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“And yes,” he continues, a wry smile appearing, “I know his San Antonio contingent has referred a number of cases to us.”
Between leaving the Army and starting Blade and Arrow, Cole worked for a year as a cop in San Antonio. While there, he became friends with a group of first responders who have sent some important pro-bono cases our way. Georgia was referred to us by her best friend, Hayden, who works for the sheriff’s department in San Antonio. And Elle’s cousin, Dean, is a fireman there—he called us while she was hiding out from traffickers trying to abduct her.
“So what’s this one about?” I ask.
Zane’s expression clouds. “Charlotte Laine is an attorney who was recently fired due to pornographic videos of her being sent to her workplace. There have been related photos and more videos sent to her friends, family, potential employers, and posted all over social media.”
“Charlotte claims the videos aren’t her, that they’ve been faked. She’s tried to get them taken down, but more pop up each day. It’s gotten to the point where she’s being harassed when she goes out; she can’t find a new job…” Zane trails off, shaking his head.
“Damn.” Leo’s features go hard and he takes a deep breath. “I hate to play devil’s advocate, but… is Erin certain her friend isn’t lying, that she’s not trying to cover an unfortunate mistake?”
“Erin is sure of it. She says Charlotte’s very private, very focused on her career, a bit shy—she’d never put herself out there that way.”
I’ve read about deepfake videos before, one person’s face being superimposed on another body. It’s not only a terrible violation of privacy, but it can have devastating consequences—like Charlotte losing her job. And if the videos are spreading all over social media…It would be horrifying to anyone.
“It’s obvious why Leo is going,” I start, “but what will I be doing there? Is she in danger?”
“She doesn’t appear to be in physical danger yet.” Zane’s voice dips on the last word. “But Charlotte has been approached by strangers in public, harassed, touched”—his jaw clenches—“so it’s not a big jump to assume violence is a possibility.”
My temper flares. “If she’s being harassed, people touching her without permission, I’d say she definitely needs protection.”
Zane’s frown matches my own. “My thoughts exactly. Which is why you’re going to be in charge of protecting Charlotte, while Leo takes care of the investigative side of the case.”
I’m already feeling protective of Charlotte, and I’ve never even met her. For someone to create these videos of her, distribute them all over the internet, mess up her career, and now she’s being harassed? Helping her is exactly why I joined Blade and Arrow.
I lift my chin at Zane. “I’ll make sure no one bothers her again.”
CHAPTER TWO
CHARLOTTE
“I keep telling you, it’s not me.”
My voice is rising, shaky, my nose prickling as I hold back tears.
But if I cry, it’ll only make things worse. My mother considers it plebeian to cry. “We don’t show our emotions, Charlotte,” she used to say, looking down at me disdainfully whenever I’d let a tear slip out. “That’s for people with no self control.”
I didn’t cry in front of another person until I was nineteen, when my roommate found me sobbing in the dorm bathroom after my very first boyfriend broke up with me. When I started to apologize, Erin just hugged me and said, “It’s okay to cry, Charlie. Trust me. I do it enough.”
After more than ten years, two more breakups, and hundreds of sad movies, I’m not afraid of crying anymore. I don’t believe what my mother said about showing my emotions. But in this case, if she hears me crying, it’ll be one more reason for her to dismiss me.
Swallowing hard, I try again. “Mère, I keep telling you, I would never do that.”
I'm not allowed to call her mother, instead having to use the French translation to "honor our ancestors," even though the last three generations of my family were born and raised in the United States. But she doesn't care about our French ancestry—it's really because she thinks the American version sounds too ordinary.
“Charlotte. Do you realize the damage you’ve done to the family? To our business?”
“But I haven’t.” Oh no, the tears are coming. “It’s not me, it’s all fake. You know me, I wouldn’t do that.”
“Do I?” Her voice is ice cold. “I thought I knew you. But this…” She sighs at me, her breath gusting through the phone, “your père can’t even say your name without having chest pains. What if he has a heart attack? How will you feel then?”
“Please.” And now I’m crying. Again. “Why won’t you believe me? I’ve never done anything like this; why would I—”
“Charlotte.” She snaps my name, making my voice shrivel. “Until you’re ready to own up to your horrendous mistake, I have nothing more to say to you.”
How does my mother have the ability to make me feel like a recalcitrant child? Especially when I’ve done nothing wrong?
Before I can say anything else, she hangs up on me, leaving me staring at the blank screen. Flopping back on the couch, I grab another tissue from one of the many boxes I now have around my apartment—a necessity since my life imploded two weeks ago.
