Chapter 1 – Lily
LILY
Crime: I just had a baby, and my husband is cheating on me with his secretary
Preferred Punishment: Burn down her house
How To Find The Target: [Shown after job is accepted]
Hell hath no boundless budget like a woman scorned.
Girl math, I guess.
“Harsh,” I mutter at the laptop resting on my lap while scrolling through today’s requests from the comfort of my living room. Does she really expect me to burn down someone’s house? With people inside?
I’m balancing the scales, and while cheating is loathsome, it’s hardly worthy of arson and execution. Murder is a line I’ve yet to cross—will never cross.
Karma Request #2456
Crime: My boyfriend slept with my best friend
Evidence: (4) images
Preferred Punishment: Egg their cars
Payment Offered: $50 per car
How To Find The Target: [Shown after job is accepted]
Fifty bucks isn’t even enough to buy the quantity of eggs needed for that punishment in this economy.
Karma Request #2457
Crime: I was cut off at a red light and they flipped ME off
Evidence: Dash cam video
Preferred Punishment: Slash their tires
Payment Offered: $50
How To Find The Target: [Shown after job is accepted]
Are people broke, or do they have no value in the outsourcing of illegal activities? Possibly both.
The second two listings aren’t nearly enough to pay my half of the bills. And the first one… well, just no. The evidence is damning, but more research would be required before enacting any type of punishment.
Frustrated with my lack of options, I let a heavy breath escape me, and my gaze wanders out the large bay window overlooking the river.
The midday sun dances across the water, reminding me why the view is my favorite feature of this house.
This very beautiful, three-story, old Victorian style, expensive house I share with my twin brother, Liam.
As costly as the upkeep is, the memories held in its walls make it impossible to let go.
My eyes fall to the love seat by the window, and a smile spreads across my face as a favorite one comes to mind.
My best friend Violet and I curled up at age twelve, reading old Goosebumps novels, picking our own scares for hours until the sun was long gone and we had nothing left but a dim lamp to illuminate our adventures.
A pang twists in my chest, and I shake it away.
No time for reminiscing.
My attention travels back to the device before me. Today’s options may not be perfect, but I’m in the mood for revenge, and if requester 2455’s husband really is a cheating dickwad, he’s the most deserving.
I type a quick counterproposal through the messaging function of the website I’ve coded.
It’s fully encrypted from end to end, and the NSA would be impressed, if I do say so myself.
At least something productive has come out of my master’s in computer science.
I’ve even enabled an automation to make payments untraceable.
The customer sends the money in USD, and the system purchases crypto.
Then it’s sent to my wallet and automatically sold for USD.
I ponder the value of this particular punishment, add an amount, then hit send.
Karma Request #2455
Karma’s Suggested Punishment: Photos of the affair will be anonymously leaked to the company of employment. Social media from your husband will be hacked, and the evidence will be shared for family and friends to see.
Payment Requested: $500
That should make it easy enough for her to negotiate a hefty alimony in the divorce.
Worth way more than $500, but I promised to keep this affordable.
In the beginning I even did it for free, but Liam, the only person who knows about my alter ego, suggested how many more people could get their revenge if I made it my full-time thing. And damn was he right.
Turns out allowing people to hire out their revenge fantasies is almost priceless.
Almost being the operative word. Some of the truly outrageous requests I get from trust fund nepo babies could keep me fed for years.
You want Daddy’s Lambo blown up for $50,000 because he had the audacity to tell you to get a job?
Tempting, but no. Unfortunately for them, I may love lining my pockets, but I also have a conscience.
Because Karma without conscience is just a boat without a sail.
While business is booming, there’s simply too little time to fulfill every ask. With recon and other leg work, I’m lucky to complete one to three a week. Another reason why as much as I’d love to toss rotten eggs at some loser’s house, I must prioritize the customers who pay my bills.
Hiring help has been considered, but it’s not something I can just post in the local classifieds. What the hell would I say?
Hi, commercialized karma company in search of nosy little bitch to assist in recon and verifying damning information. Tasks include but are not limited to computer research, website design, hacking, stalking, role play, breaking and entering…
That likely wouldn’t do anything other than raise flags to local law enforcement, and considering my brother is a detective at the precinct in our neighborhood, I don’t want him covering for me any more than he already is.
The laptop’s speaker chimes, informing me of a new notification.
Karma Request #2455
Counterproposal accepted.
How To Find The Target: His name is Richard Downing. Hers is Cynthia White. She lives at 1827 Flowal Road, Cleosville, New York. Any time after 10pm. That’s when Rich sneaks out of the house since he thinks I’m asleep with the baby.
Just throw the entire man away, truly.
Unfortunately, having done this almost a year now, nothing surprises me. Even the fucked-up stuff, I’ve seen it before, and I’ll see it again.
Guess my evening’s all booked.
The darkness of night conceals me as I attempt to scale a massive oak tree outside Cynthia White’s house, muscles burning. There’s a single window illuminated in warm light on the second story, and I’m working my way toward it for a better vantage point.
My face is hidden behind the pink Ghostface mask I got on clearance after Halloween last year.
I paid in cash so it’s untraceable back to me.
The mesh over the eyes paired with the poor lighting has made it nearly impossible to find a proper grip, and I’ve slipped off the trunk six times.
My leg misses a foothold, and I slide back to the ground with a thud.
Seven.
Huffing in frustration, I glance around, noting no cameras or witnesses, then rip the mask off my face and shove it in my backpack. I’m more likely to get caught if I keep falling. Reinitiating the climb, I gain more height in seconds than I did in the five minutes prior.
Halfway up the trunk, sweat drips into my eyes, and I curse my incessant need to double check proof. But given how impressive generative AI has gotten, even photos or videos can’t be trusted these days. That lesson was learned the hard way.
Let’s just say a middle school principal may have gotten an undeserved house TP-ing.
The requesters posted the photo I sent for payment proof on social media with the caption #BestSeniorPrankEver #XOKARMA, and I about threw my phone out the window.
I should’ve gotten revenge on the little shits who tricked me into it, but I respected the strategy to outsource on their part.
They also paid me $1500 for the request, and while I’m highly curious if it was a bake-sale-funded prank, it was an easy payday.
So alas, no stone is unturned before Karma is enacted.
For this request, the first thing I did was use court records to verify the marriage. A quick search of the county tax appraiser’s office confirmed this is Cynthia’s house.
The earthy scent of bark paired with sweat envelops me as I reach a large sturdy branch extending towards the roof. After a few calming breaths, I scoot onto it. The wood creaks beneath me, and I quicken my pace.
Please don’t break.
Once across, I hop onto the roof with a quiet thud, then shuffle to position myself just below the window. I take a moment to regain oxygen, then peek through a small slit of the curtains, which gives view to the bed and some slight movement under the sheets.
A shadow passes, blocking my view, and I freeze, my entire body going rigid.
Crouching out of sight, I retrieve a contact microphone kit from my backpack, which allows me to hear the conversation without being physically in the room.
I get a small piece of reusable poster putty, press it against the window, and adhere the flat brass disc onto it, then place the headphones over my ears and click on the device.
Crackling silence fills the void as I await something, anything, that will allow me to get the hell out of here. The rustling wind howls briefly through my ears, and I wince.
“I’ve missed you,” a deep voice says, pulling my attention.
“I saw you six hours ago, Rich,” she coos.
“Yeah. And I had to sit there and pretend like I wasn’t thinking about what’s under that little skirt of yours the entire meeting.” Cynthia laughs, the sounds of kisses taking over, and I struggle to wipe the disgust off my face. Just give me something, people.
“How long can you stay tonight?” she asks.
“I’ve only got thirty minutes,” Richard replies.
“Not longer?”
“The baby hasn’t been sleeping well. Sarah will wake soon.” A few water droplets land on my face, and I glance toward the sky, noticing a misting rain. Note to self: always check the weather.
“When are you going to tell her you’re leaving?” Cynthia asks, and he hums.
“How about you remind me what I’m leaving her for?”
A gag fights its way out of me. Why do women fall for this shit?
“Maybe you should remind me why I’m waiting around for you?” she counters.
Damn, girl, okay. If you weren’t indulging this man’s infidelity, I might give you props.
“Oh,” she moans. “Yes, that’s a start.”
“Yeah?” he growls, and another whine floods my ears. “You like it when I fu—”