Chapter 27 Just Keep Dropping
just keep dropping
Sariah
“Angel? You’re white as a ghost.”
I can’t believe what I’m seeing, even if it’s all there in black and white. I can’t pretend it’s not.
What the fuck?
“I—” Shoving back the stool, I bolt for the back door, startling Eleanor who goes on alert. I double over when I hit his backyard stone terrace and scream. The wail rises from my toes and exits my mouth, scraping my insides raw.
No sooner have I begun, than his warm palm slides up and down my spine. He’s not asking. He’s not fixing. He’s just present, allowing me to grieve and question my life choices.
When I’ve screamed all I can scream, I turn to him. “Connect2Coach… Those motherfuckers thought they could do this. Use me. Have me cover their tracks. I think the fuck not. I will bury them.” I spit out every word as my energy hones to a fine point and my resolve solidifies. “Let’s fucking go.”
I storm back into the house, whip the stool out, and type in earnest. I grab screen shots, download files, and mirror databases and internal communications.
“Did you find a CBI contact?”
He shakes his head.
Cian: I did one better. FBI. That work?
His face is imploring, but goes alert with the look on mine. I’m sure I look fanatical, and I’m so fucking here for it.
“Can you ask them to meet us here tomorrow evening after work?”
Cian: I will. If you think it can wait that long.
“I need to make sure this is iron clad. And I need to go to work tomorrow.”
Cian: I *hate* not knowing.
I turn fully to him. “Connect2Coach has other apps. Correction—the developers have several. It’s how we got venture capital so easily. They’ve built over and over, taken public, gotten rich, and moved to the next thing.”
He swirls his palm in the international sign for go on.
Lifting my phone, I open the app that Renée said was so addictive.
The one she got me onto. The one that is sharing sexual images and videos with kids.
“It’s the same ownership. It’s the same people.
I can’t prove it, but I think Connect2Coach isn’t about mentorship or helping struggling kids.
I think they’re creating another app that does this same damn thing. ”
I tilt my head to the ceiling, wishing I could focus on fixtures or paint or anything other than the light dawning. “We built in camera access for ‘coaching sessions.’ But I bet that’s not all it will be used for. And I was tasked with making sure it’s secure from hackers or parents.”
“Yet.”
“What?”
Cian: You can’t prove it *yet*.
Cian: What will it take to prove? And I fucking hate not speaking.
“I know.” I place a hand on his forearm and squeeze. “And I don’t know. But I have to go to work tomorrow. I can’t let on that I know anything. I’ll need to offer some places the system could be breached and make sure they know I’m still fully on board with the mission of C2C.”
“Is it safe?”
Tilting my head and staring at his mouth, I smile. “No more so or less so than it was on Monday.”
Cian’s eyes go hard.
“Don’t give me that look. Nothing has changed in the last few days except that I know.
I want the FBI to know early on. I don’t want to be a cyber Erin Brockovich or whatever.
I’m fine if they take this over and make the bust. I also want them looped in because I have a lot of data and pornographic images on my computer and they need to know it’s not because I want to disseminate it. ”
Cian: You’re letting the perverts who prey on children off easy.
“You sound like Liam.”
His brows scrunch together, two deep grooves forming between them.
“He said I was willing to allow all the other kids to drown while only saving Renée. Make no mistake, given the choice, that would be the case. She is mine to protect.”
He grabs his phone.
Cian: I made you a promise that I would protect both of you.
The exhale that leaves me either has me two inches shorter in relief or two inches taller since a heavy burden has been lifted.
“My point is not that I would sacrifice other people’s kids for mine. But I would save her first. Which I’m doing. But no one will get off easy.”
I twist to my computer and, after a few keystrokes, flip the screen to him.
There, front-and-center is my favorite fuck you to every man or woman who thought to target kids.
Where names and cyber fingerprints match, where I have physical addresses or confirming data, is a web site linking the offender, their current place of employment, their username and IP address, with the number of offenses and the number of victims.
“This will go live when I’m confident I haven’t let a single rat slip through. No home addresses, but I do think the predator becoming the prey in the media, their businesses being inundated with poor reviews, means they learn the consequences of their actions.”
Cian: You kind of scare me.
“Thank you. No one—and I mean no one—fucks with my girl. That doesn’t mean we won’t have a very uncomfortable conversation about sex and porn and internet responsibility. But we’ll do it safe from these men.” I extend a hand toward my screen. “And women.”
Cian: What does this mean for your job?
“It means I need a new one. And fast. I’ll begin looking on Saturday after our meeting with the FBI.”
His breathing evens out, and he begins pacing. His phone is on the island and he stares at me like he wants to say something but thinks better of it.
Not knowing what’s going through his head is killing me. But he’s allowed his thoughts.
I return to my computer and complete what I believe to be the end of what’s needed to prove these offenders knew the app users were underage.
I have enough to see to it that Connect2Coach never sees the light of day and that the developers and owners are named as sex offenders enough to be charged.
They’ll build something else—they always do—but their home addresses will be registered publicly, and every employment or lending background check will include the flag.
Cian
Colorado is my home. I vacation elsewhere, but I’ll never leave this place. I love everything about it, save one terrible detail.
Everything is public record. Everything. Sariah’s mugshot, for one. Her home address, for two.
She’s poking a mountain lion with this project. More like, she’s poking a den of mountain lions and could expose herself and Renée in the process.
Not that I want the fuckers to get away with it. Far from it. I’d make eunuchs of them all.
But we need to think this shit through.
With a peck on the lips and a smile that lit up my insides, Sariah said goodbye and was home by the time Rosie and Renée arrived.
I need more minds than mine on this. Grabbing my phone, I shoot off a text.
Me: I need help. Can we meet tonight?
Liam: Tell me when and where.
Ayla: Want to come here or want us to come to you?
Me: Here. When you can.
Neither Christian nor Ren reply, but knowing Ren, he’s already on his way. Lorenzo Gallo is former Army and was Ayla and Christian’s personal security, though he’s moved on. He’s still incredibly strategic and well-connected.
Of course, where Ayla goes, so goes Christian, so he’ll be here.
I take Eleanor out and wipe down the counters. I have no clue why, other than keeping my hands and mind busy. There’s not a speck of dust to be seen. Whoever Ayla hired did their jobs well.
Headlights wash the house as Christian’s expensive SUV pulls into the driveway. In quick succession, a Harley Davidson pulls up followed by an Indian Challenger.
I didn’t even know Ren had a bike.
Eleanor swishes her tail but keeps her seat as people begin filling the house.
I gesture to the kitchen though it’s pointless. It’s always where we gather. The living room is rarely used if there’s more than one visitor.
“What’s going on?” Christian asks, standing behind his wife who’s perched on a stool.
Ren takes the stool next to her, but Liam stands, leaning against the corner wall watching the gathered crew.
I pull out my phone and hit send on the group chat with the message I crafted while they were en route. It lines out what Sariah discovered on Liam’s cameras, what she’s been doing to address it, and my concerns for vulnerabilities.
I wait and wait as they read and re-read. Palms to the island I lean and lift my brows, expectant. “What do we do?”
“What does Sariah want to do?” Ayla asks, reframing the situation.
I extend my palm to her phone indicating her plan to move forward with exposing the perpetrators.
“Then we protect her,” Ayla says as if that’s that.
“There’s a lot that needs protecting,” Ren says simply. “What’s her footprint like? Digital footprint.”
I shrug, not knowing how to answer that, but Liam acts.
His thumbs fly over his phone as we all wait on his answer. “Pretty clean. She mostly uses creative logins. Taught Renée to use the same. It could all be linked, but not to her.”
“The mug shot is damning,” Christian puts in.
“Can we get it expunged?” I need this for her… for her sanity, but more so for her safety.
“We can try.” My brother-in-law grabs his phone, placing it to his ear and stalks away.
“Her house is vulnerable. Her car. Her job. Her daughter. Anyone else we need to have in the mix?” Ren asks
“Her mom.” I reply.
“So, two houses, two cars, two jobs, two lives that intersect, but aren’t parallel, plus a teenager. You’re not making this easy. When does she plan to expose everything?” Ren lays out the challenge before us.
The talking is getting to be too much beyond the one or two-word answers.
Me: We meet with the FBI tomorrow night if I can make that happen, but I’d bet shit gets rolling early next week unless they sit on it.
“They could,” Ren puts in. “Depends on the case they’re trying to build and evidence. And how long to get warrants.”
Me: She’s built the whole case. Air-tight, digitally anyway. I don’t know what more they’d need after what she collected and how she explained it to me other than to be able to confirm for themselves the accuracy.
“Any chance the FBI won’t name their informant?” Liam asks.
“We can try,” Ren replies. “But if the media pushes or they pull a FOIA on it, it will come out.”
“Why would someone care enough to do the Freedom of Information request?” Ayla asks.
“You think if someone named your husband you wouldn’t dig that information up and go all crazy on their ass?” Liam counters.
“You know I would,” my sister replies.
Ren begins, “Then assume the same of any ‘victim’ of this scheme.”
“Victim?” My sister has her back up.
“Would you assume Christian’s innocence?” he continues.
“Yes.” Her hair flies out as she whips her face to him. “But I know him, and he would never.”
“I would never what?”
“Perv on little kids.”
My brother-in-law’s face goes hard. “Right.” He looks up at me. “Sherman will try. He’s friends with the Sheriff and he’s willing to ask, especially in light of the circumstances.”
“Circumstances?” Ayla queries.
“The deputy that arrested her has a history of overstepping authority. He’s power hungry and trying to make a name for himself but doing it the wrong way. Downside is it’s an election year and the Sheriff is running for reelection so mismanagement either way is challenging.”
“How soon will we know whether it will be expunged?” Liam asks.
Christian shrugs, “A few days.”
“Days,” I grit out. “We don’t have that.”
“FOIA will take some time. Likely six to eight weeks from when it’s received, so we have a little time if she doesn’t put herself on the radar.”
“She won’t,” I say. Sariah wants no exposure, not some. None.
“What if one of us met with the FBI instead?” Christian offers.
“I could do it,” Ayla pipes in.
“No.” It’s an interesting chorus coming from Christian and Liam and my ground out voice.
“I can hold my own, you know.”
“We know, Princess, but none of us want that hell raining down on you either.”
My sister sighs.
“I could do it,” Ren says plainly.
We all look around the room at each other.
“Why would you do that?” Ayla asks.
“It needs to be done.”
That’s just Ren. Something needs to be done and he does it.
“I’m off radar. I have no connection, zero social footprint. And they’ll think twice if they know me at all. Besides, it’s my contact we’re meeting with.”
Ayla sets a hand on his forearm.
Christian nods.
Liam simply stares.
It’s my call to make. I asked for the help, and it’s my woman on the line.
“Thank you.” I grit. “I’d like to be there.”
He lifts out of his stool and grabs his helmet. “I’ll let you know when and where. It won’t be anyplace connected to any of you. See you then.” He lets himself out of the house and the rest of us are left wondering what fresh hell we’re stepping into.
“You should know,” Christian looks to Ayla who nods in encouragement, before focusing on my brother and me. “Ren is also my half-brother.” He says no more, and neither Liam nor I ask any details.
The bombs just keep dropping one after another.