TALIA
I get to my office building, unlocking the mailbox and pulling out a stack of envelopes. There at the top, as has been the same for several days, is a blank white envelope. Inside, I know there will be another magazine-letter threat.
Yesterday, I was told to stop pursuing Boris as a client or have my tits cut off. The day before? Sever all ties with Boris or be gang-raped.
It's been ugly and scary and I'm trying hard to at least act brave, even though I've hardly slept since the night my apartment was ransacked.
Well, other than the nights I slept in Boris's bed.
Today's note says to stop the transfer of funds before it's too late. This one is less creative than the ones before it, but no less effective. When is too late, I wonder?