2. Kennedy #3
“It’s from some social media sponsorship company called Konnekt Media. I’ll send you the full email. But basically, they said they love what we’re doing and they believe in the potential of what we might uncover. And get this. They’re offering us a hundred thousand dollars to keep going.”
My mouth fell open. “Based on the pre-launch episode alone?”
“Well, that and the fact that we’ve already gotten such a huge online response,” she said. “I thought it was a scam at first, but it’s legit. They even attached a contract draft for us to look at.”
A hundred thousand dollars.
It didn’t feel real.
“Holy shit,” I muttered. “This is insane.”
“Yeah. It’s huge! And it gives us the chance to spend way more time on the next episodes, right?”
I sat down on the end of my bed, staring at the wall as conflicting thoughts began to creep in around the edges of my excitement.
Monetizing the podcast and getting paid to talk about my father’s murder felt… wrong. Like we were capitalizing on the tragedy. Just like all those creators I’d quietly judged for years, churning out salacious content with slick editing and dramatic music, treating human lives like storylines.
Were Freya and I turning into them already?
I swallowed hard and switched my mental focus to the Reddit post Freya mentioned earlier.
She’d said there were thousands of strangers poring over details, theorizing, and caring .
That really meant something. If we could keep it all going for as long as possible, then that could improve our chances of getting the Carver case solved.
Also, such a large sum of money really changed things for the better.
It meant I wouldn’t have to spend hours every day applying for jobs and stressing over the silence in my inbox.
It also meant that Freya wouldn’t have to spend every free hour working at her uncle’s diner that only paid minimum wage.
And that meant we’d both have more time and mental space to focus on the case, just like she said before.
Money could bring attention through advertising too, and that meant even more eyes on the case. More chances that someone out there would recognize a name, or suddenly remember something weird they saw one night in 2014.
“So…” Freya’s voice cut into my reverie. “Are you happy to look at the contract with me, or…”
She trailed off, and I took a deep breath. “Yeah,” I said. “It sounds like a good opportunity.”
“It is. Anyway, I’m going to go call my parents and brag a little. You should call your mom too!”
“I will tomorrow. She’ll be in bed by now.”
“Oh, right. Actually, speaking of family members, I saw that sexy stepbro of yours today. Is he moving back?”
I frowned. The ‘sexy stepbro’ she was referring to was Declan Kilkenny, my stepbrother of five years. “You saw Dec here ?”
“Yeah. I had to drive down your old street because they were doing roadworks on Elmer Street, and I saw him parked up in your mom’s driveway with a big-ass moving trailer attached to his truck.”
“Oh.” My frown deepened. “I actually haven’t heard from him in a while, so I have no idea what that’s about.”
There was a nine-year age difference between Dec and me, so by the time our parents got married when I was sixteen, he was already married himself and living in another state with his wife.
Because of that, we didn’t see each other very often, but when we managed to catch up at family events, we always got along well.
The last time I’d heard from him, he’d told me his relationship with his wife Kaylee was on the rocks, and they were separating for a while to see how a bit of time apart would work out for them. But if he was moving back to Corwin Bay… that suggested the separation had turned permanent.
Damn. Poor Dec. I made a mental note to text him after I was done talking to Freya.
“When you see him, give him a very big hug from me,” she said in a mischievous tone. “And a really good squeeze, please.”
I laughed, eyes rolling upward. All my friends had crushes on Dec when we were younger, because he was tall and muscular with a nice face to boot. I’d never seen him that way, though. To me, he was just my cool older stepbrother who had great taste in Christmas gifts.
After I ended the call, I shot off a text to him. Hey, are you moving back here? Freya said she saw you in our parents’ driveway earlier.
He replied a couple of minutes later. Hey, Kenny!
Sorry I haven’t called sooner. It was on my to-do list, but things have been…
hectic at best. Anyway, yeah, I’m moving back.
I’m going to be renting Dad’s old place next door for a while, because the previous tenant left two weeks ago, so right now the place is sitting empty.
But I was parked over in their drive because the trailer I hired wouldn’t fit in the other one.
Hedges were way overgrown. Anyway, I’d love to see you soon. I’ve missed you!
Me: I’ve missed you too. Let me know when you’re free so we can go out for lunch or something! PS. Sorry if this is super awkward for me to bring up, but I’m guessing things haven’t gone too well with Kaylee?
Dec: Nope. Officially filed for divorce last month. Never thought I’d be a divorcee at this age, but hey… a lot of people have it worse, right?
Me: I’m so sorry. I hope you’re doing okay.
Dec: Yeah, hanging in there. I’ll tell you more when we see each other. Totally slammed with all the moving stuff right now, so maybe end of next week? Unless you feel like helping me unpack all these boxes, haha.
Me: I can totally help with that! How’s tomorrow morning? Around 8?
Dec: Great! In that case, I’ll see you then??
I made a microwave dinner and settled onto the couch to watch a movie while I ate. I was only half-concentrating on the plot, because my eyes kept snapping between the TV screen and my phone screen, where I was looking at the Reddit thread Freya sent me earlier.
She was right. Our podcast had thousands of fans already, which was totally wild, because our first episode hadn’t even dropped yet. Only the short teaser episode.
Part of me still couldn’t believe it. And yet, there it was, all over the internet.
Once I was finally done scrolling through Reddit, I showered and got ready for bed, vowing to read through the sponsorship contract first thing tomorrow. Right now, my brain was too fuzzy from exhaustion to comprehend legalese.
I was just about to shut my bedroom light off when my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I had a new message from a number I didn’t recognize.
Curious, I tapped it open… and instantly stopped breathing.
The photo embedded within the text message was unmistakably me: eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted, cheeks flushed. My expression was one of pure, unguarded pleasure, and it was clear from the angle that my right hand was halfway down my pants.
The picture had obviously been taken through my laptop camera.
A second later, another message came through. You look so pretty when you come.
My heart slammed into my ribcage so hard I thought it might crack, and I dropped the phone like it had burned me.
No. No. No.
This wasn’t happening.
I raced over to my bed and grabbed the laptop, fingers shaking as I opened the lid and stared at the tiny lens embedded at the top.
I could’ve sworn I stuck a piece of tape over it when I first got the laptop, because I’d seen so many thriller movies where people were spied on through their cameras. But it wasn’t there. It must’ve fallen off at some point, and I hadn’t noticed.
A horrible taste suddenly filled my mouth, and I collapsed onto the bed. Part of me wanted to scream. Another part wanted to cry.
Someone had been watching me. Waiting for a moment like this. And now, he or she had something to use against me. Something intimate and utterly humiliating.
But why the hell would someone even want to have something to use against me?
And worse… how long before they decided it was time to strike?