“I’m glad you agree,” said Ridley. “And let’s be honest, I can’t imagine Claudia wants to extend this situation any further.”

Trevor nodded.

“Have you made any copies of the video? Uploaded it anywhere?”

“No.”

“That’s what I was hoping.” Ridley brought a briefcase onto his lap and snapped it open. “We agree that nobody wants this video to go any farther than it’s already gone. I’ve destroyed Chad’s phone and computer. What I’d like to do is make an exchange with you. This is a brand new iPhone. The latest model. Uri is going to pull up to a cell phone store where we can set it up with your number and the bill will go to me for the next year.”

Chad’s father then pulled a yellow envelope from the briefcase.

“I realize there is some inconvenience involved and I want to offset that.” He paused. “This is ten thousand dollars.”

Trevor stared at the envelope. Saliva gathered in his mouth.

“What about Claudia?” asked Trevor.

“She’s very emotional right now. No girl wants to look like a slut. And definitely not so … graphically.”

“You talked to her?”

“She doesn’t want this to get out, either.”

Eric click-clicked in the back seat and Uri made a right turn.

“The cell phone store is just up here,” said Ridley. “We’ll pop in and then take you wherever you need to go.”

“I think I’m going to keep my phone,” said Trevor.

“Oh, come on now. This is found money, son. You just won the lottery.”

“Could you pull over?”

“Don’t be stupid, Trevor. What are you going to do? Jerk off to it?”

“I want to get out.”

“I can give you twenty thousand dollars right now. Cash.”

Uri stopped at a red light and Trevor opened the door. Horns honked as he stumbled onto whatever street he was on. He hopped the curb to the sidewalk and started walking fast. At the corner he looked up: Thirty-Ninth Street. There was a subway at Forty-Second Street—he knew that. He kept walking. When he got to Forty-Second Street, he asked a hot dog vendor which way to the subway. The vendor pointed. His phone rang as he was crossing Park Avenue. It was Claudia.

Trevor stopped walking. The woman behind him ran into his ankles with a stroller.

“Asshole!” she shouted.

He stepped out of the middle of the sidewalk and beneath the awning of a plus-sized ladies clothing store. A homeless man was slumped there, dressed in oily winter clothing, his boots half off, ankles swollen hard red and purple.

“Claudia?”

“Can you hear me?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t texted you back. I turned my phone off. I haven’t talked to anybody.”