with two hundred and fifty dollars of Helen’s cash instead. She had explained her problem in loose terms—she wanted to put something on YouTube, but it was photographs, not movies, and there were a lot of them, along with some spreadsheets, and she needed all of it to work properly because someone was going to try to take them down.
The boy had stopped her there. She didn’t want YouTube, she wanted something like Dropbox, and then Claire had shifted her purse on her shoulder and he had seen the box of ammo and the gun and told her that it was going to be an extra hundred dollars and she wanted something called Tor.
Tor. Claire had a vague recollection of reading about the illegal file-sharing site in Time magazine. It had something to do with the dark web, which meant it was uncataloged and untraceable. Maybe Paul was using Tor to distribute his movies. Instead of emailing large files, he could send out a complicated website link that no one else could find unless they put in the exact combination of letters and numbers.
She had their email addresses. Should she send Paul’s customers his spreadsheets and photographs?
“It’s ready.” The geeky boy stood in front of Claire with his hands clasped in front of his pleated slacks. “Just jack in the thumbdrive and drag everything you want onto the page and it’ll be uploaded.”
Claire read his nametag. “Thank you, Keith.”
He smiled at her before trouncing back to the counter.
Claire pushed herself up. She sat in the chair in front of the computer, occasionally glancing at the entrance and the exit as she followed the boy’s instructions. The store was cold inside, but she was sweating. Her hands weren’t shaking, but she felt a vibration in her body, like a tuning fork had touched her bones. She checked the doors again as Paul’s files started to upload. She had put the JPEGs at the top so that the first click would open the image of Johnny Jackson. The trick would be making someone want to click.
Claire went to the mail program that Keith had set up for her. She had a new email address that came with the ability to schedule the exact time and date that emails were sent out.
She started to type.
My name is Claire Carroll Scott. Julia Carroll and Lydia Delgado were my sisters.
Claire felt sick from the betrayal. Lydia was alive. She had to be alive.
She hit the backspace key until the last sentence was deleted.
I have posted proof that Congressman Johnny Jackson has participated in pornographic films.
Claire stared at the words. This wasn’t entirely true because it was more than porn. It was abduction, rape, and murder, but she was worried that listing all of that out would dissuade people from clicking on the link. She was sending this to every media outlet and government agency who listed a contact address on their website. Most likely, the accounts were monitored by young interns who hadn’t any idea who Johnny Jackson was or who had grown up around email and therefore knew not to click anonymous links, especially ones that connected to Tor.
Claire opened a new browser window. She found Penelope Ward’s email on the Westerly Academy PTO page. Lydia’s nemesis looked just as candy-apple fake as Claire would’ve guessed. The Branch Ward for Congress Exploratory Committee listed the address [email protected]. The site indicated the group was a PAC, which meant they would be looking for any dirt on their opponent that they could find.
The burner phone rang.
Claire headed into the stock room and opened the back door. Rain was still pouring down. The wind had picked up, sending a cold jet of air into the small space. She hoped the background noise was enough to convince Paul that she was driving the Tesla up I-75.
She flipped open the phone. “Paul?”
“Do you have the keytag?”
“Yes. Let me talk to Lydia.”
He was silent. She could feel his relief. “Did you look at what’s on it?”
“Sure, I used the computer at the bank.” Claire funneled all of her anger into the sarcastic response. “Let me speak to Lydia. Now.”
He went through the usual steps. She heard the speakerphone turn on.
Claire said, “Lydia?” She waited. “Lydia?”
She heard a loud, desperate moan.
Paul said, “I don’t think she feels like talking.”
Claire leaned her head back against the wall. She looked up at the ceiling as she tried to keep her tears from falling. He had really hurt Lydia. Claire had held on to