Tori
Chapter 30
Ibarely remembered stumbling back through the maze of the office layout, or passing the security desk, or even walking out of the building. I was halfway down the block when I realized I was outside, the cold November air finally shocking some reality back into me.
I didn’t want to believe what I had heard. That the renowned and highly respected KZ Modeling—Stefan’s family business, the one he’d given up everything in order to take over someday—was a front for sex trafficking. And since most of the young women that the company employed were from other countries, that meant it wasn’t just local; it had international ties. Who knew how far the network reached? How many women’s lives had been destroyed?
I felt sick, but I forced myself to keep it together and hailed a cab.
“Where you going?” the driver asked as I got in and slammed the door.
I was reeling. I needed to talk to my husband. But Stefan was in meetings all day, and I knew he wouldn’t answer his phone. And how could I explain this? Would he even believe me when I told him about what his father was doing, all the dirty dealings KZM was up to behind the scenes? His agency was about to implode. His whole world was going to collapse.
I didn’t know what to do.
“Excuse me? You have an address?” the driver prodded.
“Yes, sorry, hang on.” I needed to come up with a plan.
I told the driver to take me to my father’s office there in town. As we wove our way through the traffic in downtown Chicago, I texted Emzee with shaking hands. I told her I had to cancel my KZM visit and gave an apologetic excuse about my lunch not agreeing with me, promising we’d raincheck soon. Afterward, I texted Stefan just in case he checked his phone.
Something bad has happened, I said.If you get this, I’m at my father’s office. I tapped out the address and hit send. Then I tried to make sense of everything I’d just heard.
For blocks I just stared out the window, hardly registering which streets we were turning onto, attempting to think straight. But every time I thought I had myself under control and ready to explain everything to my father in clear, simple words, I remembered Konstantin’s words.
“You need to keep your pants on around the merchandise.”
“If you want to sleep with our models, you need to do what our other clients do, and pay...”
“It’s time you learned where our money really comes from. Those girls are our livelihood.”
“They’re not earning their keep on the runway—they earn it on their backs.”
Every word I recalled sent a shiver of revulsion and disbelief down my spine. Konstantin was despicable. He needed to be stopped.
Thank god my father was in town. I felt a twinge of hope. He would know exactly what to do, and he would take action. Forced prostitution was an international crime, a crime against humanity. As a United States senator, my father would be able to pull in law enforcement and get KZ Modeling shut down. They’d rush in and save those girls—thosewomen—and send Konstantin straight to the International Criminal Court to be tried. I hoped he’d rot in jail.
The only relief I felt was that Luka had seemed as shocked as I was at the information his father had just imparted. I couldn’t imagine that Emzee knew, either. And there was no chance that Stefan knew about it. He couldn’t. Even if he could be cold or callous sometimes, he wasn’t the kind of person who would ever allow something like this. Or participate in it.
Konstantin was the creep of the family, but he was also the one in charge of KZ Modeling. The founder, owner, and C.E.O. All the criminal activity the agency was engaged in was clearly the reason he was so obsessed with maintaining control of the organization, not allowing any of his children to step in and take charge. The prostitution side-business he was running alongside KZM’s legitimate work had to be his project. His and his alone.
I had to roll down the window, let the cold air shock my cheeks and ruffle my hair. Just thinking about Konstantin and the way he’d always looked at me—like his eyes were skinning me alive—nauseated me all over again. No doubt, he saw me the same way he saw his models: as a piece of meat. Something he could use to serve his purposes and then discard afterward.
I was desperate to talk to my father. Desperate to expose Konstantin—to bring him to justice. Jail would be too good for him, but at least if he was locked up he could never hurt anyone ever again.
Just imagining the way he’d tricked these women, lied to them, offered them work and a career and a chance to make a life in this country—only to force them into his service. He’d taken ownership of their bodies and used them, profited off of them in so many ways. Without a second thought. I needed him far away and out of my life. Out of Stefan’s life.
Suddenly, I recognized the stone façade as we pulled up in front of my father’s office building. I fumbled as I paid the cab driver and then bolted for the doors. I needed to see my father. I needed to see him now. He would fix this. He would make it okay.
I could feel my hair falling out of its neat twist as I crossed the lobby. If I’d looked prim and put together at lunch, I was sure I was a mess now. When I glanced up and saw myself in one of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, I barely recognized myself.
Wide eyes, wild hair, no jacket. I must have left it in the cab. Or at KZM. I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was finding my father so he could deal with Konstantin.
In the elevator, I half-heartedly attempted to compose myself. I smoothed back my hair, re-twisted the knot and straightened my dress. My hands were still shaking, but I looked a little more presentable when I stepped onto my father’s floor.
Taking a deep breath, I knocked on his door. I probably should have texted or called him to make sure he was actually in the office, but I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I had barely been able to make it here in the first place.
Thankfully, I could hear a voice, mid-conversation, inside. It was likely my father was talking on the phone. I thought about waiting until he was done before trying again, but I didn’t have that kind of time.
