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"Well, it sounded like you have a problem, partner. Only makes sense I would help you out. You'd do the same for me, right?" I add, knowing he wouldn't without holding it over my head.
He takes a deep breath and straightens his shoulders. Reminds me a little bit of when Blakely does it, except now, I can't stand it when he does it. Pride sweeps through me when my pet's confidence grows.
He replies, "Whatever we need to do. This is just ridiculous."
"Agreed," I respond.
Amy appears. She hands me a piece of paper. "I forgot to give you your receipt." She glances at Hugh and smiles. "You're all set for the year, Mr. Gallow."
He scowls at her.
"Thank you, Amy," I say, taking the receipt. I steer Hugh toward the restaurant.
He stomps along the tile.
We get outside the restaurant. I put my hand on his shoulder. "Hugh."
He spins. "What?"
"Take a breather. You look like you're about to have a heart attack," I declare, wanting him to be anything but calm when the next thing happens.
He hesitates, then nods. "You're right. It's just these hackers. I don't understand why they're targeting me."
"We'll figure it out," I assure him.
"How? The banks won't even let me keep my money there. I have all my cash in a safe," he admits.
"Shit. That sucks. Well, at least you know where it's at," I add, doing the happy dance inside. His fortune is mine. I've never been a thief until now, but he's earned all the misery that's coming to him.
"It's ridiculous," he claims.
I nod. "Can't do anything about it right now. Let's go eat. We're keeping everybody waiting."
The hostess leads us to a table with half a dozen of Hugh's cronies. I can't stand any of them but play my part.
We're halfway into the meal, and I'm so anxious with excitement, I'm trying not to tap my fingers on my thigh. It's a bad habit I'm picking up from Blakely.
I should have fucked her before I left.
The TVs in the restaurant all turn on. They're normally used for sporting events—specifically horse races, golf, or tennis matches. One thing the members love is betting absurd amounts of money. So the big screens fill the walls, and the members vote yearly to upgrade them to the newest technology.
Blakely's face appears, and Hugh's hand grips the table's edge. He snarls, "What the fuck is going on?"
A video flickers with her face. It's only her face. I didn't want to show any other part of her body to these country club assholes. And her hair is dark, with her blueish-purple highlights in it. I chose that photo since I know Hugh will hate it the most. He thinks anything but natural hair color is trashy.
A full minute passes with just her face flickering.
Hugh stands up, slamming his hand on the table, shouting, "Why is my daughter on the TVs? Turn this off."
Blakely's voice tears through the loudspeakers, declaring, "I hate my father." Then it intensifies as her emotion-filled voice repeats, "I hate my father."
My masked voice pushes her, and she admits everything I caught on video when I first tried to break her. She cries, "He's selfish... He's a liar... He's cruel," for another ten minutes, over and over.
Spit flies out of Hugh's mouth as he screams at the staff to turn off the TVs. But no matter what he does, the TVs won't shut down. Jones is the only one with control over them, and the video continues repeating itself at the loudest volume possible.
I pretend to look appalled, pointing at the staff and agreeing with Hugh. "Turn that off!"
When they finally shut down, the entire restaurant is staring at Hugh. The people who claim to be his friends look uncomfortable, and I know he's cracking.
