Ransomware Degradation Ch. 03

Margie Taylor faced a cruel dilemma. She had just been violated against her will, yet had no one to turn to for help or support. Could she tell her church small group friends? Call the police? None of those options seemed to fit, as Margie now had a secret that couldn't get out.

She stayed home through the weekend. Nerve pills and alcohol replaced her Sunday morning small group Bible study friends. Margie desperately needed someone with whom she could share her pain, her violation, her manipulation. Yet, the pictures held her prisoner. Her friends would go into "fix it now" mode, ask a million questions, wonder why she didn't say something sooner. Part of her was simply too proud to let her Bible study girlfriends know how far she had fallen, even if she was innocent.

And the police? They'd ask a ton of questions too, and she couldn't even give them a name. No witnesses, no evidence, nothing. But most of all, she couldn't tell a solitary soul about the pictures. If word got out, and it would, her career as a top insurance agent would be over.

Sunday afternoon Margie scraped enough initiative to get her mom to keep the kids for the next couple of weeks. It was summer and they were out of school, and she was in no position at the moment to deal with them. She lay on the couch, in t-shirt and panties, buzzed from the wine and the xanax, and desperate for someone to talk to.

It seemed so surreal. Just a few days prior, Margie's life had been sunshine and roses. Now, she had been ravished by strangers and her very own x-rated pictures were in the possession of people she didn't know. With no one to with, no one to emotionally process her trauma, Margie picked up her phone and texted "can we talk" to the person who started her downhill slide. At least whoever this person was knew what happened.

Brian Webb had spent most of the weekend rotating between freaking out at what he had caused and super horny when watching the video results. He figured it was time to stop the game, as his impulsivity had already caused things to get way out of hand. Then came Margie's text.

Margie's message caught Brian by surprise. He thought for a moment, but then concluded that with her asking to talk rather than demanding, he still held the high ground. "Yes," he texted back. "Why did you do this?" asked Margie.

For the first time since he started this game, Brian communicated with Margie as a human. "I just wanted to have some fun. I never meant for you to get hurt," he replied.

The texts began to fly and over the next half hour, a Stockholm Syndrome type bond began to form between the victim and the manipulator. Please realize that for all his moral weaknesses, Brian Webb was not dumb. He astutely began to realize that Margie needed him, that she was so desperate for human communication she would reach out to the person who initiated her downfall. Brian had studied this in college Intro to Psychology. He knew generally about how victims can sometimes identify with their perpetrator, thought he didn't quite see himself as that.

When Margie texted him that "I just need someone to talk to and thought you might understand," Brian began snapping back to reality. He had Margie right where he wanted her. He knew from her messages she had been drinking and figured she might be vulnerable. So, he sprung his next trap.

"I'm here anytime you need to talk and I do care about you," Brian texted. He encouraged her to have another drink, to keep chatting. Margie poured another glass of chardonnay, the glass that put her just enough over the edge to give in, yet again, to Brian. Clear minded as she was when sober, Margie never saw it coming when she mixed alcohol and xanax.

"I'm here for you, but you need to understand some rules," messaged Brian. "Do you understand?" "Yes," replied Margie, just as she had before. "I'll be your friend," Brian continued, "but you must keep in mind that this will always be a sexual relationship. I still have the pictures and videos, and I need you to take the next step with me," he messaged.

Brian had been planning this for months. He already had a fully legal and registered video/photography company set up in another state. He already had the photo release contract ready to send electronically. He promised Margie that if she took that "next step" with him he would remain by her side through it all. Through the mind fog, Margie asked "what's the next step?"

Brian walked Margie back through the checklist in her emotional system. She reaffirmed to Brian that yes, she did want to continue talking with him; yes, she needed his shoulder to cry on; yes, she trusted him to be there for her. At this point, Margie was both vulnerable and gullible.

Brian reminded her that he still had the pictures, and that she could play a part in how they were used or not. Then he laid it out. The next step would constitute her signing a legally binding photo release and contract with Intimate Images. The contract would give Brian legal ownership with rights to publish her pictures and videos wherever he chose. It also obligated Margie to three years of photo/video shoots at her own expense. Intimate Images held the rights to dictate the number, the location, the setting, and the subject of the shoots.

Brian could feel the hesitation. His phone went silent. He didn't know whether Margie was about to say no or had passed out. So, he played his final gambit. He messaged her to check her email, print out the contract, sign it, date it, make a copy, and scan the original back to him. He knew a good insurance agent would have a scanner and printer at home, even if as outdated as her anti-virus. And if she didn't sign and return the contract, she could expect him to begin distributing the pictures the next day.

Margie struggled to focus on the text. She teetered between being alert and passing out. She forced herself to wake up enough to check her email. Sure enough; there was a legal contract with Intimate Images. Brian texted one final time; "The choice is yours. Don't make me do send those pictures out. But if you say no, I'll have no choice." It was the classic aggressor tactic. Intimidate an innocent victim. Force her to send naked pictures of herself. Arrange for her to have sex with a stranger and be violated by others. Then convince Margie it's her own fault if she forces him to make good on further threats. And if she will sign a simple contract, all will be well.

Margie printed the contract. She splashed cold water on her face to try and sober up enough to read it. She was intoxicated, but could still understand the stakes. Just as she was about to tear up the contract, another message came through in the form of pictures from her motel room rendezvous and a statement which read "sign and send and these won't go out."

Margie Taylor, Insurance Agent of the Year, sat in a crumpled heap on the floor. With her head still spinning, she fumbled and found a pen, raised herself up to the computer table, and signed and dated the contract. She managed to stand up so as to make a copy. Then she scanned it. With her future about to take an even more bizarre turn, Margie attached the .pdf to a return email for Intimate Images and hit send. Then she passed out.