Her eyes dart from the papers to me, then back to the papers. "How did you even get all of this?" she asks, the bravado momentarily stripped away.
"You uploaded it."
"So what? I tag my vacations. Everyone does. It's part of the job. It's not a crime to post a pretty sunset, or to show off my new swimsuit. It's not a crime."
"It is," I correct, "when the vacation intersects precisely with a drop involving ten million in untraceable assets. It becomes a liability of the gravest order."
"I didn't know that. How could I possibly know that?"
"Intent is irrelevant. Exposure isn't."
She snorts. "You talk like you're quoting a movie villain. Is that part of the whole intimidation aesthetic? Did you go to 'villain school' to get that perfected monotone? You speak like a fucking robot."
I move to the chair opposite her at the small table and sit. I'm close enough to make her nervous.
"You're not being intimidated, Miss Ricci. You're being educated in consequences of actions."
She leans back. "And what am I supposed to do with this education? Take a final? Write a term paper? Build a bomb? Because frankly, none of those sounds like a viable escape plan." Her attempt at levity falls flat, exposing the underlying panic.
"You're going to stay quiet," I instruct. "You're going to follow the rules that'll be established for your continued… comfort. And eventually, when this situation no longer poses a risk to my operations, you might go home. Unharmed."
She laughs. "Oh wow. A whole plan for my life. I feel so reassured. My anxiety is completely gone now, you've cured it."
"You should be reassured."
"Except I'm not," she counters, pushing back. "Because you haven't told me anything real. Not what I actually saw. Not what you're protecting. Not what you actually want from me, beyond some vague concept of 'silence.' How exactly am I supposed to fix this? I can delete the video sure, but then what? It's gone out into the world now and there's nothing I can do to bring it out. I can't control who downloaded it."
"That might be true and as of right now, I want silence," I repeat. "That's all I require until we figure this out."
She tilts her head, studying me, a flicker of something new in her eyes. Calculation. Or perhaps desperation. "And if I give it to you, I get what? A plane ticket and a thank you card? A personalized influencer promo code for 'freedom'?"
"You get your life back. Eventually. Don't worry, you're not disposable to us yet."
"You sure about that? Because you've basically just explained that my entire existence is a liability. That my only value is my silence."
"You’re not a liability," I correct, choosing my words precisely. "More of a complication. A very significant complication that needs to be carefully dealt with."
"Wow," she drawls. "What a promotion. I feel so much better now. From liability to complication. My brand just took off. I wonder how I can spin this?"
"You could've deleted the video right away. Once you saw the views climbing. Once the comments started pouring in. Once you understood that something was amiss. But you didn't. You kept it up. If you'd done that early on, you wouldn't be here now."
"Because I didn't know what I saw," she insists. "I already told you that. It was an accident. I'm not some reckless thrill-seeker."
"Or perhaps you did. Perhaps a part of you, the part that thrives on the edge of chaos, wanted to see what would happen. Wanted to see if you could push the boundary further. Wanted the attention, no matter the cost. You chose to ride the wave in a tsunami."
A flush of anger rises in her cheeks. "You don't know me. You don't know anything about me or why I do things."
"Not yet," I admit. "But I will. I have an infinite amount of time to learn."
We sit in silence for a beat too long.
She's trapped, and she knows it.
And I'm trapped by the fucking mess she caused.
I close the folder, the crisp sound sharp in the quiet room, and stand. "Dinner at seven," I say. "Try to eat this time. You'll need your strength."
She watches me go. I pause in the hall outside her room just for a moment to listen for the sound of an object hitting the door again.
