Everyone else gets clued in as the second video of our double feature begins to circulate.
I hadn’t gotten the chance to see it for myself yet, but the guys filled me in well enough. My phone goes off, and I open the message, experiencing it along with the other guests.
The video begins with someone riding a bicycle down one of the more remote backstreets of Ravenswood. The footage comes from a bodycam that Dash informed me was built into the necklace he gave Aria to wear. After what I told him last night about how Trent’s father had cornered me alone in the principal’s office, Dash was also correct in his assumption that the Eastons would be surveilling her property, because this was the first opportunity Roland had to confront Aria where no one else was present. She’s riding along the side of the road when an SUV drives past her, pulls off to the shoulder, and then comes to a stop, forcing her to one as well.
Aria backs up her bike, ready to move around them, but another vehicle pulls up alongside her at an angle, pinning her in. Unless she wants to ride off into the drainage ditch, she’s stuck.
The back windows of the SUV are tinted, so you can’t see who’s inside, but the door opens to reveal none other than Roland Easton himself. Once again, he offers nothing but an award-winning smile and friendly demeanor. Only, Aria isn’tfalling for it. She gets off the bike to lift it over the curb and starts to move towards the drainage ditch, but she doesn’t get far. Footsteps come up from behind her, and though I can’t see who, someone must grab her because she stumbles and staggers towards the vehicle in protest. She’s forced to let go of the bike, and as she swings around, I catch a glimpse of a meaty hand wrapped around her forearm as the other pulls out the cell phone she has secured inside the athletics armband on her bicep.
I don’t know how she doesn’t lose her shit. I felt claustrophobic being locked in the principal’s office with him. Aria’s not even giving that luxury as she’s forced into the back seat right beside Mr. Easton, who moves over to accommodate her. The door slams shut, and the locks immediately engage, leaving her uselessly yanking at the handle.
Perhaps Roland Easton lacks imagination, or he’s just found this template works for him, because the scene plays out eerily similarly to the one I experienced with him. Well, save for the threat itself. Those he apparently tailors to the victim.
Unlike me, Aria is the farthest thing from a misfit. She’s the quintessential All-American girl next door who’s as sweet as apple pie and as blond and gorgeous as a Barbie doll. Trying to undercut her potential claims by using her reputation wouldn’t work here. And since she doesn’t have any skeletons in her closet he’s dug up, the douchenozzle goes after her the only way he can.
He consults his phone, nodding as if he’s impressed. “I see here your mother’s a nurse, going on nineteen years now. Exemplary record. But I also see she’s had to put in more time at the hospital since your father passed away.”
His tone shifts to something more somber—contemplative—and the recognition sends chills racing up my spine.
Here it comes…
“All those extended hours and double shifts take a toll. Who knows what could happen? Documentation mistakes, failure to properly monitor, medication errors, perhaps?” The emphasis on that last one makes it clear this isn’t just an observation. It’s prophetic. “I’ve donated a great deal of money to St. Mary’s in the past, and I have eyes, ears, and helping hands all over the hospital. I would hate to hear about a patient accidentally getting double doses or even someone else’s medication altogether, especially one they may be allergic to. A mistake like that could cost a nurse her career, and I don’t even want to think about the lawsuit for medical malpractice.”
Son.
Of.
A.
Bitch.
I’m all too relieved to have gone to County General for both of my hospital visits, because the idea of Roland Easton’s henchmen lurking over my patient bed with a syringe is enough to give me nightmares.
Just watching the footage makes me want to peel my skin off from ever having been in the same room as that man. And the longer he talks, the worse the sensation gets.
Apparently, the only victims who get offered payouts are those who might have a case that can be argued in court. I.e., the injuries I sustained in the locker room or the witnesses to Aria being taken out of Trent’s bedroom.
The dollar amount Mr. Easton writes on the slip of paper he hands over to Aria may not be as high as mine, but it’s still nothing to sneeze at.
And it’s all there.
The extortion.
The bribery.
The admission of guilt.
All caught in high definition.
Game, set, match.
Chief Nohl has no choice but to take out his handcuffs and declare the sweetest words to my ears, “Roland Easton, you’re under arrest.”
EPILOGUE
LOVE ME LIKE YOU DO
3 WeeksLATER
