“So, this is the break room. It’s not much, but it’s got free Starbucks coffee, and sometimes fresh donuts in the morning,” I said, gesturing around the airy space. “Behind that is a foosball table. Along that shelf, there’re some books, magazines, and an old box of Monopoly.”

Orielle’s head bobbed as she spoke. “What’s it like working for Mr. Rayner?” she asked, saying his name with awed reverence.

“Everyone calls him Paul. He’s a really great boss. You’re lucky to work for him,” I said. It sounded like a canned response, but it was a hundred-percent truth. Paul was our God, with good reason. He paid everyone extremely well, and his business acumen was the envy of every aspiring entrepreneur in the building.

“How and when did you start working for Paul?”

“About three months ago, he spotted me at my old workplace, offered me a job, and took me under his wing.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“And were you always his bodyguard?”

I thought for a moment. “Yeah, pretty much from day one. Not that he needs the protection, really. He’s built like a gorilla.”

Orielle grinned, and I noticed that she had two perfect dimples. Her eyes were greenish-gray, like a shamrock sea. She was a sweet cherry, and nothing like Nica and Thomas. “To be honest, I was pretty intimidated by the offer.”

“Don’t sweat it. Paul has a great eye for talent. If he scouted you, it must be because he believes in you.” I waved for her to follow me. “Come on, let me show you the offices.”

While I introduced Orielle (Ori, as she liked to be called) to her new co-workers, I couldn’t help but notice how much she resembled her mother. She didn’t look like me, not one bit, and that made me sad, but I was secretly pleased when I realized she looked nothing like my dad, either, with the exception of a similar hair color. With Nica still looking so great, they could’ve been mistaken for sisters. If Ori hadn’t been born into the Ainsworth family, she and I might’ve even become friends, though I was technically old enough to be her dad. A natural affinity between us encouraged fluid conversation and inside jokes. I just wish I’d met Ori sooner; where had she been all my life?

“So, Ori, what are you planning to study in college?”

“Not sure yet. Maybe Journalism. Or creative writing. I love writing. Did you go to college?”

“No, I—It’s complicated. I’ve been working full-time since I was seventeen.”

“You from around here?”

“Nah, I’m originally from Ashland.” I realized my error immediately, but it was too late.

“Oh, that’s strange. My family’s from there too. Do you know my dad? He’s the senator there.”

“I’ve heard of Ainsworth, yes.”

Ori’s face became solemn. “Then you’ve probably heard of the scandal surrounding my family, huh?”

I contemplated lying about it, but I didn’t want Ori to think I was being deliberately dishonest. “Yes, I have, unfortunately. It doesn’t change the way I see you, though. You’re a fine young woman, Orielle.”

“Thanks, Ryder. To be honest, I’m glad I’m attending Northbridge U and not Oregon State this fall. Northbridge is still close enough to home, but not so close that I’d be a constant source of gossip.”

“It was a long time ago…do people still, you know, talk about it?”

“You’d be surprised. You’d think they would’ve moved on by now but… Dad’s a public figure, so…”

“Are you close to your dad?” I asked, praying her answer would be no.

“Not really. I’m a lot closer with my mom. Dad travels a lot, so most of the time it’s just Mom and I, which is fine by me.”

I looked at the woman who I might’ve mistaken for my daughter once upon a time. I wanted to hug her, but of course didn’t want to face the awkward explanations or side eyes from our co-workers. Ori was so innocent. So optimistic and bursting with youthful energy. Everything that I wasn’t. Everything that Nica wasn’t. Ori made me believe that goodness could still exist, and that anyone could start over and become anything if they wanted to. Maybe it was God’s plan to reunite us after all these years. Maybe she was just who I needed to meet in order to finally reconcile with my past and let go of old grudges. Start anew.

“Come on, why don’t we go grab a bite in the cafeteria, and I’ll fill you in on some more details.”

“Sounds good, Ry.”

Over the next few weeks, Ori and I met every day for lunch. She was so young, and had so much to learn, and I wanted to give her the best start possible. I wanted to prepare her so that when she was ready to launch into the big, bad world, she wouldn’t flounder, and she could succeed where I had failed. We became close because I wanted to be her mentor, to help her learn the ropes, so to speak. But regardless of my good intentions, gossip soon festered amongst our co-workers like a bad case of fruit flies. The venomous rumors bred like a virus, and no matter how hard I tried to ignore them, or run away from them, they always caught up.

I was used to shit like that. It didn’t bother me. But I hated their effect on Ori. She became more withdrawn and less talkative during our lunches. Eventually, she suggested we stop meeting for lunch. For a while, we still chatted in the hallways, but that stopped too, when a couple co-workers whistled at us. I badly wanted to approach Paul and ask him for help, but I didn’t want to make things worse for Ori. Seeking out HR would only make things worse for the two of us. The last thing I wanted was for Paul to fire her, or me, for imaginary workplace indiscretions.

So we fell apart, and I let it go. I figured if she ever needed help, she’d ask for it, and I’d be there waiting to lend a hand.

Everything continued smoothly, and I even got a raise. At the end of that summer, Ori’s internship was over, and she went off to college. I never saw her again. That September, a cop came to Rayner Industries and arrested me for sexually assaulting Orielle Ainsworth on August thirteenth and seventeenth, her last few days at the office. Worst of all, I had no alibi for those dates, and apparently two eyewitnesses had come forward, identifying me as the aggressor.

That day was the beginning of the end for me.

* * *

It happened so goddamn fast. Someone paid for it to happen fast. Someone wanted to see me behind bars as soon as possible. I was told that cases like mine sometimes dragged on for months. But mine was wrapped up in less than two weeks. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am.

I pled guilty and took a deal: three years behind bars, five on parole, eight months of mandated therapy sessions, and a lifetime of being on the registered sex offender list. That was the best damn deal I could’ve gotten, given the overwhelming amount of evidence I had piled against me, my shitty, son-of-a-bitch, state-appointed lawyer had told me. It could’ve easily been twenty to life if Ori had shown up and taken the stand. I could’ve been charged with rape, assault, battery, and workplace harassment. He showed me a photo of Ori, beaten and trussed up like a pig. Apparently, I did those things to her because she rebuffed my sexual advances one too many times. I was a playboy, yes, everybody knew that, but I would never do that to a woman. Yet who would believe me?

In hindsight, Paul probably paid my defense attorney to say those things. When I got arrested and asked him for help, he had magically disappeared and refused to answer my calls. So, since I was uneducated and easily persuaded, I did what I was told. I pled guilty to third degree sexual assault.

I had two eyewitness accounts, co-workers, who came forward and said that I constantly harassed Ori during her time at the office. Said I’d pester her about going out to lunch and insist that we grabbed coffees before work. There was even surveillance footage from the office, which they somehow managed to use against me. Some of what they said was true, but I had never been obnoxious about pursing Ori. I had tried to help her fit in. I thought I was being friendly. Apparently my friendliness led to me being accused of rape. Friendliness landed me three years at Maxfield, and that was a light sentence, given I had no priors.

Someone said I raped Ori. Someone put together false evidence and framed me. Who? And did Ori play a major role in this scheme, or was she an innocent pawn?

Someone wanted me behind bars. Only one person had a huge motive: Paul Rayner. Only Paul had something to gain from seeing me behind bars. I’d done his dirty work, and now that he was done with me, he needed me to disappear. So he set me up, which would’ve been easy for a man of his power and influence. I had no proof of any of the activities I’d done for him. I didn’t even know what he was involved in. I wasn’t even sure if it was illegal: after all, giving someone cash wasn’t against the law. I had no choice but to fold, because he’d played me, and he’d done it well.

Of course I’d considered other suspects. My dad. Nica, even. But how would it have benefited them to see their names and their pasts thrust into the limelight again? The tabloids were especially harsh on Nica, pulling up her old case files and smattering them all over the Internet. Saying she was an unfit mother who raised a promiscuous child. Saying that Dad was a terrible father whose children had sinned in the most horrific way imaginable. It was a huge walloping mess, a cyclone that dragged the Ainsworth name into the mud for almost a full year.

Out of all of this, Paul Rayner had the most to gain. It wasn’t until later, when I learned that he was accused of raping a teenager, that I thought of an even more horrific truth. That maybe Paul Rayner had raped my sister and blamed it on me. Had he also been involved with Ori’s disappearance? Of course, I had no evidence of this, but I vowed that once I got out, I would find out what Paul was really up to and serve him justice on a silver fucking platter.

* * *

I’d been naïve to think that prison wouldn’t change me. That prison wouldn’t be as bad as in the movies and documentaries. That if I left others alone, they’d leave me alone. Turns out, sexual offenders were loathed in prisons. I was just barely better than a pedophile, but treated worse than everyone else. Everywhere I went, they called me rapist. Scum of the earth. Rapo. Manwhore. Cunt Crippler. I got spat on, pissed on, beat up, and kicked to within an inch of my life. Instead of one abusive father, I now had a prison full of abusive inmates.

Thirteen months into my sentence, I was dragged into the laundry room by two Mexicans who yanked down my pants and were about to violate me when they got caught by the guards. But instead of breaking them up, the two guards stood by the doorway and did nothing. Wordlessly, they turned their backs on the senseless violence and pretended that it never happened. After the two men were done with me, I was beat up so bad I had to be sent to the ER. Then, after that, I was sentenced to a month in Ad Seg because I had spit on one of the guards when they hauled me away.

I wished I had been stronger. I wished I had fought back, at least dealt a broken jaw or knocked out a few teeth.

But I hadn’t.

For years, I thought back on that day and wondered if I could’ve prevented it. If I could’ve somehow changed anything if I’d stood up for myself. Maybe if I’d bitten, scratched, or screamed harder. Maybe if I’d been more careful.

Worst part was, I was innocent.

But at Maxfield, everyone was innocent, which meant that nobody was.

I suppose I wasn’t innocent, really.

I was guilty of a couple things.

Guilty of trusting the wrong person.

Guilty of doing all that dirty work and thinking I’d never get in trouble for it.

Guilty of thinking that Paul Rayner ever thought of me as anything more than street scum.

But I also made a vow that day. A promise to myself.

The minute I was free, I’d turn fucking Paul Rayner’s life into a shit storm. He was powerful, yes, rich, yes, but I had nothing to lose. I was damaged beyond repair, and I had no one left. I had zero fucks to give. And I’d come for him. I’d come for the man who destroyed my life.