Prologue

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The young woman sitting in the chair opposite mine was nothing like I expected. The prosecution had been portraying her as an innocent girl, ripe for exploitation, while the defense insisted she was an experienced and worldly woman that was more than capable of giving consent — and one who did, frequently, with multiple partners.

Sitting in front of me was neither a wide-eyed naïf nor a sloe-eyed seductress, she looked like a normal eighteen year old woman — exhausted and sad, but normal. I instantly felt a surge of sympathy for her, but tamped it down.

"As you are aware, Miss Sorenson—"

"Sang," she interrupted, almost by rote. "Please."

"Very well. As I was saying, Sang, the charges against Owen Blackbourne are very serious, and Judge Fallow has asked me to interview you before he allows either side to call you as a witness, to determine if your testimony would make any discernible impact before he exposes you to what we anticipate to be brutal and uncompromising questioning — from both sides. As you were legally a minor during much of the time period in question, and your medical history of abuse and subsequent diagnosis with PTSD are already on record, His Honor wishes to protect you from further... damage if possible. For that purpose, this interview is being recorded." I paused, making sure she was meeting my eye. "Do you understand?"

"I understand," she said quietly, not even blinking. "And I appreciate his sensitivity and discretion, but I am more than willing to testify in court. The truth is the truth."

My professional mask developed a hairline crack at her naïveté, and I couldn't help the small smile that creased my lips. Maybe the prosecution was more on the nose than I had realized; my job was to listen and question, not disillusion, but it was painful to think how those attorneys would eat her alive in open court. "The truth is subjective, Sang. You would do well to remember that."

"There are documents! Pictures!—" her passionate outburst was yet another sign of her immaturity, and I felt an overwhelming sense of obligation to try to protect this girl from further exploitation. I'd read through her files and the research gathered by both sides: her emotional growth had been stunted, at such an early age, and she needed protection from those who would use and abuse her or she would never develop a thick skin and coping mechanisms to function in the real world.

"Sang, we are here to give you your opportunity to tell your story — your side of it, if you will — not debate the prosecution's case against Mr. Blackbourne. We need to get started."

"W-where do I start?" she asked, her eyes like green pools waiting to spill over.

"How about the day of registration for classes? That is when you met them and this all began...?" I said, refreshing my memory with the notes I had jotted on my copy of her case file.

There was a silence so long that I found myself glancing up at her, speculatively. I wasn't sure what I thought I'd find — tears, perhaps, or a wistful smile — but what I didn't expect was a look of cool calculation.

"Good God, you don't know anything at all," she muttered, and I was sure she hadn't intended to say that out loud. After another moment studying me, she relaxed back in her chair. "I believe you are correct. I should start with when I met them." She rested her elbow on the arm of the chair and rubbed her fingertips absently along her jaw, staring off into nothing. "It was Sean, you see... he ended up being the first despite all the numerous missed opportunities. It was so strange... that I met the first of them when and where I did..."

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