Chapter 171

Hugo looks back at me with an expression so unreadable, I wonder if he’s even going to answer my request. But he must, right? I mean, why even bother agreeing to this meeting if he intends to shoot me down?

“I don’t have concrete proof myself,” Hugo admits. “But you are certainly not the only one who is suspicious. By all accounts, he should never have risen so quickly, given his lack of direct contacts within the political sphere.”

Hugo lifts his elbows onto the table and leans forward. “I also have questions regarding his finances. How does a generous, selfless man become as rich as he did just from running an orphanage?”

Hugo has no idea how close he is to the truth, at least as far as I understand it.

“I have no evidence, but for him to gain so much money twenty years ago, and to garner so much power now, there has to be something shady going on.” Hugo sighs. “My guess is he has blackmail on some of the Whisperers, but I have no idea who he would target specifically or with what.”

That makes sense. If Edward had blackmail on the Whisperers that would force them to shift power onto him, maybe even moving their votes away from Miles. That would even encourage them to use more illegal means to do so. Anything to protect their own skins.

The orphanage was a front, as Hugo suspects, for a den of terrible actions and abuse, all of which Edward participated in and took money for, if my shaky memories are true.

I hate to even think it, but I suppose it is possible that some of the unwelcome visitors to the orphanage could have been Whisperers. Edward could be blackmailing them with proof of their depravity.

But how? It would take insurmountable proof to bring people as powerful as the Whisperers into line.

Only something like photographic or video evidence would…

In a flash, a memory resurfaces from deep within the recess of my mind. It rushes, full-speed to the forefront, leaving me dizzy and sick.

After the money exchanged hands…

Beyond the terrible things happening to me…

There was a video camera.

I remember it vividly now. Sometimes I would stare straight at it, placing all my focus on the lens to keep from thinking about what was happening to me in that moment.

In those moments, I was so detatched from myself that it’s no real surprise I repressed them.

But now that they’ve returned.

I’m going to be sick.

Pushing out from the booth, I rush to the bathroom, barely making it before I lose the few contents of my stomach straight into the toilet.

If Hugo had any reaction to my sudden disappearance, I didn’t see it. All I could see was that camera lens focused on me.

Edward took videos of my abuse.

Maybe for his personal collection. Or maybe… for future blackmail.

I shiver, and throw up again. This time my stomach is empty, so I only dry heave.

When I’m done, I sit on the bathroom floor. It’s relatively clean, likely because of the high rating of the establishment, but I still feel gross. At the same time, however, I can’t bring myself to care overmuch.

The memories are too strong for me to truly focus on anything else. And this new knowledge that videos exist of what happened to me…

I feel violated all over again.

A knock sounds on the bathroom door, then it opens a crack. “Esther?” Hugo calls. “Are you in here? Are you alright?”

I don’t answer, not yet ready to face Hugo.

Thinking back, I try to recall if the men I remember from the orphanage were any familiar faces I would know now. Powerful men with possible ties to the Whisperers.

Yet, as hard as I try, I can’t remember their specific faces. While Edward’s face stays with me, I’ve blurred out all the other men he passed me off to. Maybe I’m still repressing. Maybe I’d remember if I saw them again.

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

I rub at my forehead, a headache throbbing within my skull. It hurts to remember, to try to remember.

Eventually, from either my brain subconsciously trying to protect me or from sheer exhaustion, a wall seems to build in my mind, blocking away those years from my youth.

The more I try to remember, the less I seem to be able to.

“Esther?” Hugo calls again, more urgently. Then, he enters. “Esther,” he says, moving closer. He’s right outside my stall door. It’s open. He’s looking down, seeing the state I’m in. Immediately, he kneels beside me. “You were sick.”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a cold?”

“No.”

Hugo presses his mouth hard together. He’s an intelligent man, observant and careful. I don’t know how much he’s already pieced together about me and Edward and maybe even the orphanage, but with the way he’s looking at me, pity in his eyes, I suspect he might know it all somehow.

That’s impossible, I realize.

“I was at the orphanage,” I tell Hugo.

His eyes widen slightly, and then, I see the realization hit him. That was the final puzzle piece he needed. Everything slides into place now.

“It was a front,” he says.

“Yes.”

“He hurt you.”

“Not just me.” I think of Daphne and want to be sick again. She must still be suffering, married to such a monster.

“The blackmail?”

“There were others,” I say. Swallowing down the bile, I add, “He recorded.”

“Shit,” Hugo says.

I agree wholeheartedly.

“I’m sorry, Esther,” he says, as if any of this is his fault.

“I want to go home,” I say, but what I mean is I want Miles. Being with Hugo is somewhat calming. Hugo is a friend and I know he will never hurt me. But with this memory, this revelation, I feel exposed and vulnerable all over again.

I want to be near the person who makes me feel the safest. Protected. Happy.

“I’ll call Miles, but if he comes and gets you there will be a scene,” Hugo says, thinking. “I’ll take you to him instead.” Looking at me, he adds, “Let’s clean you up a little first.”

Helping me stand, he leads me to the sink where he dampens a paper towel and uses it to clean up around my mouth. With a separate paper towel, he wipes the sweat from my forehead.

The rest is a bit of a blur. Hugo helps me to his car. He calls Miles. They agree to meet at my place.

Miles has a key to my house, so when we get there, he’s already inside.

Hugo helps me to the door, his arm around my waist. Before I can even press my key into the lock, the door swings open, inward, revealing Miles who looks wild with worry.

I can see as he processes the scene in front of him, taking in the state of me, pale and sweaty, and Hugo’s arm hooked around my wait.

It takes him no time at all to reach the absolute wrong conclusion.

He grabs me from Hugo and brings me safely to his own side. Then, he snaps, “What the hell did you do to her?”