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"You can hire a reputation monitoring company to check the web for you, and initiate action whenever they find the video, but the truth is that the video is out there as well as still images based on it. It's a whack-a-mole game from here on in."
"Great," I said, rubbing my forehead in frustration. "What the hell? Why won't police do something?"
"It takes a lot of man hours and results in few convictions," Pete replied. "They figure they have better things to do that tracking down these pop-up websites for porn, I guess."
"Why even bother having the law on the books, if they aren't going to prosecute those who break it?
"We can try," Pete said, but his tone said he doubted it would be worth the effort.
"I want to try," I said, determined that anyone who willingly posted the video or allowed it to be posted should pay. "That video is revenge porn. Surely it's illegal to post a video of that kind. It was a rape, even if they were still dating. That's why she told Blaine she wanted to end it. He started to get violent with her and it wasn't consensual."
"It's illegal," Pete said. "But it's just a misdemeanor. We'll take care of it as best we can. When police finally get Blaine, he'll go right back to jail for a long time, and then this will be over."
"What happens until then?" I asked, angry that there was so little we could do about Blaine.
"You have security in place. We'll do everything we can to remove the videos from the web. That's about it. Let police do their job and we'll do ours. I know a good reputation management company that can help."
I shook my head. "I'm going to hire a private investigator to try to find Blaine. Do you know anyone with military experience who would be willing to take on a job like this?"
Pete shrugged. "Sure. I know a few former special operators who were in Iraq and Afghanistan who might be willing to try to find Blaine. It'll cost you a pretty penny, though. That kind of investigation is expensive."
"I can afford it."
Pete nodded and pulled out a rolodex. "I know someone right now, in fact. This guy is scary. I wouldn't ever want him on my trail if I did anything wrong. Former British SIS/MI5, new American citizen. If anyone can find Blaine, he can. Big motherfucker, and smart."
"Great," I said and took the business card with the man's name written on the back and a cell number.
Stephen W. Brentwood
I hoped the man could help us find and stop Blaine because he wasn't finished trying to hurt Alexa and those she loved.
We talked a while longer about Alexa and about my own business issues, and then I said goodbye.
"Tell Brentwood that I recommended him, and he'll be more likely to accept your request. He owes me one."
"Oh, really? Can you elaborate?"
"No," Pete said and shook his head, leaning back behind his desk. "That is highly classified information above your pay grade, private."
I laughed. I'd never been in the military, while Pete had served in Afghanistan before returning to the US to get his law degree and become an attorney.
"Okay, Corporal," I said, using his rank. "I got it. See you later."
I left the offices and went down to the limo. I had a couple of hours of work left before I could return to the beach house, and intended to gather up some work for the week so I could stick close to home and look after Alexa as best I could. But first, I called Brentwood.
His number went right to voicemail, so I left a voice message.
"Hey, Stephen, this is Luke Marshall of Astra Investments calling. Pete Moran gave me your name and number. I have a private investigator job I’m looking to staff, and he thought you would be perfect for it. It involves a locating a felon who is on the run, but who has been harassing my wife for the past month or two, and who's responsible for an attempted murder. Police don't seem to be able to find him and Pete thought you had the kind of skills needed to do the job. Money is no object. Call me if you're interested, and if not, let me know if there's anyone you would recommend in your place. Thanks."
I left my cell number and continued on, taking the limo to John's office near Columbia.
Traffic was heavy and it took us a considerable amount of time to finally arrive at the building where John had his office. I flashed my ID card, swiped it to take the elevator to t
he penthouse, and arrived at the front desk where John's receptionist greeted me with a big smile.
"Mr. Marshall," she said. "I'll let Mr. Andrews know you're here. He's in a meeting right now."
"Okay," I said and pointed to the back. "I'll go hang out in the staff room and wait."
