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“Where’s Lisa O’Connor, Briana?” Roth asked. “We know she’s a real person, a friend of yours from the Army, and we know she dropped off the face of the earth.”
Briana glanced away and sighed as though she were bored. “She’s safe,” she finally answered when she glanced back at Roth, that fire still burning in her eyes. “That’s all I’m going to tell you.”
“Is that what this is about? You’re looking for Lisa O’Connor?” Cameron asked.
“No, this is about your internet activities and the stolen identities,” Lambchop said. “Your little scheme got flagged with law enforcement. FYI, the dark web isn’t completely anonymous.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cameron Woods argued.
“We’ve watched every program and every site you got into on the web. We know what you’ve been up to,” Lambchop bluffed. They had a good idea, had enough proof to ask questions and investigate further, but they needed him or his sister to fill in all the blanks.
Cameron Woods shook his head no. There was no way they could know. “Unlikely,” he said confidently after a pause.
“Tell me if this sounds familiar,” Lambchop said. “You have a program running, trolling the lobbies of several chat rooms in the dark web that are notorious sites for hiring contractors for various nefarious purposes. Yours is looking to connect with customers who want to obtain reliable and untraceable identities.”
Briana closed her eyes and choked back the panic that she felt boiling up inside her. How in the hell did they know that? Ok, yeah, that part was illegal. But Cameron had written that program himself. It was supposed to be undetectable. And it was specific types of inquiries it was looking for, not just any person who wanted to buy and ID to commit crimes or defraud people.
“No, man, you’ve got me confused with someone else,” Cameron continued to argue.
“No, it was traced right back to the IP address on your laptop,” Jimmy Wilson said, jumping in on the interrogation. “And the wi-Fi tracking also identified this house as well as your favorite coffee shop as locations where your IP address has been used from. You’re who we want.”
“Identity theft is a serious charge,” Tessman said, his serious gaze focused on Cameron Woods. “It can carry with it a sentence of up to fifteen years in prison.”
“Whoa, whoa,” Woods said. “I haven’t committed any identity theft.”
“You’ve been caught selling identities,” Tessman countered. “That’s identity theft.”
“You’ve got it all wrong,” Woods said. He shook his head. “Fuck!” he yelled loudly. “I’m not saying anything. I want an attorney!”
“Have it your way,” Lambchop said. “We’re giving you the opportunity to explain and maybe get fewer charges. But if you want a lawyer, you can be quiet and have a lawyer. But I’m telling you any possible deals go right out the door the second you have a lawyer sitting beside you.”
“I don’t think he’s going to do so well inside,” Wilson said. “No video games in prison and all your computer time is monitored.”
“Prison? Man, you have it wrong,” Woods repeated.
“No, Woods, you have it wrong. We have proof and unless you start talking, you’re going to be arrested, booked, and put away for at least a decade. Think very carefully about that,” Tessman warned.
“Stop!” Briana interrupted. “It’s not him you’re investigating, okay? It’s me!”
“Briana, don’t,” argued Cameron.
“It’s okay,” she told her brother. “I don’t want you to be in trouble, too. This is my gig, and you were just helping.” She tore her gaze from her brother’s eyes and fixed it on Sebastian. “It’s not exactly identity theft. No real person’s PII has been stolen. It’s not like some thug at the mall mugged people to provide IDs to us. I got them from a different source and I’m very careful who we give them to.”
“People like Lisa O’Conner?” Roth asked.
“Yes,” she said. “There are people who are in danger and need to disappear. But our civilization tracks everyone and leaves ways for them to be found, often by people who want to hurt them. That’s where I come in. That program on the dark web only hooks up people who are afraid for their lives with me.”
“Domestic abuse victims?” Roth asked.
“Yes, and women being stalked by a known or unknown person. But primarily I help women who need to live under a different name so their boyfriends or husbands can’t find them.”
“There are legal avenues available,” Wilson began, but Briana interrupted him.
“It’s estimated that one point three million women are victims of domestic abuse from an intimate partner every year. And an average of three women are murdered by their partner every day in the United States. Three! Every day! That is not acceptable. The system, those legal avenues that are supposed to protect these women and children, is broken.”
“Briana, what you’re doing is illegal,” Roth countered.
“You’ve just proven my point that the system is irreparably broken. Doing the right thing shouldn’t be illegal. I don’t think of myself as a criminal. More like a guardian angel.” Her voice was impassioned.