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Brenna stood in the shadow of the Washington Monument, quaking as she breathed in the cool, mildew smelling air of post-rain D.C. Was it really that cold? No. Was she terrified about what she was about to do? Yes! She was absolutely a 5’6” tall, 32-year-old, blonde ball of nerves and that’s saying something given all that she’d done.

“Do you have it?” the mysteriously plain man with the pockmarked face asked as he approached from the foggy abyss.

Brenna clumsily unbuttoned the top three buttons on her coat and tried to steady her hand as she reached in and pulled out a leather bound little black book that had significant wear on the cover.

“Do…do…you have the money?” Brenna asked with the most authoritative tone she could muster.

The man just laughed as he pulled his phone out of the front pocket of his finely pressed navy trousers – these were no department store slacks, this man didn’t just have money, he was money. He tapped his phone screen a couple times and then held it up to his right ear. Brenna studied his face for a few moments as the glow of the screen illuminated the topography of his face like sunlight on the surface of the moon.

The man cleared his throat and began speaking firmly to whoever was on the other side of the call, “She’s got it. Wire twenty thousand to her account immediately. Very good!” The man ended the call and shoved his phone back into his trousers as he smirked at Brenna. “You’re all set.” Brenna began to hold the book out toward him but he placed his hand up. “No, you keep it.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Brenna was flabbergasted and flummoxed.

“I trust you haven’t opened it?” he inquired.

“No, of course not. You told me…” Brenna asserted as she struggled her way through the mental gymnastics of trying to understand exactly what was happening.

“Good, don’t. It’s better for you that way. The money should be in your account now, care to check before I go?” the man asked suggestively.

Brenna, still holding the book, fumbled through her purse and then pulled out her phone. Her eyes widened as if willing her bank account app’s face recognition to work faster and then there it was, a fresh deposit of $20,000 right on the top of her transaction list. Her chest heaved with the relief and excitement this newfound windfall brought to her otherwise destitute life.

“It’s th…” as Brenna looks up from her phone she realizes that the man is gone. “…there and now you’re not.”

Brenna looked around for a moment before dropping her phone back into her bag, concealing the little black book back into her coat, and giddily strutting off into the night.

As Brenna arrived home to her tiny studio apartment that night, she threw the book onto her counter as she slid out of her coat and kicked off her worn-in white sneakers. Being paid such a large sum of money to keep something so ordinary and unremarkable - what in the hell was she in possession of!? She couldn’t help but wonder about the contents of the book and throughout the night she found herself walking over to the counter and just staring at it. On occasion she would play and pluck with the elastic band that stretched from the back cover over the front cover to hug and hold all the mysterious pages inside. This was her Pandora’s box, her apple in Eden. It was maddening.

“Out of sight, out of mind,” she said to herself as she looked around her apartment. There! The pointless cabinets above the old white refrigerator, she never looked in there. Hell, she couldn’t even reach them without a chair!

Brenna dragged the chair from her desk across the room and placed it in front of the refrigerator. She opened the cabinets and just as she thought…empty. This was the void that would serve as the prison for her $20,000 prized pig. She grabbed the book and hesitated for a moment before tossing it into the cabinet. As she closed the door and placed a hideous red and yellow ceramic rooster in front of the cabinet doors, Brenna began to think about what she would do with the money. New shoes, a new apartment, and most importantly, a new attorney so she could get her daughter back.

Just two years ago, old Brenna would have taken that money and smoked it or injected it into her arms. She would have partied hard at the expense of her complexion, relationships, social standing, job, and quality of life. She sold herself to anyone willing to pay enough to get her to that next high. That Brenna believed they took her child to spite her and to teach her a lesson. So she partied harder and harder, she was going to show them and one day she woke up, literally woke up in a pool of her own sweat and bile she had choked up in her sleep with a hotel maid standing over her.

Carlotta, a sweet immigrant woman, took pride in her daily work but when she saw Brenna lying there she knew she had more to do than just clean up some stains. Brenna became part of Carlotta’s work and world as she got her into a rehab program, took her in for a few months, secured her a job at the hotel in housekeeping, and helped her forge her way to a new life. It wasn’t much but it wasn’t decaying in an unmarked grave totally forgotten by the rest of the world.

A few days went by, Brenna didn’t touch a penny of her new fortune or its leather bound harbinger; she just went to work, did her laundry, grabbed fast food for her meals, and searched the Internet for things like two bedroom apartments and family court attorneys. As Brenna pushed her cleaning cart through the hotel she fantasized about what came after the new place and getting her daughter back – a new job, new clothes, maybe some new teeth?

“Hey! Earth to Brenna!” Carlotta shouted down the hall.

Brenna snapped out of her daydreams, “Oh! What? I’m sorry!”

“Always with your head in the clouds,” Carlotta chortled. “You cleaned THAT room the other day, didn’t you?”

“218? Yes, I mean I tried to but I think they’re going to have to replace the carpet in there. Why? Is something wrong?” Brenna asked nervously. “No, not that I’m aware of. That detective is back and in the manager’s office, she might want to talk to you,” Carlotta stated calmly as she shuffled through the towels on her own cart.

“I talked to her already. The night that…” Brenna’s words failed her as the pounding of her heart made it next to impossible for her to breathe and speak at the same time. Not that it would have mattered, she could no longer hear herself anyway.

“Ooh, that’s right. You found her! I’m sure it’s no big deal, just go see what she wants.” Carlotta smiled sweetly as she headed into a guest room.

Brenna began to push her cart faster and faster, the window at the end of the hall became so inviting. She thought to herself that it would only be a few moments of pain and then…sweet release. Peace within reach. No! There were other ways to take care of this; she would call him. Calling him would make it all go away and she could still have a life with her daughter, a better life. With that in mind, Brenna snuck out of the hotel through one of the first floor guest room patio doors and headed home. After several frantic attempts, she finally reached the man on the phone and arranged a meeting. Twenty minutes, that’s all she had to get home and to him.

As Brenna moved that ugly, old ceramic rooster she knew in her gut that she would need that black book but she had to be careful. It was not a bargaining chip, it was a playing card, and a card that had to be played well…played right. A shot she couldn’t miss. “Aim higher,” Brenna coached herself as she pulled the book from the otherwise utterly useless cabinets above her refrigerator.

This day was sunny and warm, a stark contrast to the last time Brenna had ventured to National Mall, it felt like providence was smiling down upon her. As she looked around at the people scurrying through the mall, mostly tourists, she couldn’t help but to be a bit nervous that he wasn’t coming. Maybe whatever it was she was holding on to wasn’t worth anymore of his time?

Suddenly, “What is all this panic?” the man with the pockmarked face asked as he appeared out of nowhere.

“There was a detective at the hotel asking questions,” Brenna replied.

“About the book?” he inquired.

“Yes! Well probably…” Brenna stammered.

“Probably?” the man was becoming impatiently bewildered.

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to talk to her again,” Brenna blurted while trying to catch her breath and calm herself.

“So you’ve called me out to….what?” he asked.

Brenna pulled the book out of her bag and held it out to him once again, more forcefully than the last time, “Here! Take it! You paid for it, it’s yours.”

“No, I paid you to keep it,” he retorted.

With that, Brenna broke, she pulled the elastic away from the cover and began thumbing through the book. “What’s in this thing anyway!?” As she frantically flipped through the book she began to notice, “All the pages are blank!” she exclaimed.

“Are they?” the man said smirking, he knew this already.

“Here, there’s a page missing,” Brenna said as she fixated on the raggedy remnants of a page torn out carelessly. “I didn’t do that.”

“I know that,” the man asserted, “but no one else does. One page, one missing page from the ledger of the most notorious and now fallen prostitute in the Capitol; imagine the power that has over the men and women who run this country…run the world all because of the fear of what may or may not be on it. Or maybe it belonged to her Senator client? You know, the one on the Intelligence Committee. I’d imagine he’d have some pretty interesting notes. One missing page can do wonders, work magic the likes of which news stories and social media posts are paled by comparison. The person in possession of this leaflet would wield a tremendous amount of power and influence.”

“I don’t want any of that,” Brenna uttered as she began to deflate.

“What do you want? You’ve got one more chance. Tell me what you really want,” he urged.

“I want a life with my daughter!” Brenna declared.

“Good. And?” he pressed further.

“Ten million dollars.” Brenna could feel her backbone returning.

“Done. Two conditions, you have to leave the country forever and take that with you. Be at the airport in one hour,” the man affirmed.

“But my next custody hearing isn’t for another four months,” Brenna rebuffed.

“There will be no hearing, judges aren’t immune to the power of a missing page! The only people that are immune are those who know its truth. Now, you need to move because your daughter and your money will not wait for you! Airport. 59 minutes!” He proclaimed confidently.

That was it. Brenna had no words left, ‘thank you’ seemed inappropriate if not vulgar, so she dropped the book in her bag and hurried off as the man pulled his phone from his trousers and began making calls.

Later that afternoon, a plane disappeared over the Atlantic. Now we can’t say for sure whether Brenna and her daughter were on it but they were never heard from again and just like that one page, they were declared missing.