HUMILIATION AND REVENGE

Part 2

They destroyed her life. Now it's time to settle the score

by G. Lawerence

In the concluding episode of Humiliation and Revenge, we find John seeking retribution on those who tried to destroy Emma's life a year before. Though this is not the original ending written for this story, but there are still satisfying elements. Please note that this story is fiction. It is a fantasy not intended to be realistic. All characters are over 18 years old.

* * * * * *

The blonde woman stepped off the bus in downtown Langsford, looking at the old brick buildings and dilapidated city park. She was elegant at 5'7, with firm breasts and an hourglass figure. Her tight red dress displayed an athletic build. She saw a nightclub called Donna's Landing and strolled in.

"Excuse me, are you looking for help?" the blonde asked.

"Who are you? What can you do?" Donna asked, startled by such a luscious young woman walking in so early in the day. 50-years old, stout with bobbed graying hair, the tavern owner was always looking for new opportunities.

"I am Shyna Svoboda. I can take orders. Serve customers. A little bit of bartending," Marta answered in an exotic accent.

"You're quite the looker. What are you doing here?" Donna inquired.

"I was travelling cross country. Just out on the road for a bit of adventure, but I'm running short of money."

Donna took a step back, looking the stranger over. She was on the road with no friends or family. This had potential.

"In this state, no one under 21 is allowed to work in a nightclub," Donna explained. "The penalties are severe. How old are you, honey?"

"I just turned 21 a few weeks ago, ma'am," Marta replied.

"Be back at six o'clock," Donna offered. "And let me give you an address. It's a motel just down the street. Give them my name and they'll take care of you."

"Thank you, ma'am," the pretty woman said, disappearing out the door.

"You can make money with that one," a deep voice said from the shadows.

"What? Who are you? Where are you hiding?" Donna said, looking around the empty bar.

A middle-aged man in a heavy gray coat came forward. He was stocky with shaggy black hair and an eye-patch. "I'll tell you more after we've had a drink."

"We're not open yet," Donna replied.

"You'll want to hear this," he insisted. Donna poured two whiskey sours, pushing one toward the mysterious man.

"My name is Keynan Wynslow," he said. "I specialize in unique shows for high-end clients."

"What sort of shows? We aren't Las Vegas."

"About a year ago, you had a special event. A young woman was stripped naked, humiliated, and raped on your stage."

"It wasn't rape. She consented to everything," Donna insisted.

"Whatever. Do you think you can do it again? Put on a show like that?"

"I have no idea where the slut went. She disappeared," Donna answered.

"It doesn't need to be the same slut. That ripe piece of ass who just walked out of here would do fine. But you might suggest the other bitch is coming back for an encore. If you could get the same audience as before, my client will pay you $40,000."

"The same audience?"

"My client is addicted to the videos they posted online. He knows all their faces. Their voices. And the wonderful insults they shouted. You might call him a devoted fan."

"Pay me $75,000," Donna countered.

"I will pay you $50,000, and that's my final offer," Wynslow said.

"You've got a deal, mister," Donna agreed, shaking his hand. "It will take a few days to set up. Will Saturday work?"

"Saturday works fine," the stranger agreed. "My client will slip in at the last minute. Have a table for him in the back. He'll want to stay anonymous, of course. He can't have a personal connection with such a distasteful display."

"I understand. My assistant, Belinda, will see to it personally."

"That other bitch, what was her deal?" Wynslow asked.

"Her friends came to me with an offer. It wasn't much money, only $3,000, but it sounded like fun. She was so easy to manipulate. So naïve. And you've seen the videos. She proved to be quite the performer." Donna chuckled at the memory.

"Why would her friends do that?"

"I don't know and I don't care. I got the $3,000 and kept another $200 in tips that she left behind. The bitch ran out of here naked and crying."

"My client will want to see that again. Don't disappoint us," Wynslow warned.

A few minutes later, Keynan Wynslow, whose real name was Jimmy Hopkins, chief of security for Trexadon Industries, walked down the quiet street. Like most old factory towns, it had seen better days. Though many storefronts were empty, there was some new business. He met a beautiful young woman outside the Lazy Cow Motel, drawing her off to the side.

"Hello, Marta. It looked like the introduction went well," Jimmy said,

"It was perfect. She couldn't take her creepy eyes off me," Marta replied.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this? Mr. Latimer will compensate you either way."

"I want to do this," Marta said. "Mr. Latimer has been so kind to me and my family. And Emma, too. When I heard what they did to her, it made me so angry. Donna and her friends are monsters. Monsters like those in my home country who came into our villages and raped us. They need to pay. I can't wait to take them down."

* * * * * *

Emma sat in her new bedroom crying. She wasn't sure why. The suite was five times bigger than the entire downtown apartment she had been living in, and twenty times bigger than her old room at the boarding house. There was a king-size bed, lush carpeting, original artworks by Kusama and Richter, and big picture windows. It was just one of six bedrooms in a sprawling villa on a luxurious estate. Which her newlywed husband owned. When she had first met John, she thought he was a struggling middle manager at the new factory in Tacoma. She fell in love and married him, not knowing he was Jackson John Latimer, the 9th richest man in America.

"What's wrong, honey?" Janet asked, entering with a box of Emma's things being moved from the old apartment.

Janet's new friend was young, just 24 years old, 5'5 and 120 pounds, with luscious brown hair and big brown eyes. Before evil people had sent Emma's life off the rails, she had just graduated from New York University with a fine arts degree. When John met her, she was a waitress in a shabby Tacoma coffee shop earning minimum wage.

Janet was almost 20 years older, in her early 40s, with long blonde hair and a nicely toned figure trimmed by swimming, tennis, and golf. In the few months since they'd met, Janet had come to love Emma like the little sister she never had. It didn't hurt that their husbands had been best friends since high school.

"Nothing is wrong," Emma said, sniffling. Janet took a seat on the bed next to her, holding her hand.

"I know this is a lot. You've gone from an 800-square foot apartment to a huge estate overnight," Janet said. "But it's just geography. John is still the man you love. And he loves you with a passion I've never seen."

"He's wonderful, but I know he's planning something. About Langsford. I don't want him to get in trouble."

Janet needed to choose her words carefully. After what those foul bitches had done to Emma in that dive bar almost a year before, even a harmless remark could be triggering.

"I realize this is all new to you," Janet said. "But John and Harry are powerful men. They operate in a ruthless industry. Enemies who try to hurt them, and enemies who hurt the people they love, can't be allowed to prosper. It would set an unacceptable precedent."

"But what is he doing? What can he do against an entire town?"

"Jimmy Hopkins is in charge of the operation, dear. And believe me, no one fucks with Jimmy Hopkins and gets away with it. He has dozens of operatives, the best in the business, and he hates predators who abuse women. When he heard what your former friends did to you, I'd never seen him so enraged. Don't worry about John and Harry, they have the greatest organization in the world. And the prettiest wives."

Emma smiled at Janet's joke.

"That's better. Now you have a big house to organize. A staff to manage. Art galleries to sponsor. And you're trying to get pregnant," Janet recalled. "That is more than enough for any woman. Let's allow the men to get their revenge and life will go back to normal."

"Normal?" Emma said, looking out the window at a dazzling stone patio, an infinity pool, two tennis courts, a blue lake, tall pine forests, and twenty acres of rolling green hills, all of which now belonged to her. "I could live to be a million years old and I don't see how this will ever be normal."

Janet gave her a hug.

* * * * * *

"Hello again, Mr. Stottlemyer," Gregg Jenkins said, taking a seat in the coffee shop booth. "Please allow me to introduce my associate, Mr. Jason Longborn." They were in downtown Langsford, a small factory town on the northern Oregon border. There was little in the rundown hamlet worth bragging about.

50-years old, tall with receding gray hair, Gregg was finely tailored in an expensive Italian suit. The young lawyer with him was still in his early 30s, dressed more casually. The coffee shop wasn't crowded so late in the morning.

"Yes, Smithers has spoken of you," Stottlemyer acknowledged, rising briefly to shake Jason's hand. The bank manager was having bacon, eggs, and pancakes. The two out-of-towners were just having coffee. "I understand the factory is doing wonderfully under the new management."

"We've seen improvement, which is why Trexadon is making such a large financial commitment," Jason replied. "How is the bank's new loan program going?"

"It's been remarkable. Nearly every old loan in town has been converted, and small businesses have taken out new loans, too," Stottlemyer answered. "And why not? Who doesn't want a real estate loan at 1% interest?"

"Even though the loans are payable on demand?" Jason inquired.

"With all the money Trexadon is pumping into our economy, property values are very strong," Stottlemyer replied.

"Now that the factory pension fund has been transferred to Rabbit's Feet, my job here is done," Jason said. "I'm leaving this afternoon. It may be months before I return."

"I'm wrapped up here, too," Gregg informed, picking up his briefcase. "We're sorry to miss the big show everyone is talking about."

"Show?" Stottlemyer asked.

"Something about a stripper making a return engagement," Gregg clarified. "The daughter of your client, Melvin Coleman, if I heard correctly."

Stottlemyer looked embarrassed, swishing his eggs. "Mel was sorry to lose his daughter like that. Sometimes girls go bad," he said.

"Do many of your town's daughters become notorious prostitutes?" Jason asked.

"Emma wasn't really one of us," Stottlemyer defended. "She left for New York and developed an attitude. All ambitious. Showing off. Hobnobbing with artists. Langsford wasn't good enough for her anymore. She wanted a job in a big city. The whole town is glad to be rid of her."

"So, the stories are true? Your daughter and her friends decided to teach her a lesson?" Jason inquired.

"We don't speak of it," Stottlemyer replied. "But if she's coming back for an encore, you can be sure she'll get a warm reception."

"Wish we could be there," Jason said. "It sounds delicious."

* * * * * *

"Emma seems a little anxious," John worried, sitting in the corporate boardroom with Harry Rawlings and Jimmy Hopkins. "I don't want to tell her about our plans for Langsford, but she suspects something."

"John, we've been best friends for twenty-five years," Harry said. "Can I say something?"

"Of course," John answered.

"When we first started this, I wasn't sure where it was going, but now that I've seen those videos and read the reports, I want to hang these bastards out to dry worse than you do. And Emma needs to be there. She needs to see for herself that justice has been done."

"No, that can't happen," John disagreed. "She's too delicate. Her therapist says--"

"Sorry, Mr. Latimer, but Harry is right," Jimmy interrupted. "You asked me not to do a background check on Emma while you were dating. You were concerned about the intrusion on her privacy. But I have everything now. She was a smart, hopeful young woman with big dreams taken down by jealous parasites. Taken down with a viciousness I've rarely seen. Those criminals must be brought to account, and Emma needs closure. Believe me, I know how this works. You remember what happened to my sister."

"Jim, I know bad things happen. I'm just worried that this might be triggering for Emma."

"It won't be. She's a strong woman," Jimmy answered. "And you should know that even if you decide to back off, it's not going to stop me. I'm Emma's friend. This is personal now."

"Please listen, John," Harry urged. "We love Emma, too. She deserves the chance to move forward."

John needed to think. He had always been quick to make decisions. It had only taken him seconds to decide that Emma was the love of his life and that he would do anything for her.

"What does Janet say?" John asked.

"Janet is angrier than any of us. She wants this for Emma and will be at her side every minute," Harry answered.

"Okay. We've come this far. Let's head for the finish line," John agreed.

* * * * * *

As the Saturday night event approached, Donna took Marta into her back office.

"I need to see your driver's license for my records," Donna instructed. Marta reached into her small purse, handing it over. "Okay, I see your name is Shyna Svoboda and you are recently turned 21-years old. Would you like to make some extra money tonight?"

"I would love to make extra money for my trip. How?" Marta encouraged.

"My regular dancer can't perform tonight. Can you take her place? There won't be any nudity, but there will be a revealing costume. And free drinks. You can keep all the tips."

"Yes, I'm a good dancer," Marta said. "I had ballet classes in grade school."

"You'll be wonderful," Donna agreed. "Now find a bucket. I want you to mop the floors, wipe down the tables, and scrub the toilets in the bathrooms. I'll have your costume before showtime."

"Thank you, Donna. Thank you so much," Marta said, running off. Belinda and Brad emerged from the adjoining room. Belinda was 30-years old with poorly dyed red hair. Brad had recently turned 25, the former high school football star growing round in the middle.

"What do think?" Donna asked.

"She's annoying. All bubbly and agreeable. I'll be doubling the doses in her drinks tonight," Belinda replied.

"She's hot. I can hardly wait to fuck her," Brad responded. "I've lined up a few more volunteers. Three were in Samantha's wedding party, including her husband, and a friend of Katy's. It's going to be a great show."

"Better than Emma?" Donna asked.

"Nothing will be better than Emma," Brad said. "That was personal. I've spread word around that Emma is coming back for another slutty performance, so we'll have a full house. Judy, Tricia, and Samantha are especially excited. So are Katy and her gal pals. I told them Emma will allow herself to be tied up and beg for their forgiveness. They are bringing paddles and whips. Mike wants to fuck her in the ass this time."

That got a good round of guffaws.

"They can use the whips on Shyna," Donna said. "She has a sexy body that's begging for punishment."

Patrons began arriving at eight even though the show wouldn't start until nine. The bar was doing good business. The rumor that Emma was back created immense excitement. Marta was taking orders and serving drinks, not hinting that she was the night's entertainment. Donna kept an eye on her, barely able to contain her amusement of what was to come. Belinda stayed behind the bar, close to the vial of drugs. Brad watched from the wings.

"Is it almost time?" Marta asked.

"Almost. Let's get your costume," Donna said, taking her to the back office. "Remember, I can't pay you much, but you'll make about $200 in tips."

"I need the money," Marta replied.

"Then we understand each other. Please take off your clothes and put them in this locker," Donna instructed.

"All of them?" Marta questioned.

"Every stitch. We need to keep your clothes safe. Put your travel bag and purse in there, too. We don't want anyone stealing your wallet."

"I see. Of course," Marta said, slowly stripping off her shoes, blouse, and skirt. Donna waited patiently while the bra was removed, and then the panties. Marta stood nude before her, hands crossed over her perky 34C cup breasts. The young woman's luscious curves would inspire the audience. She was waxed, leaving no secrets.

"You are quite lovely. You'll do very well tonight," Donna complimented, shutting the locker and securing the padlock.

"Everything I own is in there," Marta said, sounding worried.

"Yes, Shyna, I know," Donna acknowledged. "Now let's get you fitted."

Marta was surprised how skimpy the purple costume was. A tank top, a very short skirt, a thong, and black high heel shoes.

"This is all? What about a bra?" Marta asked.

"You won't be needing a bra," Donna answered.

"I'll be bouncing all over the place."

"Audiences love that."

"People will see my butt when I bend over," Marta complained.

"Which will make for bigger tips."

"How many people are we expecting? We already had thirty when I was taking orders."

"Hopefully sixty or more. I want a full house for this one. And we will have a special guest sitting near the door. You might wish to do something extra naughty for him."

"Naughty?" Marta said, stepping back.

"Just relax. Here, I made a drink for you," Donna offered. "Now I need to check with Belinda. Go behind the curtain and get ready when I make the introduction."

Donna returned to the bar, pleased with herself. Every chair was soon filled with standing room only in the back. She and Brad had tracked down every witness to Emma's shame just as her sponsor wanted. And if Shyna took in $200 in tips, Donna intended to keep that money, too. Not to mention the $300 in the gullible girl's wallet. And her clothes. Then Donna went to stand on stage, holding up her hands for attention.

Half a block away, in the backseat of a black limousine, Emma was watching, holding hands with Janet. John and Harry were on their phones. They heard Jimmy Hopkin's voice in the background.

"How are you holding up, dear?" Janet asked.

"I'm scared to death. I saw all of them go in there. My sister and her friends. High school classmates. Judy and Tricia, and that rat, Samantha. All grinning and happy. Do they really think I'll dance for them again?"

"It's what those degenerates are hoping for," Harry said, looking out at the quiet downtown street. The men were coordinating with charts, lists, and diagrams. There was video surveillance from inside and outside the club.

"I don't understand any of this. How is it supposed to work?" Emma asked.

"Emmie, we've been holding back the details for a reason," John explained. "Your therapist says this could be very difficult for you. We need to be careful."

"But what can you do? You can't tie the doors shut and set them on fire like Daenerys Targaryen did in Game of Thrones," Emma questioned.

"Do you want them set on fire?" Janet asked.

"I wouldn't shed any tears. I hate them all. But I'd never want you to get in trouble because of me," Emma answered, clutching Janet's hand.

"No one is going to be set on fire, dearest. Just have a little patience and we'll put this goddamn town behind us forever," John offered. His phone lit up. He checked the text message. "Okay, here we go. It's show time."

* * * * * *

"Okay, it's show time," Donna said from the stage. "Emma is running a little late, but we have a substitute in the meantime you may like even better. Allow me to introduce our newest star, Miss Shyna Svoboda. Please give her a round of applause."

Though disappointed, the crowd clapped and was then stunned when a beautiful young woman walked out in a skimpy costume. They recognized their waitress without realizing how striking she could be under the bright stage lights. As the music began, Donna faded to the back of the room where Keynan Wynslow was drinking with a large man wearing a mask.

"You've done well," Wynslow commended. "But my client wishes to see a vigorous performance. At least what you did to the Emma bitch. Are you going to deliver?"

"I have five men ready to fuck her or get their dicks sucked," Donna assured him. "And the little twat has no clue what's coming. We'll find volunteers to finger and spank her. Little sister Katy will get to use her whip. Then we'll throw the stupid bitch out on the street naked like we did Emma. Everything she owns is in my locker, and she won't get anything back." Donna showed the key. The masked man nodded with approval.

"We anticipate your success," Wynslow said, raising his glass.

The first song was ending onstage. Donna rushed back, jumping up for attention.

"Everybody! Everybody! It might help to know our dancer tonight is a very close friend of Emma's. Very, very close, if you know what I mean," Donna announced with a wink. "We understand they may be getting married. Let's be sure to show her our appreciation."

The crowd booed and hissed.

"But Donna, I don't know this Emma you're talking about," Marta whispered.

"It's all part of the act. Don't worry," Donna replied.

The second song began with a faster beat. Marta was having trouble keeping up in the spiked high heels and had to kick them off. The audience jeered and began making rude comments. Donna noticed the frightened look on the woman's face. She barely got through the song.

"Wasn't that wonderful?" Donna said, applauding. "But I think this skirt is too restricting. Shall we make it easier for her?"

"Easier! Easier!" the mob chanted. Donna ripped the skirt off, the threads already loosened. She brought her dancer another drink. Marta took a sip, but her shaking hands spilled the rest.

"I want to go home," Marta said, her frightened eyes scanning the crowded room.

"No, you made a commitment. You will see it through," Donna insisted. The third song started. Dozens of phones were taking photos.

Marta struggled to dance despite the catcalls. Strange men were creeping to the foot of the stage, gawking at her thong and bouncing tits in the tank top. She began to cry. It spurred the crowd on.

"Strip her!" Katy shouted, jumping up. "Strip my sister's bitch naked!"

"Oh, no. No. Please don't," Marta replied.

Brad jumped on stage, pretending to dance with her, and suddenly tore off the tank top. Marta covered her breasts, trying to flee. Brad grabbed her long blonde hair, keeping her in place, and pulled the thong down to her ankles, revealing everything. The crowd cheered.

Two more men came on stage, one of them Samantha's husband, egged on by his bride.

"Fuck Emma's whore!" Samantha urged. "Fuck her hard!"

Marta was upended, the thong pulled completely free, and her clothes thrown into the audience as souvenirs.

"Too bad Emma isn't here yet," Brad said. "Doing both of you lesbian bitches at the same time would be epic." He forced the woman down, opened his pants, and rammed his dick in her mouth. The men holding her made sure Marta couldn't break free. As he had with Emma, Brad came in her face. Mike crawled on stage. Judy, Tricia, and Katy followed. Their victim was assaulted in every manner as she cried for them to stop.

"Take all the photos you want, folks," Donna shouted. "Tag them Shyna Svoboda and send them to Emma's contacts. Eventually they'll get back to Emma and show her what we think of her slut!"

The cameras stayed busy. Donna floated to the back of the room as Wynslow and his patron were leaving.

"Well done," Wynslow said. "My client is pleased. You will be paid in full."

"Thank you. Maybe we can do this again?" Donna smiled.

"That is not very likely," Wynslow replied, going out the front door.

The entertainment on stage had run its course. Donna pulled her pathetic victim to her feet and pointed to the exit. "Run, you goddamn bitch, run. You better reach the bus station before your fans do. If you're not out of town in ten minutes, we're coming for you."

"But Donna, my clothes. Why did you do this to me?" Marta screeched.

"Run!" Donna said, using Katy's whip to smack her ass. Marta stumbled up the center aisle through the vicious mob and out the front doors, disappearing into the downtown street.

"Well, I'd say that went well," Donna boasted. "A round of free drinks on the house."

The party was still in full swing when the first police officers were seen at the door. More came in through the back. Twenty men in long tan coats where with them, apparently private security. A man emerged from the pack. Donna recognized him.

"Wynslow? What is this?" she asked as the room fell silent. His hair was short now. He was no longer wearing an eye-patch.

"You've mistaken me for someone else, Mrs. Livingston. My name is James Hopkins," he answered, flashing a state detective badge. "You will all place your cell phones on the tables and move back toward the walls. Make no sudden moves."

One unlucky patron, Emma's former boyfriend Mike, reached to retrieve his phone. A baton came down hard, breaking his fingers. The once boisterous audience was herded against the walls, looking confused as their phones were gathered into evidence bags. Then two women officers appeared at the front door with a blonde female fully dressed and wrapped in a blanket.

"Do any of you recognize this girl?" Jimmy asked.

"Yes, she was our dancer tonight. Everything was consensual," Donna answered.

"Consensual? Tell us, everyone, is that how it was? Was the sex consensual?" Jimmy pressed. Several of the police officers had cameras. The patrons realized they were being recorded.

"Yes, it was consensual," most of them answered. Others were quiet, not happy with the question.

"Were photos taken?" Jimmy continued. "Were any photos messaged outside this room? Were they tagged?"

"Of course. Why not?" Donna replied. "This is my bar, and she was my entertainer."

"Can any of you verify that? We have your phones, so don't lie," Jimmy pressed.

"Yes, it was her. So what?" Brad said, turning around to protest.

"I'm sure everyone in this bar knows that under the Manford Act it's a felony to allow anyone under 21 to perform in a nightclub where alcohol is served," Jimmy explained. "It's a Class A misdemeanor to photograph a performer under 21 without her written consent. That is six months to a year in county jail. And anyone trafficking in such photographs, particularly where an assault or rape has occurred, is guilty of a Class B felony with sex offender attached to their permanent record. And we know your victim was raped here tonight. The video and audio evidence is insurmountable. So, you want to know why that's important? Let's find out."

Jimmy walked to the top of the aisle where the girl was standing, offering a sympathetic expression.

"Honey, what's your name?" he asked.

"Shyna Svoboda, sir. That lady needed a dancer, and--"

"That's okay, you don't need to say anything more. We have the video," Jimmy said. "Honey, how old are you?"

"Eighteen, sir. My birthday was last week," she shyly responded.

"Eighteen? No, that's a lie!" Donna shouted. "She's twenty-one! I have her ID in my locker."

Even as she said it, a private detective emerged from the back office with a bundle of clothes and a duffel bag. "Do these belong to her?" the detective asked.

"Yes. I watched her put them in the locker," Donna confirmed.

The detective rummaged through the pile, pulled out a purse, and drew out an ID card.

"It reads Shyna Svoboda," he said. "Eighteen years old."

"No, no. That can't be," Donna insisted.

"Miss Svoboda, will you please place your hand on this scanner?" Jimmy requested, producing a portable identification device. "This will try to match your fingerprints."

"Yes, sir," Shyna agreed, seeing the digital light run back and forth under her fingertips. Jimmy watched for the results. The screen blinked green. He held up the device for everyone to see.

"Her identity is confirmed by the national database," Jimmy declared. "This girl is Shyna Svoboda, age eighteen years and seven days, a naturalized American citizen. This is a blatant violation of the Manford Act."

"She's twenty-one! Twenty-one!" Donna shouted.

"Officer Rollins, will you search this woman?" Jimmy requested.

The policewoman stood behind Donna. "Do you have anything dangerous in your pockets?" she asked.

"No. Nothing," Donna said. The officer reached into the back pocket of Donna's jeans and yelped, pulling away with two bloody fingers.

"She has razor blades in her pocket," the policewoman painfully complained.

"Strip her! Strip all of them!" Jimmy ordered. "Put them in handcuffs. Read them their rights. This entire room is under arrest for felony assault and trafficking in pornography."

"No! We didn't do this!" a young college woman cried. "It was Katy! Katy and Donna. And Brad. And the others. Mindy and I only watched."

"Suzanne, don't say that. I had nothing to do with this," Katy denied.

"You've gotten us arrested, you damn bitch! Arrested for your sick games all because you hate your sister," Susanne replied. "Officer, we'll tell you everything. We'll tell you how they drugged and raped Emma Coleman, too. Please give Mindy and I a break."

"You know about Emma Coleman?" Jimmy asked.

"Yes, everyone in this room knows what happened," the frightened young woman replied. "And they planned to attack Shyna. Samantha, Judy, Tricia, Katy, all of them! They've been planning it for days. We have the text messages on our phones."

Jimmy saw many heads anxiously nodding. Plenty of witnesses were ready to come forward.

"We can work something out for those willing to cooperate," Jimmy offered. He separated twenty of the most promising informants from the pack, Trexadon's attorneys already knowing who the weak links were. The rest were stripped naked by thirty officers and private detectives, handcuffed, read their rights, and lined up for transport.

"The buses will be here soon. Let's get them outside," Jimmy instructed.

The march began, Belinda being the first one out of the bar. She was shocked to find television cameras and a score of reporters recording her naked perp-walk. The street was filled with spectators.

"Here comes the first one! Get the best angle," a media producer yelled. The press closed in.

"Ma'am, what is your name? How long have you been a sex trafficker?" a reporter shouted as Belinda emerged into the glaring lights. She was parked on the curb as photos were taken, keeping her head low.

Samantha came next, trying to hide her face by ducking down. The handcuffs made covering up impossible. Her large breasts bounced back and forth. The rest of her was on full display. Wanting to scream, she was brought before the cameras and asked the same question.

"Aren't you Samantha Stottlemyer? Isn't your father the town banker?" a reporter shouted. "What does he think of you running a prostitution ring?" Samantha's husband was with her, crying as he looked at a twenty-year prison sentence.

And then Samantha saw something that astounded her. Emerging from the crowd was a familiar face she hadn't seen in a year.

"Emma?" Samantha said. Judy, Tricia, and Mike were brought forward, equally startled to see their old friend.

"You remember my name? How kind of you," Emma replied. With her were two tall forceful men in expensive suits and an elegantly dressed woman, all standing close. They stared at the disgraced prisoners with contempt.

"You did this to us?" Samantha asked. "You ruined our lives?"

"I did not do this," Emma replied, shocked to see the whimpering prisoners cringing before her in utter humiliation. The harsh lighting left nothing to the imagination. The camera flashes recording the scene were relentless. "But you may remember, I accepted the job at Donna's bar that night to help you. Because I thought you were my friend. I thought all of you were my friends. But it was a trap to destroy me. Was I such a threat to you?"

"Please, Emma. Please don't do this," Judy cried. "We're sorry. We're sorry for what we did."

"Are you sorry for paying Donna to drug me?" Emma said. "Are you sorry for having Brad and Mike rape me? On stage. In front of the whole town."

"Yes, but we didn't know it would go that far," Judy answered, shrinking back.

"They did it. Donna and Brad. And the others. It was Samantha's idea," Tricia said, realizing too late that they had just confessed before the entire press corps. As they were being led away, John stepped forward.

"My wife didn't do this to you. I did," he whispered. "I'm going to make sure all of you sick fucks go to prison for a very long time. With tight little asses like yours, I'm sure you'll be star attractions."

With more suspects parked on the curb and the press shouting questions, Katy was brought out among the last group. She stopped, standing naked before her big sister.

"You fucking bitch," Katy swore.

"Thank you, Katy. Those are wonderful last words between us," Emma responded. "After you are expelled from college, let's see what kind of jobs you get with sex offender on your record." Katy tried to kick Emma with her bare foot but missed.

"I still hate you," Katy said as she was drawn away.

"Just a moment, little sister," Emma said, raising her phone to take a photo. "I'll be sure to send this to Dad."

Brad was one of the final removals, fighting the handcuffs, not pleased with the press and photographers.

"That's him!" a reporter shouted. "He was the first one to rape the girl. Let's make his picture the headline for the story."

Brad saw Emma but didn't say anything. Not without a lawyer.

"Enjoy the next twenty years in prison, Brad," Emma said with quiet satisfaction.

Donna was the last one out of the building, totally nude and roughly handled due to the razor blades. Razor blades she knew had been planted.

"You. Goddamn it, I should have known," Donna said.

"You ruined my life for $3,000. Was it worth it?" Emma asked.

"I still won. I got you. And the other lying bitch, too," Donna replied as she was pulled away. "I won! Do you hear me? I won!"

Two state police buses arrived. The naked prisoners were boarded in groups. Emma watched as her childhood friends, humiliated and destroyed, were headed for fingerprinting and booking. A strip search would not prove necessary. Janet came to hold her.

"They are the past, sweetheart," Janet whispered. "You have a new life now. A wonderful life with loving friends. Let's get out of here."

John and Harry helped Emma back to their limousine, finding her legs weak. It had been a stressful evening.

"How are you, dearest? What are you thinking?" John asked.

"Are they all going to prison?" she questioned.

"Not all of them," John answered. "Those who assaulted you are going to prison for a long time. Lesser offenders will turn state's evidence for lower sentences. That's why we scared them with the Manford Act. It wasn't violated, but by the time they learn that, we'll have all the confessions we need."

"Shyna is going to disappear," Harry explained. "After all, she was never even in the bar. But the accusations aren't going away. Everyone arrested tonight will have crippling lawyer fees to deal with."

"We shouldn't be concerned about that now," Janet said. "It's you we're worried about."

"I feel justice is being served, even if it's all very strange," Emma pondered. "They are bad people and would have continued to hurt others."

Harry's phone beeped. He stepped off to read the message, returning with a smile.

"That was Jason. It's game on," Harry said. "Phase two has started."

"Phase two?" Emma asked.

"We just closed the factory," Harry explained. "This town is now out of work, and the pension fund was put into a very bad investment. Their money is gone. With the factory shutdown, property values will plummet. Our bank will call in every loan and the borrowers have no way to pay them. We'll own this entire town by the end of the month."

"And your father's house is first on the list," Janet added. "Unless you don't want that?"

"I stopped being his daughter the night he locked me out naked while Katy's lynch mob was stalking me," Emma bitterly remembered. "When you put him out on the street, send him my regards."

They reached the car, the chauffeur opening the door. Emma saw Marta waiting inside wearing a thick robe and went to hug her.

"Thank you. Thank you so very much. I can't believe what you went through to help me," Emma said, starting to cry. "If there is anything I can ever do for you, just say it."

"I was so happy to give you justice. There is a special satisfaction in taking down such monsters," Marta replied. "And the ten million dollars Mr. Latimer gave me will help my family."

John, Janet, and Harry followed Emma into the backseat, using the bar unit to make drinks for everyone. "What Emma says is true. We'll always be in your debt. And Shyna's, too."

The car door opened again and 18-year-old Shyna Svoboda climbed in, the two sisters sitting side-by-side. Despite being just over two years apart in age, they were nearly identical.

"You were so brave, big sister," Shyna said, embracing her.

"I'm just glad it was me on that stage and not you," Marta replied. "You did so good playing the victim after Mr. Hopkins had us switch places."

"Jimmy searched the world to find two young ladies who looked so much alike," Harry said. "Then it was just a matter of planting Shyna's ID card in Donna's locker. We should give him a raise."

"Everyone worked very hard," Emma said with a sigh, snuggling up to John. "But for now, we should go home. I want private time with my husband. There is a more important project I'm working on."

The end.