Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 169272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Porn.
Greg Smith is addicted to it. Especially stuff that’s degrading toward women, if not downright violent. Does he have some kind of rape-fantasy fetish? If so, has he acted it out or kept it in check? Practically every time I’ve been hired to prove the accusations made by an alleged victim of sexual abuse, the alleged rapist and/or pedophile—the guy who’s typically been screaming his denials at the top of his lungs and is often a pillar of his community—almost always fucks himself by keeping some kind of trophy of his sins. Sometimes, it’s photos or videos of himself in the act. Other times, it’s of one of his victims in a prone state. At times, it’s random child pornography. One way or another, though, they almost always tell on themselves. Has Greg Smith told on himself, too? I look and look, but nope. That kind of thing isn’t here. Well, that’s a relief.
I notice a phone number Greg’s been texting photos and reminders to in a way that suggests it’s a second number owned by him, but I can’t get into that second phone from here because it’s not connected to these other devices. Is it a burner phone? If so, why does he keep it separate? I send the number a phishing text—a link to a cheap penile enlargement pill—and then create a new document entitled “To Do List: Greg Smith.”
One, I’ll create a host of fake female accounts on Facebook and use them to post Greg’s photo in groups dedicated to warning women about scammers, liars, and cheaters. I’ll plan to post in ten groups per day, until I run out of them or lose interest. I suppose I could hire Demon Spawn to do some posting for me every day, if I get too bored. Yeah, that’s a good idea.
Two, I’ll send Greg’s photo and evidence of his credit card theft to every major big-box gym in the United States. Hopefully, some of them will contact law enforcement to report him. If they do, it’s unlikely anyone will follow up, unfortunately. Romance scammers and identity thieves at Greg Smith’s level don’t usually attract a whole lot of robust investigation from frontline resources. But even if law enforcement doesn’t wind up giving a shit, I don’t want this guy getting hired as a personal trainer at any of the biggest places, ever again. After I’ve contacted the biggest national gyms, I’ll move on to medium- and small-sized gyms, assuming I’m still interested in the project. Or perhaps I’ll add that task to Demon Spawn’s To Do List, if it comes to that.
Three, I’ll slowly mess with Greg’s finances. Create a drip-drip-drip of banking errors and miscalculations that will make him feel like there’s a hole in his bucket. Sadly, all he’ll need to do is open a new account under yet another fake name to elude me for a little while. But I’ll find him again, if I feel like it. And when he gets all new devices, I’ll hunt him down and hack him again. Next time, even more easily, now that I’ve got his data.
Four, I’ll continue my Used Car Crusade, which Demon Spawn has been diligently implementing for months now, and which I’m more than happy to continue funding, on the off chance my dastardly plan is actually having its intended effect. The chances are low, I know, but it’s so fun imagining everything working as planned, I can’t resist keeping it going.
Five, I’ll send the asshole a phishing link to that burner phone every day of my life, until he ditches it or clicks on my link, all in the name of assuring myself I’ve turned over every stone. I doubt that phone would reveal any information beyond what I’ve discovered here, but since I’m a thorough guy, I don’t mind persisting on this front.
And that’s it. My entire To Do List for Greg Smith, with all tasks intended to administer death by a thousand papercuts over the coming months, until I feel like he's been adequately punished and/or I lose interest.
As I’m typing the last item of my To Do List, the door of the guest bedroom opens, and Hannah appears.
“Hey,” I say, abruptly shutting my laptop. “How was backgammon?”
“So fun.” After carefully placing her thick glasses and phone onto the nightstand, she crawls on top of the bedspread and snuggles up to me. “Your mom is so funny. You’ve got her sense of humor.”
“In other words, she’s a total weirdo?”
“A darling one.” She boops my nose. “Just like you.”
I laugh. “I wish you could have met my dad. I’m the perfect combination of both of them. He would have loved you so much.”
She strokes my arm. “I feel like I met your dad tonight. As we played backgammon, your mom told me all about him. Man, did she love her David.”