Page 79 of My Beautiful Sin

I pull up my work email on my real computer, then forward the anonymous Terrance Myers email to the Flat Earth address. Once it shows up there, I forward it on to Nosey Parker.

And then, when it arrives in Nosey’s account, I finally—finally, click that URL, then cross my fingers as I hope that I didn’t just jump through all of those hoops for nothing.

The connection is ridiculously slow, and I tap my finger impatiently on the tabletop as the bar indicating the site’s loading moves with the speed of a snail across the screen

Finally, the site pops up. There’s text above an embedded video, currently paused. All I can see is an image of the Hastings Bank building and the blue arrow I need to click to play.

I use the trackpad to put the mouse in place as I read the short note:

Drone footage caught something interesting. Check the timestamp. Just a few hours before the assassination of Terrance Myers. Two figures rappelling down. Test run before the main event. Don’t let the fuckers get away with it. That’s not justice, it’s murder.

I read it twice, then even though I took a table where my back would be against Brewski’s exterior wall, I check for anyone looking over my shoulder. Because this is big—like holy fucking shit big—and there is no way in hell I’m going to lose a potential scoop of this magnitude.

Assuming, of course, that the video is what my mysterious benefactor says it is.

Please, I think. Please be real.

I draw a breath, then click play.

I watch, breathless, as the drone circles the bank building, finally focusing in on two figures rappelling down the side, just as I’d imagined it was done. As far as the police knew, there was only one person who descended the building at the time of the assassination, so I assume that the sender is correct and this is a test run.

The drone moves in closer, and I hold my breath, trying to get a look at the faces. I even put my finger on the trackpad, trying to zoom in, as if this were a map or something. I can’t, of course, but if I take a screenshot…

I pause the video long enough to do that, then zoom in on the image. But it’s far too pixelated. Frustrated, I let the video play some more. The two figures have almost reached the ground. They’re neck and neck, and the winner hits the ground only seconds before the loser. The drone isn’t recording sound, but something must have made a noise, because they both look up.

It would be a perfect shot for facial recognition, except for the fact that between the distance and the poor light, the images are terrible. There’s too much visual noise and pixelation, and I don’t have the skill set to fix it.

For a moment, I wonder if anyone does. Because surely whoever sent this to me would have tried. They want me to see the shooter, right? Does that mean that this is as good as the video gets? Or do they assume that reporters have magic powers, since in a movie, I’d probably tap a few arrow keys or write some code and get what I need.

As if.

I frown, trying to think of who I know with the skills to clean this up.

Or, correction, who might have the skills to teach me how to clean it up. I’m not ready to share this video. It’s too hot, and a leak could mean that someone scoops me on the story.

What I need is someone who has software I can use. Someone in graphic design or computer programming or, I don’t know, just a tech savvy genius.

Unfortunately, I haven’t got a clue, but I shoot a quick text to Roger asking if he does. Surely the magazine has needed to bump up the clarity of an image before.

His answer is both fast and unnerving.

We have someone on staff who used to code graphic design software. He says he wrote code back in the day that might help you. But you’re not going to like it.

Not going to like it? Is he crazy? Are you crazy? I write. Who?

This time, the answer takes longer. So long, I almost call him.

Corbin, he finally says. And he’s agreed to send you the software. But in exchange, he says you owe him one.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It’s like making a deal with the devil, but if Corbin’s software works, then I suppose it will be worth it.

Roger tells me he’ll get all the wheels in motion, then puts Corbin on the line. He explains that he needs to do some tweaking so I can run the software myself. Right now, it only works on his system since it interfaces with other software he has installed. I’d have to share the video, and I’m not willing to do that. To his credit, Corbin doesn’t argue. He promises to send me a list of additional software I’ll need, and to call when it’s ready so he can walk me through the installation and usage instructions.

He also mentions—every ten or so seconds—how nice it feels to know that I’m in his pocket.

I refrain from calling him an asshole, or worse. It’s a testament to how much I want this story. And I figure if I can handle prostrating myself to my sworn enemy, then I can survive anything.