Inside the briefcase, I found not only photographs of myself but a gallery filled with images of other women, all seemingly unconscious in various states of undress. Each folder meticulously labeled with dates and what appeared to be first names. The reality of what I was dealing with hit me like a ton of bricks. Dererick was part of something much bigger, something far more sinister than I had ever imagined.
My hands trembled as I continued to dig through his laptop. There were spreadsheets containing detailed notes about each woman, including me. Personal details, preferences, habits—Dererick had documented everything. He had been collecting data, but for what purpose? The question gnawed at my mind with every scroll and click.
I clicked on an email icon, and my heart sank further. There were messages to and from various email addresses, some with cryptic usernames that meant nothing to me. But the content was clear enough—he was sending these photos to someone, perhaps several people, and they were responding with instructions, payments, or comments that made my skin crawl. Each message was cold, transactional. Inhuman.
A particular thread stood out to me. I hesitated for a moment, my finger hovering over the mouse. Then I clicked. The emails were between Dererick and someone named “Handler47.” The tone of these emails was different—more direct, urgent. They discussed delivery schedules, payment arrangements, and, more chillingly, ‘new acquisitions.’
I felt the bile rise in my throat. This was a trafficking operation, and Dererick was a part of it. The man I married, whom I had trusted with my life, was selling images of me and other unsuspecting women to the highest bidder. My mind raced with questions. How deep did this go? How many others were involved? But most importantly, how could I stop it?
The weight of the situation pressed down on me, but I knew I couldn’t let fear paralyze me. I had to act, and quickly. First, I took out my phone and started snapping pictures of everything—the laptop screen, the emails, the spreadsheets. Evidence. I would need as much as I could gather.
I had to go to the police, but I knew I needed to be smart about it. Dererick was meticulous, and if he sensed any suspicion, he might disappear, taking all the evidence with him. I had to keep this under wraps until I had enough proof to ensure he couldn’t slip through the cracks of justice.
I closed the laptop, reset the briefcase, and carefully slid it back under the bed. My mind was a whirlwind of plans and contingencies. I needed to find a safe place to store the evidence, and I needed to do it fast. I also had to figure out how to approach the authorities without tipping Dererick off.
As dawn broke, the first rays of sunlight slipped through the curtains, casting an eerie glow over the room that had once been my sanctuary. I realized I couldn’t stay here any longer. I had to leave, to break free from the nightmare Dererick had woven around me. The clock was ticking, and every second counted.
With shaking hands, I packed a small bag, taking only the essentials. I steeled myself for the fight ahead. Whatever it took, I was going to bring Dererick and his accomplices to justice. For me, for the other women, and for every person who had been victimized by the darkness lurking beneath the surface of our everyday lives.