Return Of The Cannibal(Hannibal x Reader)(Book 2)

Chapter 9

There is a witchy beauty about Muskrat Farm, the Verger family's mansion near the Susquehanna River in northern Maryland. The Verger meatpacking dynasty bought it in the 1930s when they moved east from Chicago, to be closer to Washington, and they could well afford it. Business and political acumen has enabled the Vergers to batten on U. S. army meat contracts since the Civil War.

The "embalmed beef" scandal in the spanish-American War hardly touched the Vergers. When Upton Sinclair and the muckrakers investigated dangerous packing-plant conditions in Chicago, they found that several Verger employees had been rendered into h lard inadvertently, canned and sold as Durham's pure Leaf Lard, a favorite of bakers. The blame did no stick to the Vergers. The matter cost them not a single government contract.

The Vergers avoided these potential embarrassments and many others by giving money to politicians - their single setbacks being passage of the Meat Inspection Act of 1906.

Today the Vergers slaughter 86,000 cattle a day, and approximately 36,000 pigs, a number that varies slightly with the season.

The new-mown lawns of Muskrat Farm, the riot of its lilacs in the wind, smell nothing at all like the stockyard. The only animals are ponies for the visiting children and amusing flocks of geese grazing on the lawns, their behinds wagging, heads low to the grass. There are no dogs. The house and grounds are near the center of six square miles of national forest, and will remain there in perpetuity under a special exemption granted by the department of the interior.

Like many enclaves of the very rich, Muskrat Farm is not easy to find the first time you go. You went one exit to far on the expressway. coming back along the service road, you first encountered the trade entrance, a big gate secured with chain and padlock in the high fence enclosing the forest. Beyond the gate, a fire road disappeared into the overarching trees. There was no call box. Two miles farther along you found the gatehouse, set back a hundred yards along a handsome drive. The uniformed guard had your name on his clipboard.

An additional two miles of manicured roadway brought you to the farm. You stopped your rumbling Mustang to let a flock of geese cross the drive. You could see a file of children on fat Shetlands leaving a handsome barn a quarter-mile from the house. The mail building before you was a Stanford white-designed mansion handsomely set among low hills. The place looked solid and fecund, the province of pleasant dreams. It tugged at you.

The Vergers had had sense enough to leave the house as it was, with the exception of a single addition, which you could not yet see, a modern wing that sticks out from the eastern elevation like an extra limb attached in a grotesque medical experiment.

You parked beneath the central portico. When the engine was off you could hear your own breathing. In the mirror you saw someone coming on a horse. Now hooves clopped on the pavement beside the car as you got out.

A broad-shouldered person with short blond hair swung down from the saddle, handed the reins to a valet without looking at him. "Walk him back," the rider said in a deep scratchy voice. "I'm Margot Verger." She said.

At close inspection she was a woman, holding out her hand, arm extended straight from the shoulder clearly Margot Verger was a body builder. Beneath her corded neck, her massive shoulders and arms stretched the mesh of her tennis shirt. Her eyes had a dry glitter and looked irritated, as though she suffered from a shortage of tears. She wore twill riding breeches boots with no spurs.

"What's that your driving?" Margot asked. "An old Mustang?" She said. "It's an '88." You answered. "Five-liter? It sort of hunkers down over its wheels." Margot said. "Yes. It's a Roush Mustang." You said. "You like it?" Margot asked. "A lot." You answered. "What'll it do?" Margot asked. "I don't know. Enough, I think." You say. "Scared of it?" She asked. "Respectful of it. I'd say I use it respectfully," You say. "Do you know about it, or did you just buy it?" She asked "I knew enough about it to buy it at a dope auction when I saw what it was. I learned more later." You said "You think it would beat my Porsche?" Margot asks. "Depends on which Porsche. Ms. Verger, I need to speak with your brother." You said. "They'll have him cleaned up in about five minutes. We can start up there." Margot says. The twill riding breeches whistled on Margot Verger's big thighs as she climbed the stairs. Her cornsilk hair had receded enough to make you wonder if she took steroids and had to tape her clitoris down.