The joy was short-lived when, a few days later, banging on his front door startled him awake at seven am. He opened the door to see three agents wearing navy blue jackets emblazoned with FBI on the back in gold lettering. The sight of them on his doorstep set off an alarm inside his head.
“Dennis Kincaid?” one began. “I’m Special Agent Coleman with the FBI. We have a search warrant for the premises and need to ask you some questions. Can you come to the field office with us?”
“Wait.” Denny asked, feigning innocence, “For what?”
“Where are your electronic devices? Computer, laptop, phone?”
“What is this about?” He tried to stall as the agents brushed past him to enter his home, then fanned out and climbed the stairs to his bedroom where they unplugged his computer. As he trailed behind them, a feeling of impending doom spread from his belly to his brain where a tension headache was beginning to form.
“Read him his rights,” Special Agent Coleman said to one of the other officers, holding out an evidence bag to collect his cell phone. Denny hesitated and then dropped it inside and let the officer lead him to a dark sedan, grateful he hadn’t been cuffed.
Twenty minutes later, Denny sat at the table in the FBI field office. He was impatiently drumming his fingers on the table when Agent Coleman walked in dressed in an ill-fitting suit and carrying a file folder. She was stuffing the remnants of a glazed donut into her mouth, and a look of disgust rippled across Denny’s face as he watched her chew with her mouth open. A flake of crystallized sugar was stuck in one corner of her lips, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it.
“I’m with the Cybercrimes Division. I’d like to remind you you’ve been read your Miranda rights.” The folding chair screeched across the concrete floor as she pulled it out to sit down. “I just need to ask you a few questions.”
She glanced down at the folder with brown eyes that were too small and set too close together in her fleshy face. Denny assessed her with his practiced eye that craved symmetry, but Agent Coleman had been hit repeatedly with the ugly stick. Sure, he could use lighting tricks to slim down her face, but the pock marks from old acne scars that covered it would need extensive retouching, and the crow’s feet surrounding her eyes were deep. She was a lost cause.
“It says here you’re a photographer?”
“Yes. I graduated from Brooks in the nineties. Had my moment as a fashion photographer, then ultimately left it to pursue other opportunities in fine art photography for discriminating collectors.”
Her eyes narrowed on his, and he wondered how deep a dive she’d done on him before this interview.
“My wife has been begging for one of your floral studies for over a year now.”
His lips quirked up in a smile. This was going to be easier than he thought. “Well, once we finish here, I will go through my inventory and give you a deal on your favorite. How’s that?”
“She will lose her ever-loving mind. Thank you. By the way, we stopped by your booth at the Tampa Bay Art Show, but you seemed pretty preoccupied with a group of businessmen.”
“I’m sorry. Those events are bananas. My work has been so well received that I practically need a clone to handle the crowd.”
Her brow furrowed as she studied him. “If I remember correctly, even when the booth cleared out and we were the only ones in attendance, you wouldn’t give us the time of day.”
Denny felt the first frisson of fear wind through him. “What? There must have been other extenuating circumstances. I offer my deepest apologies.”
“Well, we couldn’t afford one of your original giclee prints anyway.” She continued to peruse the file folder in front of her then sighed dramatically. “I have some bad news for you today, Denny. Or should I call you Sebastian?”
He cleared his throat. “Denny is fine.”
“It seems emails sent from an IP address associated with your residence were used to blackmail Adrienne Thorne.”
Terror peaked in his gut, and Denny felt the floor drop underneath him. It was impossible. He religiously used a VPN. Knowing law enforcement’s tactic of bluffing, he decided to keep his mouth shut.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said with a smirk. “You went to great lengths to conceal your IP address. Using a VPN and routing all your emails through a server overseas. It should have done the trick, right?”
Denny felt his confidence crumble. His lips curled up in a sneer as his hatred for the smug lesbian in front of him grew.
“It usually does, but in the hands of a professional, one who is adept at combing through all the data, you were exposed. You forgot to use a VPN on Thanksgiving.” She mimed tipping a bottle into her mouth. “Maybe you hit the sauce too hard at home and got a little lax with your privacy practices? Don’t worry, it happens to the best of us.”
She closed the folder.
“It’s your correspondence with members of the WhisperHub platform that garnered our full attention.” She laced her fingers together and leaned back in her chair, wrapping them behind her neck. He was incensed at her obvious enjoyment of his discomfort. “Does the name Maisy Duncan ring any bells?”
“No? Should it?”
“You downloaded a topless photograph of her from WhisperHub. It was an attachment from a user with the handle 1_bad_influence.” She cocked her head, studying him, and he tried not to flinch. In his lap, his fingers tightened like a vise around his wrist. “She’s sixteen.”
He shrugged. “That’s legal in some states.”
“Not in Florida.” She leaned closer. “We’ve got you on possession and distribution of child pornography. You’re also looking at charges for producing and promoting. Each photograph you shared is a punishable offense. It’s a second-degree felony, and if the judge chooses to impose the strictest sentence, you will face hellacious fines and significant jail time. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you what happens to men like you in prison.”
He shivered at the prospect and blinked several long times, letting the terror and the truth sink in. Denny was going away. This nightmare was far worse than when he’d lost the studio. This woman was going to take away his freedom.
“Your actions were despicable, and while I would love nothing more than to lock you up and throw away the key, it seems you might be more valuable to us in a different capacity.”
“I’m listening.” Denny leaned in, grasping at the only life preserver in sight.
“Be advised, this is a one-time offer that expires at midnight tonight.” She pulled out a form from the folder and slid it over to him. “If you agree to actively participate in the ongoing investigation as an informant, we can have your charges reduced so that you’ll probably walk out of here with only probation. It’s up to the judge, of course, but your cooperation would go a long way.”
“What would I have to do?”
“Just continue to live your life. We want you to maintain your frequent habits of participation in the chat rooms and on WhisperHub, so we can build our case and gather evidence on other offenders. We’ve been investigating WhisperHub for the last several months and think you can offer us the last bullet we need to take them down.”
Denny mentally calculated the damage he’d already done to himself on WhisperHub. Somewhere buried inside the digital footprint the FBI was already actively unearthing were records of his wrongdoings, and when they fully came to light, he would go down with everyone else. There was no way he was going to let that happen.
She tapped a fingernail on the document. “This is a consent to assume your online identity.”
“Isn’t this entrapment?” Denny asked. “What if I consent and you try to use those actions against me?”
She rolled her eyes. “We already have enough to put you in jail for a long time as it is. Any further illegal activity on your accounts while under our control would be granted immunity.”
“Aren’t you participating in the re-victimization of children by allowing this investigation to continue?”
“So, now you want to take the high road?” She sat back, crossing her arms in front of her while glaring at him. “You’re either on board, or you’re going to prison… federal prison.”
Denny gulped at the knot lodged in his throat and began to sweat.
“Do you need some time to think it over?” Agent Coleman asked.
“Nope,” he said, choosing self-preservation. “I just need a pen.”
“Great decision.” She slid one over to him.
Two hours later, he was home after handing his log-in credentials over to all the programs and apps he used. Relief that he’d made a decent deal flooded through him. Sure, he’d have to register as a sex offender, but he’d stay out of prison. Understanding his limited options, it was a win.