Queen of Blackmail

Marion was shaking like an epileptic in the throes of a seizure. Her mind pinged with a million different thoughts. She'd dumped Natasha's phone and laptop because she couldn't access anything without her damn face and fingerprints, and she didn't want to resell them to anyone who might be able to hack in and find the incriminating video. Had it really been Natasha who contacted her? The writing style suggested it could be, but if so, how had she managed to do so? Marion had been told that those who paid for the "services" of people were extra careful about keeping them from accessing the internet and possibly calling for help, which could get them arrested. Who else might have accessed her account? Whoever it was, they seemed clueless about the video—unless it was just an act. Marion wasn't sure what to do next. What if it were Natasha, and she did have the video somewhere? She couldn't just run. She couldn't leave her friends and family and give up her job, her only source of income. Maybe the people who had bought Natasha were messing with her, although she didn't see how or why they would get into her Facebook account. They shouldn’t even know who she was. Maybe they had falsely promised Natasha access to her social media in exchange for her passwords, but really only wanted them to mess with her head. But why would they accuse her of being naive? None of it made sense, which meant it was more than likely Natasha. Either way, all she could do was get on with her life and hope to hell that no video existed. What else could she do? A day passed, and then another, without incident. Marion began to relax. She assumed it was a prank, either from someone involved in the trafficking or, more than likely, Natasha herself, who had managed to sneak online and make the empty threat. Natasha was probably in another country, which could be anywhere in the world. Her only concern was the damning video, but she believed that if it was going to be shared with the wrong people, it would have been by now. A week later, after a long, disastrous day at work where she was asked to stay late, she returned to her apartment tired, hungry, and just wanting to eat, shower, and slip into bed with a good book. It was the weekend, and she promised herself she would relax and sleep the weekend away. No work stress, no cleaning, no errands, no nothing. Yet no sooner had she parked her car and stepped out into the frigid air than the police accosted her. Marion's heart began slamming against her ribs. It was the video. It had to be, since there was no other way to prove she had been involved in the trafficking. “Please, I'm hungry and tired,” Marion pleaded in her native tongue. “I really don't feel well. Please come back another time.” One of the officers laughed. “You don't feel well? Neither does the woman you killed down in Turkey.” “That was a dreadful accident!” “Did you also sell a woman on the dark web?” Just when she thought it was impossible for her heart to beat any harder or faster, it did just that. “What are you talking about?” Marion's voice rose to a shrill pitch. She was thrown into the back of a cruiser and taken to the station for questioning. During the interrogation, she refused to say anything without a lawyer present, wondering if Rex and the others had somehow been implicated as well.