Monday

I can't get comfortable. All day I've been surreptitiously adjusting the weight of the cameras. I guess, not so much the cameras themselves; it's the battery, memory bank, and goofy-looking transmitter. I swear you can find more advanced tech in a bottom-of-the-line mobile phone from any random electronics store. The marketing copy claimed this is the best wireless personal safety system money can buy. I'm certain that's a lie.

I didn't buy it because it was the 'best'. I don't need 'best'. So long as faces are recognisable, and conversations can be mostly understood, it's good enough. Reviews and third-party demo videos assured me that it met my minimum standard.

The real reason I bought this one, in particular, is because I could get it delivered this morning before I left for work.

I toss my sandwich wrapper in the bin and walk back across the street to the warehouse.

An unfamiliar car pulls into the car park and slows to a stop beside me. The window rolls down.

'Get in.'

I glance in. Charles himself. I expected an intermediary.

'I have work to do - I can't leave.'

More assertively, he repeats;

'Get. In.'

I look at him, my expression as annoyed and confused as I can manage.

'I don't want to get into a car with you. We can talk right here. We don't have to go anywhere.'

'Don't make me say it again.'

I glance around, looking for anyone at all to try to signal. No luck. It's fine. The security camera will capture my unwillingness to go.

I open the door and sit, but leave my feet out on the pavement; the door open.

'What do you want?'

He starts to drive, forcing me to quickly bring my feet up. I use them to hold the door wide open, so it's extremely clear to onlookers that I'm not happy about being driven away.

'I said I don't want to go anywhere! Seriously, why are you acting like a gangster? This isn't okay. You can't keep just randomly kidnapping and drugging people when you're upset about something.'

He stops, just before the gate. I guess he doesn't want to scratch his car.

I know what's happening. I told Jaq to go get the copy of the will from Frances' office and leave it in his room, out in the open, then take Lionel to go visit Frances in the hospital. I told them to go eat at that terrible cafeteria, and when they were sure they had someone listening in, have a conversation about inheritance that Charles wouldn't be able to ignore.

'Use your words! Tell me what I've done wrong!'

He looks over, eyes narrow.

'I'm doing what you wanted. I'm doing everything you wanted. I'm playing along with his silly game. I'm building your set. What have I missed?'

He doesn't answer. He can't ask me if I know about the inheritance without tipping me off that I might have more to gain by siding with Jaq.

'You said you forbid me from marrying him. In those words. 'I forbid it.' I still haven't married him, so it can't be that you're pissed at me for.'

'Has he asked you?'

I look at him with bafflement.

'No? Why would he? The fake ceremony stopped Frances nagging him. And, before you jump to assumptions, I haven't been trying to seduce him either. I'm still not interested in him. We'd be an absolutely terrible couple -'

'Shut up.'

I can almost see the gears turning in his head. Little curly wisps of smoke rising from his ears. I feel like I might be in genuine danger, but I also feel compelled to push the ignorant dupe act further;

'I really think you should try to talk to him. Tell him about your feelings-'

'Shut up!'

I shut up.

I see someone coming out of the warehouse door in the rearview mirror. I pray they walk over to the car so he's forced to either kick me out or straight up kidnap me a second time. Then there will be police involved.

My story - if I live to tell it - will be entitled 'Damselling in Distress Like a Girlboss.'

I hate myself for thinking that's funny. A giggle is rolling around at the bottom of my lungs, desperately trying to find a handhold so it can escape. I try to strangle it.

'He's going to ask you to marry him.'

'What? Why?'

'Because he wants to hurt me! He'll probably say he really is in love with you. Or, he'll come up with some complicated story about how he needs you for his inheritance. Some kind of stupid lie. You're going to play along. Report to me absolutely everything.'

'Why do you want me to play along?'

'Because I said so!'

I wince at the volume.

'Okay, chief. I'll play along.'

He flicks his hand at me in dismissal. I get out.

I watch him drive away.

He bought it. All of it.

'You okay, Jo?'

I turn back toward the voice. It's Ollie.

'That man scares the hell out of me.'

'Who?'

'Mr. NDA. The guy we're building this stuff for.'

'Oh, shit.'

'Don't worry. Everything's fine. He's just trying to reassure himself of his own dominance and superiority by being a controlling dick.'

'Let us know if you need help.'

I nod, grateful for the camaraderie.

I'm going to have to force more of these confrontations. This one gave me footage of intimidation, a little hint of his conspiracy to defraud Jaq out of his inheritance, and tacit admission to past intimidation attempts. It's not quite the perfect smoking gun I'm looking for. It's a start, though.

'You're already helping. I think we'll be ready for paint by Wednesday, so there's no reason he should be worried about the sets.'

'It's crazy how fast this is going. I guess it helps when you've got an infinitely large workshop, duplicates of every tool, and everyone can work at the same time.'

'Yeah. It's pretty wild.'

Tuesday

I sit across from Jaq at a table that feels slightly too large for two people, gentle music playing in the background. I chose this restaurant because online reviews said it's nice and quiet at lunchtime.

My tail isn't very well hidden - he really can't be if he wants to sit close enough to hear our conversation. There aren't enough patrons to excuse how close he's sitting - and who comes to a place like this without a date? His spycraft is rubbish.

Not that I'm all that knowledgeable about the topic. I've been reading about it all week. That doesn't make me an expert.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

I arrange the latest issue of Hard Clef toward the edge of the table, dangling open just a little. It's as close to taunting him as I dare. That carefully sculpted article is in there, with all its hidden meanings and dark implications. I'm sure there must be people somewhere online dissecting it and questioning why he'd be so irrationally kind to someone else's fiancée.

Jaq leans across the table, reaching for my hands. I allow him to take them. His expression is somewhere between abject terror and constipation.

'Jo. I, um. I asked you to meet me for lunch today so I could propose. Properly.'

I see small beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

'Please, will you marry me? Really.'

The man listening in shifts in his seat, trying to lean closer without drawing attention.

'Jaq... you know that's a bad idea.'

'It's not. It's really not.'

'But it is.'

'No, listen. I like you. A lot. And I need you.'

'You don't need me.'

'Yes, I do, because I trust you. I trust you'll be professional.'

'What kind of proposal is that?'

'I read Mother's will. I need to be actually married. I need a real wife so I can inherit, or it's lost.'

'Lost?'

He reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a sheaf of folded paper. He flips to a marked page and points to a highlighted passage.

'You were right when you said Charles gave you the creeps. I should have listened. If I'm not married, he's got a way to steal it all.'

You're doing so well, Jaq. These lines are perfect.

'So, marry me. Please.'

I pause, looking deeply into his eyes. The man at the other table leans almost comically close to us.

'I'll think about it.'

Jaq sags in relief. The scripted part of our conversation is over.

The man at the other table is hurridly typing something into his phone.

'Give me a minute. I need to use the restroom.'

I pat Jaq's hand and walk away as he tucks the photocopied will back into his coat.

In the restroom, I copy and paste a previously composed message to Charles;

> You were right. He did propose. We need to talk.

He'll like that I reported this myself. He won't like what I have to say when we meet.

I send the time and location for our meeting. I hope he's upset enough that he agrees without thinking.

He's erratic at the best of times - I can't expect anything to go the way I want it to when he's involved. I chose a park with plenty of trees and hiding spots. Places I can have my theatre friends hanging out, ready to approach in a group if I signal them. They know he's the boss asking for the sets we're making lightning fast. They know I'm scared of him. They know people like him. They've all met men drunk on their own power and prestige before. We're not wild and vicious animals like he is, but we are a family, and we know we're strong enough together to frighten men like him away.

I'm debating whether I should wait for his response or return to Jaq when his response appears on my screen;

> Agreed.

This is going to make riveting cinema, regardless of how closely it follows my plan. There's no way it won't.

----------------------------------------

I deliberately take my time walking down the path beside the park's fence. I'm still being followed. I don't want it to be hard for the guy to keep up, and I want the people who went ahead of me to the park to see him. I showed them a photo Jaq took of him in the restaurant while I was in the bathroom. Now they know I'm definitely not exaggerating.

I reach the gate and pause. The tail stops to tie his shoe. He must have used that move at least four times since I got off the bus. Why not just pretend to check your phone?

The only explanation I can think of that makes sense is that Charles wants me to know I'm being followed. It's part of his intimidation routine.

I look ahead to the park bench I planned to meet Charles at. I see two of my friends over by the children's play equipment, sitting at the end of the slide and chatting. One's keeping an eye on the gate, and me.

I want to stop time right here. I'm safe enough here, now. I'm not ready to throw down the gauntlet.

I have to.

I walk down the path to the bench, 10 minutes early for the meeting.

Charles arrives only two minutes after me.

I guess he was nearby, waiting to be told I was in position.

I whisper to my cameras and microphones;

'Here he comes.'

Nobody is listening on the other end, but it makes me feel better.

I stand and wait until he's close enough to kick before I speak;

'You lied to me.'

'What?'

He chuckles.

'That's an interesting way to start a friendly chat.'

'You said you loved him, and he was with me because he was trying to hurt you because he was being petty about some stupid lover's spat.'

He holds up his hands, a convincingly innocent look on his face;

'It's true-'

'It's not. I saw the will. This whole time it's been about taking his money.'

I turn away from him in disgust.

'You never loved him, you never cared. You attacked me and intimidated me, you kidnapped me and poisoned me - all this stuff, not because you were desperately in love and jealous of him paying more attention to me, but because you wanted to rob him blind!'

'I don't want to rob him blind! I do love him!'

'I told you, if the two of you were in love, I wouldn't get in the way. But, you never had a relationship with him. You're a liar. I don't have any obligation to you.'

I start to walk away from him, but he grabs my arm, dragging me back. I struggle to stay on my feet.

'Listen here, missy, you'll do what I say, or you'll regret it.'

I look into his face, warped beyond recognition by rage. I feel the cold prickling of fear along my back and in my feet. From the corner of my eye, I see my friends tense and ready to run to my aid.

'No, I won't.'

'Everything I've given you, I can take back.'

'Jaq can give me more than you're even capable of taking from me.'

He stops, his hand still wrapped around my arm. I'm certain it will bruise.

'What's he giving you.'

This is what I was counting on.

'More than you.'

He shakes me.

'What is he giving you.'

Yes, bargain with me, you fucker.

I hold his gaze.

'A quarter.'

He releases me and turns away, his arms swinging like he's punching an invisible assailant.

'FUCK.'

He faces me again, calm and composed, if a little red.

'A third.'

Again, I hold his gaze. My voice as steady as I can manage, I say;

'You're supposed to be his best friend.'

The rage bubbling just beneath the surface threatens to burst out, but with effort, he keeps it in check.

'A third. That's the best you're gonna get.'

'You think that's what I want?'

'You want to be my wife?'

'No!'

'What do you want then? Pretty dresses? Toys? Fame? You can have it! I'll give it to you.'

'I don't trust you. If you're willing to fuck over your best friend, you'll throw me aside without a thought.'

'How am I supposed to prove you can trust me?'

'Pay upfront.'

'I can't, I literally don't have the estate yet!'

'Then, I want you to pay my entire wage for the sets upfront.'

'Fine.'

'I want documents outlining everything you intend to give from the estate.'

'Fine.'

'I want them signed by you. No legal proxies. You. I want to see you sign them, myself.'

'Done.'

'I want you to prove your goodwill with actions, not words. No more threats. No more intimidation. If I'm supposed to be your ally, then you shouldn't be treating me like an enemy.'

'Fine.'

I almost want to cry. This is too perfect.

His face shifts to a smile.

'You're a tenacious bitch.'

'I know my worth.'

I walk back out of the park, past the tail. I give him a friendly wave. He looks alarmed.

That was it. The centrepiece I needed for his complete destruction. That footage. The document showing Charles intends to give me things that definitely don't belong to him is almost unnecessary at this point.

I still want it. There's no sense in turning down more irrefutable proof.

----------------------------------------

It's later than I'd like when I enter the hotel's conference room, heavy suitcase in tow. I don't think I was being followed, but I still made sure to change cars, duck in and out of alleys and back roads, and once I was on foot I squeezed through crowds and hid in random shops, waiting for a tail to pass me by.

Casey rushes over to hug me, wordlessly sobbing. I hold her tight. She needs comfort more than me.

I deliberately changed into short sleeves when I saw the bruises forming on my arm. It strengthens my story. Underlines it. Puts it in bold.

I didn't want to make Casey cry.

I look around, surveying the faces. They look grim, nervous, sick. Sitting in among my chosen family, Maggie; my small-time reporter, a private investigator, and my Executioner. She told me not to do this; it was too dangerous. When I told her she couldn't stop me, that I wanted justice for more than just myself, she asked to be included. I didn't think she was that soft-hearted.

'If any of you are scared, you're going to want to go home now. He's not afraid to hurt people. Telling you this stuff makes you targets.'

I sound like some kind of ridiculously macho action hero.

Nobody moves.

'I'm serious. If he catches wind of this before we're ready, we're all in danger.'

Laurie mumbles;

'I'm not going anywhere.'

Those close enough to overhear nod their agreement.

'I guess that means you're all ready to take down a monster.'

I tip the suitcase on its side and unzip it, revealing folders full of paper and a stack of portable hard drives. Somewhere under there is a laptop full of overpriced video editing software, and a portable lighting rig.

'We have a lot to prepare.'

I take out the hard drive with the dash cam footage of the kidnapping and the toxicology report. They think they understand how dangerous he is. They saw him manhandle me in public. I need them to really understand. Fear will keep their mouths shut tighter than loyalty and a sense of righteousness alone.

'This video will show you exactly why I don't think I'm the only one he's hurt. I'm certain we'll be able to find more people like me. There's no way this is step one on someone's descent into this kind of violence.'

I press play.

On the top left side of the screen, the inside of a nondescript hotel hallway comes into view.

'Lionel? Can you hear me? ...Okay, good. I'm going to head down now. Are you ready to follow? ...Awesome.'

On the top right side of the screen, another camera feed comes on, this one in the street, looking at the back of a random car. A moment later, in the bottom right, another view of the same street, facing the opposite direction.

I've done nothing to abridge the video. I think it's more effective in a situation like this if it's complete. The only editing I've done is to add the dash-cam footage from Lionel's car.

The image on the left is unsteady as I walk to the lift, taking it down to the last floor before the lobby. There's a glimpse of my entire outfit in the mirrored back of the lift doors. I exit and cross to the stairwell.

'I'm going to take the stairs. He'll be watching the lift. Hopefully the signal doesn't drop.'

I descend, my heavy echoing footsteps drowning out all other sound.

The camera sweeps across the people in the lobby, resting on a dim and blurry outline of a gigantic man, head and shoulders above everyone else.

'He's here.' I whisper, putting the phone in my pocket.

Lionel's car leaves the parking lot. The rear camera pans across Charles propped up against the side of his own car, where he'd been left, feigning unconsciousness. I stop the video as he sits up and touches his face, checking for blood.

'If anyone's interested, this is the toxicology report.'

I push it towards the middle of the conference table. I don't want to look up into their faces. I don't want to see their pity. I know it's going to reopen my own wounds. I can't look at the floor forever.

'Jo... I didn't realise it was... I'm so sorry.'

Casey has me in a vice-grip. I can't stop myself from crying. I want to tell her she's done nothing wrong, that there was nothing to realise, that I'm the one who was keeping secrets.

Chloe places her hand on my arm, sympathetically, not wanting to join the hug.

'This is why you told me to keep an eye out for weird people after the break-in. He... he's the one who broke into our house.'

I nod.

'He broke in to steal stuff to blackmail you with.'

I nod again.

'I laughed at you. You were trying to warn me, and I laughed at you.'

She looks broken.

'I'm sorry.'

I want to shout 'Stop apologising!'

I can't make my throat work.