Chapter 27 – most foul

I follow Mal into the conference room. He pulls out a chair for me, one that will let me see the screen straight on, and I sit down in it while he stands to my right. “I think you’ve been with me long enough to know that while we are morally and philosophically very different people, I am not a liar. I don’t need to be. So please know that the offer I just made to you in my office was genuine. If you’d accepted it and helped me with the company morale problem, we’d never had to go to this ****. But, as we’re here now, there’s no going back. And as long as we’re going to this ****, we’re going all the way.”

I lean forward in the chair and turn enough so that I can look at Mal. “Mr. Orpheus, I don’t know what you think is going on here, but I promise that…”

With barely a glance at me Mal’s finger comes and presses against my lips, shutting off my words as effectively as you’d think such a degrading action would. As soon as I stop speaking, he moves his hand to the top of my head and turns me so that I’m facing the screen again. This time his hand only retreats to my shoulder where it massages and caresses as he talks, “No no, the time for you to speak was back there. Know your place Paris, it’s important now. What you see here is your life. Your driver’s license, your bank cards, your credit cards, your identification papers.” Mal must have a remote for the slide show as it flips to another page, showing more of what he’s talking about, “I have your apartment lease, your studio lease, and even your subletting lease to your photography friend Tyrell.”

Another slide, and my heart sinks as I realize where he got everything, “I have your cell phone and your laptop. It was easy enough to break into them. Honestly, don’t ever use your mother’s birthdate as a password. And speaking of advice, how stupid did you have to be in order to not only throw these out your apartment window where my private investigator could easily pick them all up, but to not come after them for almost a full hour. Did you really think the garbage men got out of their truck and cleaned up your tossed clothes and files and electronics?”

Mal’s hand moves up to my chin and grips me there just enough to tilt my head up to look into his eyes, “Don’t beat yourself up too much Paris. My PI would have gotten me enough information to do this eventually, you just made it exceedingly easy.”

When Mal tilts my head back to the screen my stomach does somersaults. “As you can see, we easily got into your password manager. Using twenty-character passwords that have capital letters, lower case letters, numbers, and special characters on all your accounts is a good idea, Paris. Having a password manager guarded with your mother’s birthdate as a password is not a good idea. Through this I gained access to all your banking records, your Google account, your Microsoft account, your Adobe account, your Apple account, your Verizon account… all of your digital accounts.”

Mal’s hand moves back to my shoulder where he pats me in a mock comforting motion, “Don’t worry, I’ve secured them all with new passwords. They’re all protected by me now. I’m now checking all of your email accounts and have your phone number forwarded to one of my burners. If you were to try to gain access to them again, they’d have to email or call you to confirm your identity. If I receive any such calls or emails, I’ll know what you’re doing.”

Mal’s hand stays on my shoulder but grips it. Grips it hard, emphasizing his next words. “You won’t do that though. You know you’re beat and that your entire digital life is now mine.”

His grip relaxes but he keeps his hand on my shoulder, patting it comfortingly, “If I’m honest, I wasn’t sure that I’d find anything in your digital life to **** you with. I mean, what could a little photographer like you have that could coerce you into something you’ve shown to find repulsive? What’s something that you’d want to avoid getting out?”

The next slide shows my studio. I immediately recognize the day the video was taken as it’s a beautiful afternoon with sunlight dappling across the floor. Realistically it could be almost any day, but the camera position looking down at me while the brunette model with the short, cropped hair kneels between my legs tells me it was in January as I only photographed her a few times in that month. And the fact that my hand is on her head, guiding her lips up and down my cock tells me that it was January sixth as that’s the only day I had to show her what I liked. She was able to do it on her own after that for her discount.

“I’d normally applaud you Paris, getting head from beautiful women is laudable. But forcing yourself on them? And recording it? And storing the video files in your Google Drive? Well, that’s just stupid. I understand from your emails that you didn’t like Tyrell setting up the security system in your studio, but you relented when you found out that you could keep recordings like this.”

Mal turns and sits up on the conference table in front of me, letting me see both him and the screen, “Admittedly, if you were to watch the entire video, you see that she agreed to this. If, however, you cut the video to just this portion, it looks quite ****. And these other clips?”

The screen shifts, changing from the one video of me getting head to a dozen clips of me getting head, all starting mid action with my hand in their hair, all ending and repeating before my hand leaves their hair. “Tsk tsk tsk, it looks like you have a history of blackmailing these poor models. And let me tell you something I’ve learned by dealing with young naïve women. They’ll do and say just about anything for the right amount of money. I’ve only contacted four of them and discussed these videos with them, but they were all too happy to entrust their safekeeping to me, especially when they realized you’d publish them and ruin their careers. They became very understanding when I told them that IF the videos were to ever come out, they were to contact the police immediately and report you for ****.”

Mal’s grin is diabolical as he pulls my laptop over and unlocks it. I can’t help but notice that the password now really does have at least twenty characters. Once it opens, I see that it’s open to my Google Drive in the folder where I kept all the security footage. The footage that shows all of the models agreeing to our exchange, head for a discount. And with two quick swipes of the trackpad from Mal, all of the files are deleted. The only thing remaining are a group of files individually titled with each of the model’s names. Mal’s voice goes into a falsetto, as he play acts a distressed girl, “You see officer he keeps files to watch and to **** us. They’re on his Google Drive.”

Mal’s smile completely disappears as he leans forward and whispers right into my ear, “And each girl that says that, that backs that story up, gets a nice fat anonymous bank transfer of ten thousand dollars.”

When Mal sits up straight again, he is all business. And I can see that he was never truly relaxed this evening. He’s been holding back this rage all night. “Now that you know what I have on you. Now that you know what I can do to you while keeping myself safe, here’s how your life is going to be Paris. I can’t fire you, but other than that you will do everything I say. Every. Fucking. Thing.”

Mal’s hands clench into fists and I see his face starting to shift red from the neck moving up, “When I tell you to do something you will not hesitate. You will not question it. You will not do it slowly. You will not gripe or grouse about it. If you don’t jump to and comply with whatever I say, your life is ruined. There’s no warnings or points or freebies. You refuse something, the next day these videos get published to a **** porn site and models come out of the woodwork to report you to the police. Oh, and I imagine the HR department will jump on as my complaint of YOU blackmailing ME will fall right into that. Is that understood Paris?”

I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach by Mike Tyson. There was a loud ringing in my ears, and my vision had narrowed down to just the screen ahead of me full of videos of me getting head. I know what Mr. Orpheus has asked and I know that it’s important for me to answer but I can’t move. I’m frozen and can’t even shift or speak or breathe. Evidently Mal has dealt with women in similar circumstances as the slap he delivers to my cheek rocks my head back painfully. It also clears my frozen state. As I lean over the arm of the chair and stare at the carpet I say barely loud enough for my own ears to hear, “yes sir”

Evidently it was loud enough for Mal as he hops up off the table, closes the laptop, and turns off the big screen in the conference room. With a firm grip on my upper arm, he lifts me from the chair and starts pushing me back toward his office, “Good. Then let’s go to your apartment where we’ll finish discussing our new arrangement. We’ll need to include your duplicitous roommate.”

Minutes later we’re downstairs in the garage, getting into Mr. Orpheus’ Mercedes S 580. Even though I’d never seen the car before, I’d recognize it anywhere with its dark wine exterior and it’s red and black interior. It was the one he’d ordered for his wife and the one she didn’t like. Evidently, she got her way and its now Mal’s car.

The entire trip to my apartment is eerily calm. Mr. Orpheus, always spending his time efficiently, is on the phone the entire time talking to clients for the McGregor deal. It leaves me plenty of time to try and find a way through the **** he’s laid out but there doesn’t seem to be a way out. I’d need my Google password to get access to those files in my Google Drive. But if he changed the password, the only way to get it is to request Google to change it. That would require my email, which I don’t have access to, my phone number, which I don’t have access to, or my trusted devices, which being my laptop and my phone, I don’t have access to.

As my mind continues to circle around impossible ways to gain access, we pull up outside of my apartment. Mal parks and walks around the car to open the door and help me out. Then, as if we were a couple, he places his hand in the small of my back and guides me inside. My hands are shaking as we approach my door while I try to reach in my purse and get my keys. My world gets worse though as Mal tells me not to worry and instead pulls out his keys and uses one to unlock my door. With his deadpan voice and face he adds “Oh, did I not mention I have access to your apartment?”

Without giving me time to answer his rhetorical question, Mal guides me in. Grace turns the corner from the kitchen, already addressing me, “Hey, I didn’t know if you were going to be back this early, so I already had a helping of the chicken chili you had in the slow cooker. It’s really good and I think…”

As soon as Grace turns the corner she stops speaking. She looks like she’s about to angrily address Mr. Orpheus until she looks at me. I’m not exactly trying to be brave and evidently that shows as all of Grace’s anger drops away and is replaced by concern. Mal, acting like we’re all old friends just continues to guide me into my own apartment, “Miss Thompson, so good to see you. We have some things to discuss. Please join us in your living room.”

Mal doesn’t even slow down as we walk by Grace. When we get to the living room he directs me to the couch, turns me, and pushes me into a seated position. He then takes a seat next to me, uncomfortably close. When Grace steps in a moment later he simply points to the recliner and waits for her to sit down. As soon as her butt hits the seat he speaks up, “This evening is already going later than I intended, so I’m going to make this quick Miss Thompson. You and Mrs. Birdie were colossally stupid for trying to **** me. Worse, you dragged some innocent into this and now she has to take the brunt of your idiocy. You and Paris and even Alistair may have thought you had me hoisted on my own petard, but you all simply caught me unaware. That’s done now. I’ll let Paris describe to you how I have her willing cooperation to do all of this, but I need your help so let’s lay out why you are going to offer me your willing cooperation.”

Mal pulls out his phone, opens a document, and tosses the phone to Grace. Her face grows pale as she looks at it, “That’s exactly what you think it is. I saw that K Edison Global was in an arrangement to pay your student loans to Wharton. Very expensive school. Very academically challenging. I should know as I have both my MBA and my PhD from there. With my help, my PI was able to gain access to your student records, and I noticed you had Professor Stoll as your thesis supervisor. Professor Stoll and I go back as I helped him out with his marriage and some financial problems about ten years ago. So, while he wasn’t exactly happy to write this letter, he was willing to write it, and sign it, and hope that you don’t **** me to publish it.”

Mal leans forward menacingly toward Grace, while at the same time laying his hand on my knee in a very possessive manner, “You try to **** me? You don’t even know how to play the game. If you don’t do as I say you’re ruined. Your degree will be withdrawn from Wharton. Without a degree you wouldn’t qualify for this job, so HR would have no problem firing you, with cause, and would have no problem backing my claim of you and Paris here attempting to **** me. Oh, and I noticed that your student loans were all private. That’s a shame as you’ll still owe that money and without a valid MBA, I imagine you’ll find it difficult to pay them off. Bankruptcy is a pretty bad mark to have when you want to go into management.”

Mal’s whole demeanor stays angry but at the same time I shiver as his hand pulls up further on my leg, his fingers tickling at my stocking top, “Here’s how this is going to work from here on out. We’re all still stuck because of HR. I can’t get rid of Paris here. But I will NOT have my department dictated to me. My secretary will work as I deem her to work. She will dress and act as my secretaries always have. You’ve been with the company long enough to know what I like, which is why you’re roped into this. Paris will have to play the part, but you’ll be responsible for her look and style. If I think she’s dressed or styled like a prude to any degree, it’s your ass on the line. Am I understood Miss Thompson?”