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My first "job" was in a New York City suburb. Mr. Green brought me to our "police headquarters." It was like nothing I'd ever seen.

The office was in the rear of a strip mall. Overlooking the street was a pizza shop, a pet store, a jewelry store, a tattoo parlor, a lawyer's office and a bank.

Our headquarters had no signage. There was just a door, and no windows.

"Beav, we've received numerous, but anonymous reports that there's a Manhattan law firm that hires young girls fresh out of high school as secretaries, clerks, etc. based upon their beauty."

Nina Weegar, a female cop who worked with Brandon interrupted, "they have little in the way of skills, but it seems that the CEO gives those girls their final test in his office with the blinds closed and the door locked."

"Miss, some of those girls walk into that office as virgins; they don't walk out as virgins," said Brayden Tyler, who looked more like an accountant than a cop to me.

"What do you want me to do?"

"We want you to use your expertise to find out if what happens in that office is a condition of being hired," Tyler, answered.

"And of continuing employment," Nina said, and the others nodded their heads.

"I don't know anything about the law, but is any of what this guy does illegal?"

"Beaver, requiring sexual favors in return for employment . . ."

"Or continuing employment," Nina emphasized, "is illegal under Federal and New York State law."

Two weeks after a little coaching, I walked into the law offices of our target. "I'm here to answer the ad for a clerk," I told the receptionist. I was dressed professionally. Not for my profession, but for a clerical position in a law firm.

Okay, my skirt was an inch or so shorter than it should have been, and under my blazer, my blouse was open one button more than professionally acceptable. Brandon Green had his technical people replace the top button on my blazer with a mini-camera and a microphone. It looked almost exactly like the button. "When you take it off, make sure that camera is facing outward; we'll do the rest," Brandon advised me.

"Hey, hey, wait just a minute. You guys are going to record me fucking and blowing that piece of shit?"

"Violet," that's what Nina called me, "it's the most compelling evidence we can present to a judge and jury."

"Listen," I shook my finger in her face, "I know what I am; you know what I am, but if I understand what you're doing, you're going to have a video of me and that asshole, and it's going to be a matter of public record, right?"

"Well, yes, but we're hoping that once we present the evidence to his attorneys, they'll try to negotiate a plea deal."

I looked at Brandon Green, "I'm not a porn actress. I'm a prostitute. Send me back to jail. I won't do it."

He handed me the complaints from those women. Mr. Foote was a pig; preying on those young girls. Girls my age. The more I read, the angry I got. I knew who I was and what I was doing; these girls were seduced by a man much older and wiser than them. Besides, he was holding a job opportunity over their heads.

Those complaints convinced me.

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