Richard Wright Novel Novels & Stories

About 2 months later, Richard has gotten much better and Mama Ruth had worked really hard to get him a work in a poultry farm a cleaner. He usually sleeps with the eldest son of the family and one of the twins in the living room. The eldest usually comes home very late at night after everyone had slept. He usually carries a weapon with him. For that reason, Richard was scared of talking to him. Around 5 am, Richard was waked by Ruth's mother as usually. She also wakes Ruth and her two twin brothers, while the rest of family were left sleeping. Mama Ruth is a well devoted Christian, she usually wake them up to pray.

"But you did more than just live." She smiled. "I've been running the Wright family for years. Oil, weapons, diamonds, smuggling... You name a dirty business, I've got a piece of it. The Wright family now operates in thirteen countries. Our annual revenue is three times the Morettis'." A sharp glint appeared in her eye. "In this man's world, if a woman wants to survive, she has to be tougher, smarter, and more ruthless than they are." I was filled with admiration, but I couldn't help a bitter smile. "I wish I was strong like you, instead of just repeating your mistakes in marriage."

In the notebook, it was clearly written that her mother was the only daughter of the Wright Family, an imperial plutocrat, but she fell in love with her father. The love of the wrong family is not blessed by the elders. They eloped and established the Richard Group. Her mother's father, her grandfather, has always been concerned about them, and without the Wright Family's help, the Richard Family would not have risen so quickly over the years. When her father learned that he was ill and that Alex Brown was ambitious, he wrote an email to her grandfather, asking him to send her out of the country. But before the mail could be sent, her father had passed away. Joe Wright and her grandfather fo

…… Packing my nerves up, I infiltrated the nightclub during the Saturday downpour, armed with a camera. The hallway leading to the underground processing plant was eerily quiet. So far, everything was progressing smoothly. The door in front of me separated two worlds—one was ordinary life, the other a secret slaughterhouse. The intense stench of blood seeped through the gap in the door and crept up my nostrils. I tightened my grip on the camera, braced myself, and heaved the door open. Before me were bodies hanging from iron hooks, like livestock waiting to be slaughtered.