7
Benfield Estate
Marc
I showed up unannounced,so I was grateful that the butler, or whatever the hell that guy was, wasn’t too much of a dick. Dean was on the estate and just finishing up a call, apparently, but I was more than welcome to wait in his study.
I glanced around the room where Entwhistle and Benfield had told me to take the deal, to serve my time, then, once that was over, go after what I wanted. There was a sense of purpose now. I was actually doing it. Like prison, the plea deal, the time inside was really finally behind me.
“Marc,” Dean said, as he entered the study. “Let me guess. You’ve come to your senses and you’re willing to accept a job from me.”
“Not exactly,” I said.
He walked to the wet bar in the room and poured himself a splash of something brown. “A drink?”
I shook my head. It felt important, from now, until this thing with Sanderson was over, that I always be clear-headed and alert for any trouble.
He sat in a leather chair and I perched on the edge of a sofa across from him.
“I have evidence against Sanderson.”
Benfield frowned. “Marc, I told you to drop it.”
“And I told you I couldn’t. Hear me out. The guy is into fucking young girls. I mean, seriously young girls. Ones as young as twelve, and I have proof he did.”
Benfield took a sip of his drink and carefully set the glass down. “There were always rumors. Some sex club in New York that brought in virgins. Auctioned them off or some shit. There were hints about his connection to the ownership. It was so incredulous to me, I never believed any of it.”
“Believe everything you heard,” I said, pulling out a copy of the thumb drive and setting it on the coffee table between us. “Dates, names, cash exchanges, pictures. And that’s just the start. I have information that suggests there is also video.”
Benfield frowned. “Okay. So, what do you want from me?”
“I need to make sure this gets done right,” I said, feeling all the urgency Ash must have felt when she begged me not to screw this up. “I need to make sure some dirty cop doesn’t make all the evidence go away. You said it. I have no connections, no resources. Nothing that can touch this guy. I need legit FBI agents. He was bringing girls from New York, into New Jersey, and back. That makes it a federal crime. Pair that with hardcore, fearless prosecutors who will not back down until this guy is in a cage for life. I need a billionaire to take down a billionaire.”
Benfield huffed. “He’s not a billionaire, he’s a criminal. It doesn’t count when you and your family steal the money. Only when you earn it.”
“Okay then, I need a legitimate billionaire to take down a crook. You got me the best lawyer, which is the only way I survived Sanderson’s frame-up. Now, I need the best cops to take him out.”
Benfield seemed to consider this. “Seriously, they’re still pulling shit like auctioning off virginity? That’s actually true?”
I nodded. Landen had documented everything. Almost as if he’d been building his own case against Sanderson, even though he knew there was no way to take Sanderson out without going down himself.
“No wonder some women think all men are scum. Let me look at the evidence. See what you’ve got. If I think it’s tight enough, there are FBI resources I trust, that we can go to.”
“It’s a copy,” I said, standing, ready to leave.
“Marc, even if you succeed, it’s still not going to bring her back.”
“No,” I said, feeling my heart pound heavily in my chest like it had off and on since leaving Florida. “Ashleigh Landen is dead. I’m not doing this for her. I’m doing it for all the girls he corrupted, abused and hurt. He needs to pay for that, at the very least.”
Dean nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”
We shook, and I thought I’d done it. I’d convinced him I was right. All men weren’t scum. And girls, women everywhere, needed to learn that.
But I was lying to myself if I thought that was the only reason.
“…there were bigger things at stake.”
She was right. There were.
