and pain. Olaf convulsed and came within me, thrusting his hot seed further into me. With a shard of fear ripping through me, I remembered that there was no protection between us.

Olaf collapsed on top of me, his chest heaving with deep breaths.

I let my head fall to the side, more tears soaking the pillow beneath my head. For the first time in my life, I truly wanted to die.

Olaf began to raise himself up. "Jesus," he whispered. He stopped and looked at me. He took my chin between his thumb and his forefinger and turned my head to face him. He glowered possessively in my eyes. He pressed his lips against mine before examining my puffy, tear-stained face. He smirked as he trailed one of his bony fingers down my cheek and over my bottom lip. "Now," he muttered. "You belong entirely to me, Violet Baudelaire."

He got up off the bed and took a dirty shirt from the floor. He cleaned his now limp member and threw the fabric at me.

I sat up, wincing from the soreness. I looked at the shirt; red stained the dingy white shirt. I looked down between my legs and saw my thighs and the mattress smudged with my blood. My eyes widened in shock and fear.

"I'm... I'm—" I started.

Olaf snorted. "Good thing it's on your side." He stepped back into his discarded boxers.

I looked up at him. "I'm sleeping here...?"

Olaf made a face at me as he got back into bed. "Husbands and wives always sleep in the same bed. I thought you would know that, Orphan."

Lowering my head, I looked at the soiled shirt in my hands.

Before he turned on his side, he said back to me, "Unless you want to be cold all night, you should put that on. There's only enough cover for one." Olaf pulled a quilt off of the floor and wrapped it over him. "Sweet dreams, *my* Countess," Olaf bade me, sarcastically.

As I opened up the rumpled shirt in my hands, I wanted to be sick. He wanted me to wear a shirt that had cleaned away the evidence of his taking of my virginity. I threw the shirt to the floor and looked over the edge to find some other scrap of clothing I could use as a blanket. I had to be honest with myself: the shirt he had given me was actually the best option after I saw the other clothes he had relegated to the floor.

I grimaced and picked the shirt back up. I slipped it on and laid back down on the bed. Before long, I heard my husband snoring heavily in his deep sleep, yet I was still wide awake. My inner walls throbbed with dull aches and my muscles were sore from tensing. I forced my thoughts to return to the reason why I endured this pain. I remembered Klaus and Sunny.

Klaus and Sunny. I did this for them.

Before long, I felt my eyelids grow heavy with exhaustion as I fell into a night of disturbing dreams and restless sleep.

Looking back, I remember it was never as painful as that first time. The second and third time I still wept afterwards, and Olaf did nothing but smirk at my misery. I quickly learned to silence my tears.

xXx

The next morning, Olaf awoke me with a sharp nudge to my back. I looked over to him and was surprised to see him up and dressed. "Make yourself useful and go make some breakfast for me."

I stood slowly. Olaf grimaced at the shirt he had tossed to me last night. "And change your clothes!" he demanded. "I don't want my wife to make a complete fool of me in front of my fellow actors."

I looked down at the disgusting piece of clothing. "You made me wear this," I pointed out.

Olaf rolled his eyes. "I didn't *make* you wear anything. I *suggested* that you wear it." He scoffed. "When you're done making breakfast, pack my finest clothes. I'm off to my honeymoon today!" he finished.

I straightened myself. "It doesn't seem very wise of you to leave me behind, knowing I could escape. In fact, it seems very remiss," I said.

"Duh," he sneered. "You're coming, too. And I think that's very 'miss' of me. My troupe members are my invited guests, so you'll be serving their every need."

Olaf stood straight. "Now go make breakfast. And make something hot. With coffee."

I left Olaf's room and went straight to my room to put on clean clothes. As much as I wanted to, I didn't have time to take a shower. I wanted nothing more than to turn on the water as hot as it would go so it would scald off the memories of the previous night. I wanted to scrub until the layer of skin that Olaf had touched was no more. But I couldn't.

While I waited for the pan to heat, I went and fetched the paper from the mail slot in the front door. Big, bold print caught my attention as I unfolded the paper: "At Least 140 Dead in Last Night's Theatrical Blaze." My stomach dropped. From what I had heard backstage, that was roughly the amount of people who had come to the show.

I brought the paper to the kitchen, my eyes fixated on the photo of the burning building. I quickly scanned the story, and they had identified some of the victims. I read the list to see if I recognized anyone. I found names who were vaguely familiar, as if I had heard their names in passing from my parents when they were alive: Josephine Anwhistle, Olivia Caliban, Dr. Montgomery Montgomery. There were whole families that were killed in the fire, one being the Snickets, Jacques, Kit, and Lemony. Then, I finally came to two names that caused my breath to seize in disbelief: Arthur Poe and Justice Strauss.

I laid the paper down on the kitchen counter. Mr. Poe had sons and a wife, but Olaf didn't care. He murdered the banker simply because he was in charge of my parents' will.

And Justice Strauss. He killed the one person who made living as Olaf's servant bearable. She was immensely kind, and had offered to gift me several books after the play.

I cracked the eggs into the frying pan. As my thoughts wandered, I had to consciously try not to burn them. However, serving Olaf burnt eggs would be an irony not lost by either of us. Olaf had promised to burn my world to the ground, and he was doing just that.

I plated the eggs and poured a mug of coffee. I brought the breakfast with the paper into Olaf's dining room, where he sat at the head of the dining table, impatiently drumming his long digits against the wood. I set the plate, mug, and paper before him and stepped back.

He gazed at me suspiciously before he took a bite of his food. "They're too runny," he said shortly, continuing to eat.

I pushed the paper forward. "People perished last night. At the theatre."

Olaf didn't respond.

"Mr. Poe was there. He had children!" I stated.

"And now they're one-half orphans," Olaf grunted. He sipped his coffee. "This coffee is watery."

"Whole families died, Olaf!" I flipped to the page with the names of the deceased. "Some people called Jacques, Lemony, and Kit Snicket. They died!"

At their names, Olaf's head shot up. His face was devoid of any emotion as he looked to where I was pointing on the page.

"Snicket?" he repeated.

"There's dozens more!" I gestured to the photo of the theatre. "Why did you start the fire?"

Olaf glared at me. "I couldn't have started the fire! I was there next to you the whole act!"

I scoffed. "You got someone else to do it! But why?"

"I don't have to explain myself to snotty orphans who don't know when to shut the fuck up," Olaf's sharp voice cut through me. "Now, you've made my breakfast. Go and pack my things for my honeymoon."

I stared at Olaf a moment more. I could hardly comprehend how cold-hearted an individual he was. As I turned to leave, I wondered who the Snickets were, and why Olaf had seemed shocked at their names in the paper.

xXx

The black car pulled up in front of Mulctuary Money Management, the late Mr. Poe's place of work. Olaf stepped out of the driver's seat, and the rest of his troupe followed. There were far too many people in the car; I was practically squished in between several henchmen as the white-faced women hazardously shared the front passenger seat.

"Countess, up here with me," Olaf barked, snapping his fingers beside him. I pushed my way through his henchpeople and to his side.

"Unfortunately for me, you must be with me when I withdraw my money," he said to me. He pulled the wrinkled marriage certificate from his inner jacket pocket. "Apparently, this doesn't cut it on its own."

I shook my head dejectedly. Olaf then bent down to look me in the eyes. "Remember, if you don't follow through with this, I'll cut your brother and sister into pieces and feed them to starving lions," he snarled.

"I understand," I replied angrily.

Olaf grabbed my upper arm and led me into the bank. At the front desk, he threw on the charm for the receptionist.

"Can I help you, sir?" the receptionist asked, her lipstick grin spreading wide across her face.

"I'm here to speak with the one regarding the Baudelaire fortune," Olaf said. He matched the woman's smile.

She nodded. "Of course! One moment." She picked up the phone on her desk and brought it to her ear. "There's a gentleman here to speak with the person in charge of the Baudelaire fortune." She paused. "Yes." Another pause. "Oh, dear. That's unfortunate. I'll let him know."

As the receptionist hung up, Olaf put on his fakest concerned expression. "What's wrong?" he asked.

The receptionist frowned. "The man in charge of the Baudelaire fortune, Mr. Arthur Poe, perished in a terrible fire yesterday. Fortunately, his assistant is currently handling all of his accounts while we try to disperse them. I'll take you to her now."

The receptionist stood and gestures for Olaf and his troupe to follow her. Olaf practically dragged me along.

"Ms. Scieszka?" the receptionist called as she opened the door to the late Mr. Poe's office.

A blonde woman at his desk was shuffling around papers. She looked up, and her face appeared to fall as she saw Olaf.

"This gentleman would like to speak with you—"

"Regarding the Baudelaire fortune. Yes, Mary, you mentioned over the phone. I'll deal with him," Ms. Scieszka said a bit distractedly.

The receptionist nodded and closed the door behind herself after Olaf's troupe filed in.

"Hello, Olaf," Ms. Scieszka greeted.

I glanced to Olaf in surprise.

"Jacquelyn," he replied. Apparently, they knew each other.

Olaf pulled me along as he approached the desk. "I'm here to withdraw the Baudelaire fortune," Olaf said, his voice smug.

Ms. Scieszka glanced to me and grinned briefly before she looked back to Olaf. "I'm sorry you came all the way here for nothing, sir, but I'm afraid I cannot do that. Only a Baudelaire heir can do that."

Olaf held up my arm. "This is Violet Baudelaire. She's the oldest Baudelaire child, and I'm her guardian."

Ms. Scieszka cocked her head. "My records indicated that she would not be allowed to access the fortune until she is 18."

Olaf chuckled. "Forgive me, I neglected to mention that she is also my wife," he said.

Ms. Scieszka's face fell. "But... she's only 14! She would need—"

"A guardian's consent." Olaf smiled a shit-eating grin that made me sick to look at. "She had my consent to marry me."

Ms. Scieszka looked back and forth between me and Olaf, her mouth open.

"And I do believe that the law here also states that any heir who is married *before* 18 can have their inheritance accessed by their partner," Olaf explained.

"Yes, but you must have a valid marriage license—" Ms. Scieszka began.

Olaf shoved the marriage certificate into her hands. "I believe you'll see it was legalized by Justice Strauss. With the bride's signature in her own hand."

With a defeated look, Ms. Scieszka examined the document over and over again.

She looked up at me. I could tell that she wanted desperately to apologize.

"I'd like all of it in cash," Olaf said.

Ms. Scieszka sighed. "Half the fortune is manifested in assets. It would take time to get all of it in cash," she responded.

Olaf rolled his eyes. "I'll take what's available in cash now."

Once again, Ms. Scieszka sighed as she picked up the phone on the late Mr. Poe's desk.