BLAZE
I’ve been spending all my free time opening the files we uncovered. They’re labeled in code, and my dad never entrusted me with the cypher. It’s been slow going, checking to see if I recognize the person on the video or not, then putting them into folders with proper labeling.
I’d better hope nobody hacks into my own computer, or I’m fucked.
So far, I’ve found a few politicians, a tech mogul who’s been in the news a lot lately, and many less public figures.
I find other files too, outside of the blackmail material. Videos from parties and events. They’re pointless, but I’m still surprised that some Kappa Alpha brothers ran a charity car wash event in the eighties, or that somebody’s wedding videos are on here.
There are videos from our mural painting last year here too, and I hear myself laughing and joking with my brothers.
It’s weirdly nostalgic. I didn’t think I cared that much about my frat brothers, but the memories kick up something inside of me. I close that video, and on a whim, I open up the Kappa Alpha group chat and send aMerry Christmasto everyone.
I don’t expect a response, so I’m surprised when Holden texts back,Merry Christmas, fuckers! Hope everybody’s getting sloshed tonight!
I laugh as more responses roll in. Even Asch manages to text“Merry Christmas,”along with a picture of Santa in a speedo at the beach.
Unfortunately, the files on the drive won’t take care of themselves. With a loud sigh, I turn back to my tablet and click on yet another video, with yet another person I don’t recognize.
This is going nowhere. None of this feels actionable.
I could talk to the dean. I’ve found his little pile of secrets already, and I can pressure him to threaten the others with expulsion if they don’t behave themselves. That would lead to other consequences, but… that’s a problem for future us.
I don’t like that idea at all.
I sort the nice videos into a separate folder, and I click on the next video with its semi random title.
I freeze when I see who’s seated at the table.
It’s me.
Or, not really me. It’s my father, fresh-faced at eighteen or nineteen. The resemblance is uncanny.
I pause the video and glance around my bedroom. I’d already checked for cameras, and I’ve got a screen protector on my tablet to prevent anyone from peering over my shoulder to see what’s on the screen, but I’m still paranoid that somehow I’m going to be caught.
I’ve kept the tablet on me 24/7 since I got home, because I’m not giving my dad an opportunity to hack it.
After double-checking that the door is locked, I take the tablet to the bed and pull the covers over both it and me. It’s silly, like I’m fifteen and about to watch porn in bed, but I’m too keyed up to risk anything.
I hit play, the video’s sound piping in through my earbuds.
“What’s your big, bad secret?” the person behind the camera asks.
My father keeps his head proud and his shoulders back. “I knocked up a girl.”
I frown. I expected something worse, after all the confessions of rape and murder. This is basically jay-walking in comparison.
Apparently the guy behind the camera is equally unimpressed, because he responds, “That’s it?”
My father doesn’t smile as he continues, “No. Her name was Jane Corroux.”
Wait.
What the fuck.
Jane Corroux? She’s Cedric Corroux’s sister. The Corroux are our main rivals in the NewVa region, and my father has never had a nice word to say about any of them.
“That’s still not that impressive,” the person behind the camera says, although I can tell he does know the significance of the name.
