“Where’s Hannah?” Mauro wiped the blood off the window and showed it to Weber. “Or do you want Reynard to find out what cracks first—your skull, or the window?”
“That’s not the question you should be asking.” Weber grimaced in pain. “You should be asking—who is Hannah.”
We didn’t get a chance to ask Josef Weber another question. His security team finally broke through the barrier we put in front of his door, and then we were in a brawl. There was at least a dozen of them, but we didn’t give a fuck. We threw fists, kicks, and Mauro managed to send one of them crashing through Weber’s desk with a move that would have made a cage fighter jealous. They were only a distraction though—the real problem was already on the way—the boys in blue. Chicago PD—and they came at us with weapons drawn.
“Fuck.” I lifted my hands when I saw them approaching.
“Don’t do anything stupid.” Mauro looked over at me.
I know how trigger happy those mother fuckers are, so I don’t have much of a fucking choice.
The handcuffs went on our wrists, and then we were forcibly removed from Weber Acquisitions. We really did try to handle things peacefully—as peacefully as the two of us could when our beasts started to rage in the face of the man who was the source of our problem. Unfortunately, we didn’t get any answers before I lost my temper—and that didn’t help. I used my phone call to let Fisk know we needed him to bail us out, but I didn’t realize how much of a stranglehold Weber had on Chicago. He used his influence to get a judge assigned to our case that wasn’t eager to let us out of jail considering the fact we flew from New York just to assault one of the city’s residents—his words, but not what truly transpired.
* * *
The next day
“Well, this fucking sucks.” Mauro looked up from his cell, which was adjacent to mine.
“You’ve said that at least a dozen times since yesterday.” I sat up and sighed. “Hopefully Fisk can figure something out. We might not have gotten the answer we needed, but we got something—we’ve been asking the wrong question.”
“I don’t know if that’s very beneficial.” Mauro exhaled sharply. “We already knew that Hannah Ashton wasn’t her real name.”
“Still, you saw the look in his eyes. That meant something—the way he said it.” I growled under my breath. “I wish Dad’s letter would have at least told us who her mother was—that would have been something to go on.”
“Yeah.” Mauro nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that. I mean, I was young—but Dad had a few women that he called friends—I just can’t remember their names.”
“At this rate, the SEC might figure this shit out before we do.” I dropped back down on the bench and stared at the ceiling. “By then it’ll be too late to salvage the company.”
We got more bad news when Fisk was able to come see us again. The judge wasn’t just keeping us in jail because of the assault, he had consulted with the SEC and determined we were a flight risk. He also let us know that charges were coming, and they were trying to throw the book at us. We might not have known about the deal Wyatt made to funnel money to our sister, but they were still going to try and stick us with the charges—vicariously since they couldn’t very well put Wyatt in a cell beside us. If the court of public opinion mattered much, we were already fucked. We were criminals in their eyes—just another couple of suits that screwed over our investors because we were greedy.
The SEC had been able to follow the paper trail on the money Wyatt was embezzling with his creative accounting designed to pay off our sister. Unfortunately, that money went to a bank in the Caribbean and the SEC wasn’t the type to play dirty and bribe people to find out where the money went after that—not like I had been able to do when I tracked down Lizzy. Fisk said he was going to work on it and get in touch with some of the guys I did business with, but I doubted they were going to talk to one of our attorneys. They weren’t the kind of guys that did business in the daylight or across the table in a boardroom.
A couple of days passed with no news and then Fisk returned to let us know that his investigators were still coming up with nothing—that wasn’t even worth a visit. The worst part of it all was knowing that Weber was out there—turning the narrative in his favor. He painted himself as a victim who uncovered our scheme when he started investigating some of the companies that he had recently acquired. He claimed that our sister was a victim as well—being blackmailed and paid off to stay silent because she feared for her life. She was a sympathetic victim, despite the fact, nobody had actually seen her face. The media kept saying that she declined to make a statement—a good way to cover up the fact they didn’t even know how to get in contact with her.
“It all comes down to this.” I looked over at Mauro. “Something changed a year ago—something that cost Wyatt his life.”
“Please don’t tell me you’ve been locked in here long enough to dive into another one of your delusions.” Mauro sat up and shook his head. “Wyatt killed himself. Plain and simple. He was probably overcome with guilt—he had to have known Weber would figure this shit out once he bought those shell companies.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t explain how Weber was able to acquire them. If those companies were set up to pay off Hannah—or whatever her name is—why would she sell them? That doesn’t make any sense…” I stared at the floor. “We need to get out of here. We should be out there—figuring this shit out.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen.” Mauro exhaled sharply.
Yeah—unfortunately, I think he’s right.
* * *
Present day
“Reynard, you have a visitor.” The guard walked up to my cell.
“If it’s our lawyer, Mauro can handle it.” I motioned to my brother.
“No, they requested you—and I don’t think she’s a lawyer.” The guard unlocked my cell and held out the handcuffs.
She?
The guard led me down the long hallway to the visitor’s center. I had no idea who would be visiting me—unless it was Hannah. I wondered if she had finally decided to show her face and gloat in our misery. I certainly wasn’t expecting to see the face staring back at me from the other side of the glass. I wasn’t expecting Lizzy. She looked beautiful—a sight for very sore eyes. She motioned to the phone and I was scared to pick it up at first. I didn’t know what she would say, or why she was there. There was a part of me that feared she was just there to look at me from the other side of a cage—to see me trapped like she once was—and possibly to tell me that she was going to punish me for what I did to her by going to the authorities.
“Hey…” I picked up the phone and stared at her through the glass. “What are you doing here?”
“I need your help.” Her eyes narrowed.
“My help?” I blinked in surprise. “I offered it, but you left the check—I don’t think it’s any good now.”
“No, I don’t need that kind of help. I need Wyatt’s laptop.” She nodded and used her shoulder to hold the phone against her ear.
“I wiped everything off of it about you—if that’s what you’re worried about. I also burned all of the paperwork before I left the house.” I exhaled sharply. “Even the contract.”
“I assume this phone is bugged.” Her face twisted into a concerned expression. “Do you remember why we met? Not how—why.”
“Um, yes.” I nodded, not really sure how it was going.
“And where I spent most of my time after we met?” She raised her eyebrows slightly.
“Yes…” I nodded again.
“Why I was there?” She pursed her lips.
“Okay, just say it. I’m not good with fucking riddles.” I shook my head back and forth.
“If you remember why we met, where I spent most of my time and why I was there, then you know what I’m good at—and if I had Wyatt’s laptop—I might be able to help you.” Her eyes were practically pleading for me to pick up on the hint.
Of co
urse—she tracks people down—she digs into their lives. But why is she offering to help me? After all, I did to her…
“Get in touch with a woman named Abigail Winthrop. She works at Jackson Investments—or did—I’m sure she’s found a new job by now.” I nodded. “I’ll have Mauro contact her and she’ll get you what you need.”
“Thank you.” A look of relief swept over her face. “I miss you.”
“You do?” I tilted my head to the side. “I have to say—I’m surprised to hear that.”
“Once you get out of here, we’re going to talk.” She put her hand up to the glass and nodded before hanging up the phone.
I stared at her hand for a moment—confused—before finally pressing mine to the glass as well. I couldn’t believe Lizzy was trying to help me, especially considering what I did to her in the name of misguided vengeance. But, for a brief moment, before she walked away—I saw something in her eyes. It was a longing—a need—the same one she had when she begged for my cruelty the last night we spent together. I couldn’t give it to her then because she didn’t deserve it. Perhaps I had been wrong—maybe she was more than just a girl in a cage—a toy to be broken.
Maybe she was my path to salvation.
The only woman capable of taming my beast—while still begging for it to destroy her.
Lizzy
Two days later
I was able to get in touch with Abigail, Mauro’s assistant at Jackson Investments, and she gave me a key to Reynard’s house. She also told me that Wyatt’s laptop would be in his safe and provided me with the combination. It was strange to walk into Reynard’s house again—and as much as I wanted to run straight to the safe, I needed something else more. I needed the darkness. I just needed to feel that one more time—even if it wasn’t the same as it was when terror filled my thoughts. I walked down the hallway to the room where I spent most of my time. The cage was still there—a true sight for my sore eyes.
I never thought I would miss it—but it’s not the same knowing that the door isn’t going to open—that Reynard or Mauro won’t walk through it and give me a taste of what I truly crave.
I sat alone in the darkness with the cage door closed for nearly an hour—just savoring the silence—the nothingness—but it wasn’t real. It was just an illusion without the Jackson brothers nearby. I couldn’t even pretend that they were lurking somewhere in the house, ready to exact vengeance. I had to change that—I had to bring them home.
I left the cage and found Reynard’s safe in his library, hidden behind a painting of Jackson Investments, just like Abigail said it would be. Wyatt’s laptop was dead, so I hooked up the power cable and waited for it to get enough juice to turn on. It was an older laptop, and definitely not a reflection of the wealth that the man who owned it possessed. I wandered around the house while I waited for it to have enough juice to power on without shutting down immediately.
Reynard’s playroom. A night of agonizing bliss.
I opened the door and stared at the implements on the wall—the things he used to torture me—the ones I wished I had felt on my skin. The wooden paddle was there—the one Mauro used when he finally succumbed to his own desires and gave me a taste of the beast lingering inside him. I would have given anything to feel his wrath again—it wasn’t calculated like Reynard’s was. Mauro was chaos and as much as Reynard’s concise attention to my demise intrigued me, I couldn’t help wondering how much more there was to Mauro that I hadn’t seen.
I’m going to save them—I have to.
Once I returned to the study, I was able to turn on the laptop and it connected to Reynard’s network immediately. I started digging around in Wyatt’s files—looking for something that could reveal what I needed. The last document that had been accessed was a will—one that appeared to mention splitting the Jackson family assets amongst four siblings. There was a letter that went along with it, but it didn’t tell me much about Hannah. It just mentioned that she was the result of an affair. It appeared that Reynard was telling the truth when he said he wiped everything that mentioned me—all of his chat logs were gone—and he it didn’t look like he ever recorded any videos.
Wait a second—what is this?
I saw an icon that I didn’t recognize on Wyatt’s desktop. I clicked it—and my eyes nearly bulged out of my head. It was a program designed for hackers—one that created a back door directly into the chat servers where I talked to all of my victims. I began to understand how Reynard was able to learn so much about me. With a few clicks, I was able to access all of my chat logs, Wyatt’s chat logs—everything. The only thing missing was the video files, which would have been stored directly on the computer of the person who recorded them. I assumed Reynard got most of the information from my laptop, but he didn’t even need it—he had it all at his disposal.
This program—I could have done so much damage with something like this.
The power of the program surprised me. I could access chat rooms, Skype profiles, Facebook profiles—anything I wanted—and I could see the private messages people shared. It wasn’t as concise as finding people on my own, but it definitely gave me access once I knew who they were. I looked at the name of the program and a quick search on Google led me to a website where it could be purchased—and the price wasn’t cheap—plus, it appeared to be customized and slightly different than the one they advertised to the public.
Reynard would have had the funds to get them to give him a lot more access than everyone else got—but how wide is that access?
I never considered myself much of a hacker. I was good with computers and understood how to dig into the stuff people left open to the public, but the program gave me unlimited access to a lot of things I wouldn’t normally be able to see. It was a lot better than the investigation I was doing at my apartment. I started searching through archives, looking for more information, and cross-referencing everything I knew about Josef Weber with the online profiles. It felt like an endless rabbit hole once I started digging, but then I hit something that appeared to be useful. It wasn’t Josef Weber, but it was one of his employees—an employee that appeared to love chatting with women online.
Okay, let me download all these logs.
I grabbed all of the logs and quickly scanned them, but while I fantasized it would lead me directly to the truth, he appeared to just be a pervert. Still—it was something-something that could lead to more. I found a company directory for Weber Acquisitions and started to create profiles for everyone that worked there. The screen wasn’t big enough. I laid paper out on the desk and started taking notes, taping them to the wall in front of me as soon as I got enough information to link someone with their online persona. Hours went by—hours that felt like minutes as I kept digging. I just needed one of them to say something-something about a deal—a casual brag—the kind of details people shared with me when they were trying to convince the girl I pretended to be that they were god’s gift to my gender.
This guy looks interesting. Hank Matthews.
Hank Matthews was the kind of guy that I would have targeted when I was searching for victims, and I didn’t even have to spend time getting to know him before I knew what he liked. I was able to read his chat logs—very dirty chat logs—and he was definitely searching for a girl that would cater to specific dark fantasies. I ran to the living room and grabbed Reynard’s laptop. I needed another one to work on—one that I could use to build a persona while I kept Hank’s information at my disposal on the other screen.
Okay, he likes to brag. He tells people where he works. I just need to create a profile that’s sweet, innocent—and extremely tempting for a man like him.
I became Sarah Winters, a girl from Chicago who had just turned sixteen. My interests were guys—guys that were a bit older than me. I added celebrity crushes that were much too old for an innocent sixteen-year-old girl, added a few naughty books to my reading list that were sure to be conversation starters, and took a few pictures with my cell phone that hid
my face, but showed my curves. I was laying a trap—a trap that I had laid so many times—but this one was different. This one was meant to snare only one man, and I knew where he hung out most of the time when he was online thanks to the software on Wyatt’s laptop.
Now I wait…
I couldn’t just message Hank Matthews—that would have been too convenient. I had to make him come to me. That would give him the illusion of power and the courage to share more details than he normally would with a stranger. After all, I was just some kid—I wouldn’t know anything about the stuff going on in the news until he mentioned where he worked—and he would, based on the conversations he had with others. He loved sharing the details about his life because it was all he really had—he was wealthy and flaunting it made him feel important. When I finally saw him online, I moved to the chat room he was in—and waited—and waited—until the message popped up in the corner of my screen that I had been anticipating.
TheHankster: Hey there, beautiful.
SunshineSoul16: Hi!
That was all it took. A simple introduction. He was in my web and he didn’t even know that I was a spider ready to wrap him up. I could tell he was cautious. His sexual innuendos were veiled at first—testing the water to see how I responded. He had obviously seen enough Chris Hansen memes to be wary of a random girl on the Internet, especially one that was underage. I kept the conversation civil on my end until he pushed the envelope enough to ask if I wanted to video chat. Of course, I refused—I told him my parents were home and they didn’t like me talking to strangers.
TheHankster: Maybe we won’t be strangers forever…
SunshineSoul16: Hold on. Someone’s awake.
Caged By Them: Descent Into Darkness Page 14