I nodded. “My number’s listed because of the business, and my name’s right in the title. I don’t differentiate between work and personal—no point paying for two phones if I don’t need them.”
“Oh no!” Cheyenne stared at Wynn. “I don’t want them to know where I am.”
His tone gentled as he said, “If we go ahead with this petition, they’ll find out tomorrow. The parents have to be notified, by law.”
“Then maybe we shouldn’t.” She turned to me. “Just wait till I’m eighteen.”
“You could do that,” Wynn agreed. “It would mean not registering for school. Not being insured to drive. The biggest risk would be no health coverage and no treatment permission. And if your parents find out anyway and want to, they could prosecute Brooklyn for harboring a runaway. They could ask the local police to send you back.”
“Do you have to tell the law about me? Because of your job?”
Wynn shook his head. “Brooklyn’s paying me as his lawyer, so this meeting is confidential. If you were an endangered minor, I’d be required to report it, but you’re not.” He watched us calmly.
I told Cheyenne, “This is your call. I can’t imagine Dad’s going to drive out here and shoot us if he finds out where you are, but there’s risks both ways.”
Cheyenne frowned. “I suppose they’ll probably guess where I went. I said a few times I was going to run off and live with you, when I got mad at them.” She took a deep breath. “Fuck them. I want to do this legally. I want to see their faces when a judge tells them I’m not their property anymore.”
“You do know it won’t happen quite like that,” Wynn told her.
“Whatever. I don’t want to spend two months wondering if Dad will have the cops haul me home.” She nodded. “I want people to hear what he’s like.”
“We could still do it with a burner phone,” I suggested.
“Possibly,” Wynn agreed. “Would your father answer an unknown number?”
Cheyenne scoffed. “No way. He hates spammers. And he doesn’t do texts, never looks at them, so I can’t text ‘This is Cheyenne.’ Everyone in the community uses Signal for messaging, for security. If the phone rings with an unknown number he’ll just ignore it.” She raised her chin and straightened her shoulders. “Use Brooklyn’s.”
Wynn waited a moment for her to change her mind, then turned to me. “May I see your phone?”
I yanked it out of my back pocket.
No texts from Arthur. That would’ve been a comfort in this moment. He’s probably busy.
I unlocked the phone and handed it to Wynn.
“Okay, great. This is the latest model. There’s recording software I’m going to get you to download. You’ll be able to record right on your phone. I’ll keep mine next to it and record as well so we’ll have two copies.” He turned his attention to Cheyenne. “You’re going to be on speaker phone. If they question it…” He considered.
I suggested, “Just say you stole my phone. And that you don’t know what the buttons are for and you can’t get it off speaker.” See? I could bullshit through just about anything.
She nodded.
Wynn handed me the phone and told me the name of the app I needed to download. Within moments, I had it, and Wynn turned his attention back to Cheyenne. “Let’s role-play this a bit. We need two things from them. First, that there’s a threat of force or economic coercion. If they don’t make any direct threats, you’ll need to say something like ‘What if I don’t?’ and get them to threaten to hit you or hold you against your will. ‘You’ll regret it’ isn’t enough. We need, ‘We’ll hit you’ or ‘You’re not leaving the house till you agree.’ Concrete threats.”
“Okay.” I was impressed that her voice didn’t waver.
“Second, that they insist on you marrying Harvey. Not just that they want you home, or are mad that you ran away, or belong with your family, but that your safety hinges on you marrying the man they have selected. That’s the trafficking part.”
Again, she nodded. “I can do this.”
The steely look of determination in her eyes had me believing her.
“Right.” Wynn glanced at me. “You know your parents better, Brooklyn, and what kind of things they would say. Cheyenne, you pretend to make the call. Brooklyn will pretend to be your mom and dad. I’ll chip in and let you know what statements are useful, or with hints about how to coax more out of Brooklyn.”
“Got it.” Cheyenne held her hand to her ear, thumb and pinky extended in a fake phone. “Briiiing, briiing. Hi? Dad?” Her voice wavered now, but her fierce scowl suggested it was intentional.
And, fuck my life, I got to pretend to be my parents and berate and threaten my sister.
We practiced for fifteen minutes, then took a water break and for me, a mental break. I stared out the kitchen window as I sipped from my glass. This was bringing back all kinds of bad memories, although to help Cheyenne? I could do it all day long.
