“My name is Samantha Asher and I—” She stops and looks up at the person holding the camera. “I don’t want to do this,” she says, on the verge of tears. Her face is all red and her eyes are filling up. She’s definitely not in control.
“Go ahead, baby,” Tray says back. “The world wants to know the real you.”
“I don’t want the world to know me this way. I’ve done everything I can to stop the world from knowing me this way.”
“Turn it off,” I say, walking over to the computer. I slap the laptop closed and whirl around to face Tray. “You know what, asshole? You are the lowest piece of shit I’ve encountered in a very long time. I’m not paying a fucking dime for that. You set her up. You encouraged her, didn’t you? You pretended to love her this whole time so you could sell her out in the end. I’m not paying you a fucking dime. And just so we’re clear, that money means nothing to me. Nothing. I have more money than I need. Ten million dollars is nothing. I won that much last night in an impromptu game of baccarat. But you. Will never. Get a fucking cent from me. Publish this, Tray. I fucking dare you. I will take Samantha’s hand and lead her through this with her head up. Her secret will be out and she will finally, finally be able to come to terms with that part of herself.” I look over at Conner and he’s just staring at me. “Conner, we’re not paying him for this shit.”
Conner lets out a long breath. I know I just fucked up his plan, whatever it was, but I don’t care. I refuse to play along with this bullshit. “OK,” he finally says.
“Vaughn,” Tray says from his perch on the barstool a few feet away. “Whatever you think, I did that for her own good. She confided in me, and no matter what you think is happening here, you’re wrong. I thought she could handle it, and she did pretty well, but she cracked at the end and lost control. So I stopped. If you watch the whole video, you’ll see. I did that to help her.”
“And you’re here asking for ten million dollars because you love her?”
“No.” He stands up from the bar and I realize something isn’t right. His clothes are all rumpled and there’s a rip, like someone took a razor and sliced the front of his white dress shirt. His jacket pocket is hanging by a thread, and his tie is too loose. “No, I just needed to get you here. I just needed you to come hear me out. It’s not for me, OK? I don’t want your money. I want your sister. But she walked out and I was trying to process what was happening with”—he waves a hand at the computer—“this fucking bullshit.”
Conner seethes next to me. “Why the fuck are we here, Tray?”
Tray looks right at me. And this, for some reason, scares me. “Grace,” Tray says, his eyes never leaving mine.
“I don’t need records, Vaughn. I got a phone call back on Saint Thomas. That morning Sam left, in fact. I got a call and that’s why I was out drinking. He threatened me, you guys. He threatened to kill Sam if I refused to help him. And somehow he got this video. That’s not my account on YouTube, OK?” Tray says it like he’s pleading with us to believe him. “That’s his account. The video is private right now, but at six tonight, he’s making it public. He said that’s my payment for being perfect and privileged. Everyone needs to pay, and I’m no different. That’s what he said. So no matter what, that video of Sam is going to be all over the internet tonight.”
“That makes no sense,” Conner says. “Why release the video if he gets what he wants? That’s not how guys like this work.”
“He’s crazy, Conner. He said girls are weak and can’t face reality without the guidance of a man. He said he liked me because I got Sam to make that video, but that I was a coward for not publishing it and making her face her fear. So he was going to take away my options. My decision, he said that specifically. He was going to take away my decisions and force me to behave like a man.”
All I can think of is Grace. Is this why she prefers her fantasy life? Did this sick fuck mess with her brain? Confuse her and force her to believe that she was incapable of living in reality?
“And then,” Tray continues, “I got a visit a few days ago and that computer was dropped off. Open the computer back up, Conner. There’s a minimized window. Bring it up and watch.”
Conner defers to me and I nod. “Do it.” We might as well understand what’s happening and if we walk out and refuse to watch, we’ll be in the dark.
The video starts out with just a black screen but it’s jarring and shaky and there’s sound, but it’s not clear. Muffled voices and maybe crying.
My stomach lurches inside me because I recognize that voice.
Teenage Grace.
The camera angle changes and then she comes into view. She’s bound and gagged, lying on her side in a dark corner of a filthy room. Her eyes are wide with fear and her nightgown is tattered and dirty. She squirms as the camera approaches her—
Conner reaches out and flips the computer closed this time. “Enough.”
“He says he taped her. He says he has days, weeks, months’ worth of video of her, Asher. And he’s left her alone all these years because she never told anyone and she never got attached. But apparently that’s changed. He said he’s been watching and to tell you, ‘She’s mine.’”