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At first, I thought it might be me since we had a rough first encounter. But last night when I was watching him flit about in Callum’s swanky guest room, he’d waved to me from his window.
Hardly scared of the mask-wearing beast of Park Mountain.
That leaves me to think it’s something. A hidden secret I’ve yet to uncover.
Today, I plan to find out what that is. I woke up early, smashed my gym session, and am already in my office, ready to solve this mystery once and for all. I settle in my chair, pleased to find a steaming hot breakfast sandwich, a cup of fruit, and a fresh mug of coffee waiting for me. Violet is incredibly gifted at attuning herself to my weird schedules, anticipating my needs even before I can.
I lift my mask enough to shovel in food and once I’ve polished off my meal, I pull it down again, eager to start unraveling Tate’s life.
Three hours later, I hit the jackpot.
It’s taken some difficult searching, but I’ve found multiple email accounts with Tate Prince in the name with local IP addresses. I can tie each of them to where he’s lived over the past two years and even some from his places of work. Each of these email accounts’ creations line up with his abrupt termination of employment as well.
Intriguing, to say the least.
The passwords to get into these aren’t easy to hack into as he used a series of random numbers, symbols, and letters. They’re all different too. However, I do finally manage to breach the first one.
The inboxes are filled with people matching the clinic of one of the places he’s worked at. In the subject of each of these emails is:Could we set up a meeting to do this?The responses are all ones of outrage, horror, and disgust.
Sicko.
What the hell?
You’ll get fired for this.
This is sexual harassment.
Sexual harassment? Tate doesn’t seem the type, but people have fooled me before. Each email has a video attached. I click on one and open it.
The sight before me is hard to watch. Tate is on his knees, naked, with a fat dildo between his teeth. He’s crying and won’t make eye contact with the camera. The camera audio suddenly mutes and then Tate’s head snaps up, fear shining in his eyes. The audio returns, and without dropping the slobbery dildo, he whimpers out his words.
“Please fuck me with this. I can be your fuck toy. Please.”
He sent this to everyone at his job?
I’ve seen a lot of weird shit in my lifetime, but this takes the cake.
I’m sure there’s a why and possibly even a story behind this, but that doesn’t matter. I’ve finally discovered his big secret. He’s a kinky bastard who shares his videos with his coworkers. That’s enough for me.
I forward the email over to Dad and then bolt, abandoning my coffee altogether. Who needs caffeine when you’re running on the high of victory? Dad will shit bricks and can him over this. We,especially me, can all rest easy once he’s gone for good.
The trip over to Dad’s goes by in a flash. Bittersweet memories assault my mind, reminding me of the rush of running down the football field, high on the game. If I could turn back time, I’d still skip school that day, but I’d go home instead. I’d save Mom, help her get out of her depression over the divorce, and join the NFL like Coach wanted.
By the time I reach Dad’s door, those thoughts fade as more pressing ones enter. I barge into the house and pass by his office door that’s closed. I can hear Tate talking to someone, Spencer maybe, muffled through the door. I find Dad sitting on the back patio drinking coffee. His brows lift upon seeing me.
“Morning, Son. Here for a session with Tate?”
I sneer behind my mask. “Fuck no.”
Dad frowns and sets his mug down. “What’s wrong?”
“Check your email.”
He pulls his phone from the table and opens it up. Seconds later, I can hear Tate’s voice from the video. I wait for Dad to explode with fury.
Seconds go by.
Nothing.
