“Nonsense,” Dale says, and kicks out a chair with his foot. “Have a seat and wait with us.”
“Al–alright,” Samuel stutters. He pulls out the chair a little more and sits, giving us a smile.
The room is silent as I open the file on the laptop and pull up the pictures I took while in Trinity. Hazel’s unmarred face fills the screen; her lips pulled up in a delicious smile. I miss this smile. The twinkle in her eyes is one I haven’t seen since, either. I push those thoughts and emotions aside, forcing myself to click through the pictures until I find the one I’m searching for.
Dale and Joseph stare at me over the top of the screen wondering what I’m up to. They remain relaxed, but questions swirl in their eyes. They’ll know soonenough.
I tap the table with my finger, as if in deep thought, before turning my attention to them. “Do you remember the name of that guy that buys from Gavin?”
Samuel freezes in his chair as he studies us. Dale’s head tilts to the side before squinting at Joseph in confusion. They stare at each other for a moment before turning back to me.
“I don’t know anyone besides our main buyers,” Joseph responds. “Why do you ask?”
“Because for some reason people in Trinity are getting sick, and they say it’s from taking Snap. There’s no way that could happen, since Snap is nonaddictive and doesn’t make people sick or overdose.”
I scratch my head and look back at the devil himself on my computer screen. “Samuel, you’ve delivered to Gavin. Have you met any of his buyers?”
He quickly shakes his head. “No. Gavin’s place is always empty when I’ve been there.”
“Hmm. How about this fellow, ever seen him before?”
I turn the screen around so everyone can see it. The shot of Phil leaving Maggie Mae’s fills the screen. The three of us watch as Samuel’s eyes widen just a fraction, but he recovers quickly. He swallows so hard the sound is easily heard by all of us. The fact that he’s not fidgeting in his chair shocks me. Samuel shakes his head again, but I know he’s lying. His chest rises and falls in quickbreaths, telling us of his elevated heart rate. I wait to hear the lies he’s about to tell.
“No? Are you sure? Take a closer look,” I say, pushing the laptop in front of him.
He refuses and, instead, looks between the three of us with fear and confusion. “No, I don’t know him.”
I move to the chair beside him. “What about now?” I click to the still shot of Phil trying to get into RCC. “No?”
“No,” he almost whispers. “Is this who you asked me about before?”
“Yes. But, there’s one thing we overlooked before, Samuel.”
His attention stays on the screen as he takes deep, guilty breaths. I flip to the next picture. It’s of him collecting the waste baskets for the shredder. Joseph spent quite a bit of time going through the footage until he found the day that he threw out the old formula. We watched it and discovered that Samuel was doing a job that he had never done before, or since for that matter.
I click the image, and the video begins playing. Samuel watches himself take the basket from the lab to the shredder, shoving paper into it, but pausing here and there to read certain ones. He squeezes his eyes shut when we get to the best part of the video. The part where he didn’t know where all the cameras were and slid the paper down the front of his jumpsuit.
I lean toward him, and he flinches. “What did he offer you, Samuel?”
He drops his head and whispers, “Money.”
I nod, figuring that much. But Phil had to offer him more than money to get him to give up our secrets with what we pay him. “What else?”
Samuel raises his head. “It was more money than I could pass up. He offered me a lump sum, then a percentage of his sales once it took off, and a job. I’m sorry. My family needs the money.”
Dale’s jaw tenses as he clenches his teeth, and his hands fist on the table. He remains quiet, though, letting me finish what I’ve started.
I pull the formula that Samuel had stolen out of my pocket and lay it on the keyboard. He refuses to look at it and nervously shakes his head. “Do you know what kind of person you got into bed with?”
Samuel’s fearful eyes jerk to mine. “What do you mean?”
“Do you know what he would do to you, or your family, to get what he wants?”
“He’s just some punk, rich kid.”
“Looks can be deceiving.” I pick up the crinkled formula and wave it in front of him. “Want to know how we got this back?”
He half-shakes-half-nods his head in uncertainty. I don’t blame him. I’d be scared to know as well. I clickthe arrow on the screen, revealing the badly beaten woman I took photos of. His breath catches in his throat as he fights with himself to look away. But he can’t.
