Keatering’s breathing quickened. It had taken a lot of work, but, finally, she was here in Cleveland. She would be desperate. He, Charles Keatering,...would take care of her. She was a filthy slut. Charles Keatering would deal with her. He fired up the keyboard and began typing. In the next room, the servers ran quietly, selected a file, and began to display it. At his desk, Charles Keatering watched as the forty inch monitor lit up. The system worked perfectly. It should have. He had paid. "I'm going to be a man," Ivan thought to himself as he stirred his coffee. "It's about time. It's a little late for some things, but better late than never."Rebecca had finished her tea and it looked like she was getting ready to leave. That didn't sit well with him—to be the sole beneficiary of the conversation."Now you tell me yours," Ivan blurted out."That's alright," she answered. "I'm just in a bad mood because I have to go to a dinner tomorrow night that I really don't want to attend."A. More

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