Page 21 of Cup of Lies

“Homeless and fucked up on drugs,” Theo explains. “Our buyer wants someone who won’t be missed. He’s been through, uh, issues in the past. We’re going to make this one perfect.”

Sweat beads on my upper lip. It’s hot as fuck in this room with all the motors on the servers running. The creepiness of this whole situation, though, is what’s making my skin flash hot. I have the urge to take my sister and bolt. Something’s off about this shit. It’s not right.

And you used to be an active participant.

I have a hard time believing that I was a willing participant to the blatant human trafficking that’s being alluded to here. There’s more to why I’d be a part of this. I know it.

“That was on day one. Once she got past the drug withdrawal, we worked to eliminate the addictive cravings almost immediately through extensive programming therapy. I can guarantee this woman won’t even know what meth is by the time she’s complete.”

How can Theo be so blasé about essentially making a robot to be sold to a buyer?

I’m thankful Calista can’t hear all this. I’m fucking ashamed to be a part of it.

“This was from yesterday,” Theo says, popping up a new window. “She’s obsessed with makeup.” He chuckles and points to her cheek. “Works magic with that shit. Chicks really are artists when it comes to makeup.”

He’s right.

The woman with the pretty, demure smile, beach wave curled hair, and dark lashes looks nothing like the homeless addict from the first picture.

“We’re helping people become their better selves,” he says, almost as if he were programmed to say those words. “I’d say we’re doing our job.”

“How does she feel about being held prisoner?”

He snorts out a laugh as if we share some secret joke. I glare at him. Finally, he sighs. “Fuck. You don’t remember anything. Olivia isn’t being held prisoner. She signed all the proper contracts and is here of her own free will. Some people just want to get better, no matter how that comes about.”

I watch with a new clarity that I haven’t felt since before the “accident,” mentally logging each step of what he’s doing. There are case files, videos, pictures, social media links, a whole folder called “Rebirth.”

“Now,” Theo continues, “Olivia is going through our tried-and-true CUP program. It’s what Dad’s done all his life. It works.” He snorts again. “Well, mostly. There are people who are resistant to the therapies.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.

“He’s trying something new, though,” Theo explains. “Putting up big money to fund a new tool called Stem Lock.”

“For the computer?”

“For the body’s computer.” He glances over at me and smirks. “Nano-tech for the brain stem. It’s incredible, really. Months ago, I got to see the tech firsthand. It’s remarkable.”

When he turns back to the screen, I touch the back of my neck, rubbing at a hairline scar I’d noticed when showering. It could have been from the head injury I supposedly incurred.

Or…

What if I’m a subject in this Stem Lock shit?

A flare of anger rushes hot through my veins. I want to grab my brother by his shirt and demand answers. Something tells me I need to tread lightly, though. If I want answers, I need to discover them myself. They’ve been lying to me thus far. Who’s to say they won’t continue to do that? I have no way to fact-check.

Right now, all I need is access.

It’s within reach.

“Since you’ve been unable to do what you typically do for us,” Theo says, opening the Rebirth folder, “I’ve had to take the reins on this one. I do okay, but you have a certain skillset that I do not. I’m looking forward to you getting back to this aspect.”

Inside the Rebirth folder are tons of assets. Photos, videos, documents. As he starts clicking through them, I realize they’re all for creating a life for someone, specifically for the internet via social media, emails, and web pages. There are hundreds of pictures of Olivia with what appears to be influential people and celebrities. It’s a far cry from the original picture Theo showed me.

“She met all these people?” I ask, eyebrow lifted in question.

I know the answer.

Deep down, it’s there. I can feel it.

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