(Flashback)
"Go on," Robert Mueller said, leaning forward with a glint of curiosity in his eyes. "I'm suddenly very curious about your foundation."
So I talked. I explained all the ways our charity had helped tens of thousands of lives across the globe, from building shelters to rescuing minors from abusive environments.
"The saddest part of all this is that so many people need saving from monsters—and most of the time, those monsters are people they know. A relative. A neighbor. A family friend. In some of the worst cases, even their own parents."
I didn't realize when it happened, but passion had crept into my voice. I had even forgotten whom I was speaking to. I cleared my throat, a little embarrassed, before continuing. "That's why I firmly believe that the FBI could use our help. And we could use yours."
"Done," Mueller said, without hesitation. "I would be a fool to deny sharing such resources with you."
I smiled. "I like that in a man, the ability to make quick decisions."
Something about what I said must have triggered a memory or a dilemma, because Mueller went completely silent. His expression shifted. He leaned back slightly in his chair, staring off at something I couldn't see, lost in thought.
I didn't interrupt. He wasn't a friend, and I didn't want to get dragged into whatever internal power struggles went on inside the upper ranks of the FBI.
After a long pause, I stood up, thinking it best to give him space.
That seemed to break his trance. "What all can you do for this cause of yours?" he asked.
I hesitated, then sat back down. "What exactly do you mean by that?"
He met my gaze and spoke slowly. "I mean, would you be willing to risk your career if it meant making sure serial predators are held accountable?"
I shook my head. "That's a very broad question, Director. There are a lot of unknowns. I can't answer it without the full picture. And even then, I'm not sure what you expect from me when you're the one in power—with access to almost unlimited resources."
Mueller seemed unsatisfied with that answer. He looked down, fidgeted with a pen, and then after a long pause, spoke again—this time more deliberately.
"Let's say, hypothetically, that you were in my position," he began. "And you came across a case involving a serial predator. Someone who's done the most unspeakable things. He's wealthy. Extremely well-connected. But the worst part? He has leverage. Blackmail material on billionaires who will go to any length, politically or financially, to protect themselves, and therefore him."
The more he spoke, the more certain I became of who he was referring to.
I raised a hand, cutting him off gently. "Are you sure you want to share this with me, Director? You can't expect me to forget about it afterward."
"This is all hypothetical," he said casually. "I haven't named anyone."
I exhaled slowly. "Alright then. Hypothetically—what's stopping someone in your position from arresting that monster regardless of whether he has billionaires backing him up?"
"Political pressure," he said flatly. "As I told you, he has leverage on people at the top. People who could get someone like me dismissed. Or worse."
"Worse?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Much worse." Mueller's voice dropped, and his eyes darkened with something that looked like genuine fear. It wasn't just apprehension, it was the kind of dread that lived deep in the bones of a man who knew the stakes. He truly believed someone might kill him if he pursued the matter any further.
I understood his dilemma. But this was above my pay grade. I was just an entertainer, not a social activist. Even if I were, this was enormous. Getting involved could destroy my career. In the worst-case scenario, it could get me killed.
Not that I feared death, not this time around. And I had more money than I'd ever need, enough to last a hundred lifetimes. But there were people I loved now. People, I couldn't bear to see suffer because of the choices I made.
"What exactly do you want me to do?" I asked after a pause. "I'm an actor, not a mercenary you can hire to take him down."
"But you have resources," he said, matter-of-factly. "You're a billionaire now. You can afford security to protect yourself and the people you care about. I can't. But more importantly, you have influence. If you speak out, as someone unrelated to the case, people will listen, and that will create pressure on the DOJ to step in."
I closed my eyes. Internally, a war raged between fear and fury.
I remembered watching the news in my first life, reading about this very case. It had felt like corruption at its most blatant. My blood had boiled. I'd spent over three years in community service for a crime I didn't commit. Meanwhile, a predator who had ruined countless lives got eighteen months, that too where he was allowed to leave during the day.
There was nothing fair about that. Nothing remotely just. And the more I thought about it now, the more that old rage came flooding back.
"I need details," I said suddenly, opening my eyes. "I'm not saying I'll do it. But before I give you my hypothetical answer, I need to know more about this hypothetical case."
Mueller considered me for a moment before nodding. "Fair enough. Someone will reach out to you with the documents you'll need to make that decision. They'll use the code word 'Golden Hour'."
I frowned. "Why that?"
He smirked. "You shot the video of that song on your private island, didn't you?"
Now it was my turn to look surprised. I'd never revealed that publicly, not even in passing.
"We're the FBI. We know things," he said, answering the question before I could ask it. "There's a private island involved in this case as well, so it makes sense to use that code word."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"If it helps you decide faster, our common friend Agent Walker is one of the people actively involved in this case."
That sealed the deal for me. Now I had to get to the bottom of this.
Walker was going down.
(Break)
Even before the FBI sent over the information packet, I already knew who it was about. Jeffrey Epstein. The man I despised even more than Harvey Weinstein, mostly because at least Weinstein's victims were adults. You know someone is truly evil when Harvey Weinstein's crimes start looking less horrific by comparison.
But knowing the target was only the beginning. If I was going to get involved, I'd need someone to do the kind of work that didn't leave a paper trail. Someone I could trust—yet someone far enough removed from me that if things went sideways, I wouldn't be implicated.
After a long, uneasy stretch of thinking, one name came to mind. A name I hadn't given much thought in recent years: Roger Carpenter.
Roger had been my personal bodyguard until I was fourteen. After an attack that left me shaken and him overwhelmed, my parents let him go and brought in Paolo's team. I never agreed with that decision. I knew Roger wasn't at fault. But he had accepted it without complaint, disappearing from my life with quiet dignity.
At the time, I had promised myself I'd hire him back once I turned eighteen and had full control over my affairs.
And then life happened. I got busy. I forgot.
Until now.
Let's hope he still has the same phone number.
I dialed. He picked up on the second ring.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Roger? It's Troy."
There was a pause. "Troy Armitage?" he asked, clearly surprised. "Wow. I did not expect this call. Been seeing you a lot in the news lately, especially with the FBI business. I hope everything's alright."
"I'm fine," I said. "Where are you these days?"
"Right now? I'm in San Francisco. Just wrapped up a security contract for a Japanese business delegation. I'm between jobs. Why?"
It felt like the universe had lined up everything for me.
"I want you to come back and work for me," I said, not bothering with small talk. "And don't worry—the pay will be more than generous."
"As your security?" he asked, his voice hopeful.
"Not… exactly." I didn't want to explain over the phone. "Just come down and hear what I have to say. Then decide if it's for you. How soon can you get here?"
"I can drive through the night and be there by morning," he offered without hesitation.
That was the Roger I remembered. The one who acted when it mattered. He must have sensed the urgency in my voice. San Francisco was nearly 400 miles from Los Angeles. A straight shot would take at least seven or eight hours, maybe more with rest stops.
"I've got work in the morning," I said. "Better come by tomorrow evening. I'll text you my new address."
"Alright. See you then."
(Break)
I sat across from Allison Cox, the woman heading the Frank Armitage Foundation. Beside me, Roger leaned in, scanning the documents she had laid out on the table. A deep frown was etched across his face.
Convincing him to take the job hadn't taken much. One explanation of the matter had been enough.
"You had all this data and still didn't tell me?" I asked, my voice rising in disbelief. "Dammit, Allison! This is too big to keep to yourself."
She didn't flinch. Her expression remained calm, almost cold. "This is just one case out of thousands we handle every month," she replied flatly. "I did my job. When the victims were brought to us, we contacted the police, like we always do. If law enforcement chooses to look away, that's on them. Our job is to help the victims heal. And that, I can promise you, they will. Eventually."
I rubbed my forehead, trying to process the names and facts spilling out of these documents. Each page made the picture worse—an entire trafficking network that targeted the most vulnerable. Poor girls. Orphans. Runaways. The kind of victims no one would believe if they spoke out alone.
Some names I expected. Others still had the power to sting. The most explosive, aside from Jeffrey Epstein, was Prince Andrew of Britain.
It didn't surprise me. Not personally. But I knew what it meant. When this became public, it wouldn't just be a scandal—it would send shockwaves through the heart of the British monarchy.
And that gave me pause. If I named Andrew, I wouldn't just be pointing fingers at a predator. I'd be questioning an entire institution. A system of power.
Still, in the grand scheme of things, that didn't matter.
"Okay," I murmured, almost to myself. Then I turned to Roger, my voice firm again. "I want you to dig. I mean really dig. I want irrefutable, undeniable proof that every man named in this operation was involved. Use whatever means you need. Hire a full team of investigators. Hackers too, if it comes to that. If you need to access FBI files or other secure networks, do it. Just make sure none of it comes back to me."
Roger gave me a subtle nod—one that told me he understood the stakes.
I looked back at Allison. "I need the interview tapes of every girl who spoke to you. Reach out to their guardians. Ask for permission to use the recordings, with identities concealed. If they hesitate, explain how important this is. Be gentle, but don't let it go. Can you do that?"
All the victims who come to the foundation have their sessions with our therapists recorded for legal purposes. So that their stories could be used in a case exactly like this.
Allison nodded, though there was hesitation in her eyes. Then came the question I'd been dreading.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked quietly. "There's no coming back from it."
I let out a breath, steadying myself.
"Someone has to," I said.
But even I wasn't sure if I believed it yet.
(Flashback End)
(Break)
"I'm so sorry for misleading you," I began, speaking directly into the camera. "This is not a concert announcement. I'm making this video today to share a grave injustice that is currently unfolding in the US and the UK—the two nations I call home. Like most celebrities, I could have stayed silent and ignored this issue completely. But I couldn't. My conscience wouldn't allow it. I know I'm in a position of privilege, where I can speak freely without the fear of losing my livelihood. So today, I'm using that voice."
I paused for a beat, letting the silence settle before continuing.
"As many of you know, the FBI recently targeted me unfairly. That experience made me ask questions. I hired a private investigator to find out what really happened behind the scenes. What they uncovered was... disturbing. I couldn't believe it at first. I assumed it was misinformation, so I hired more investigators, hoping they'd prove it wrong. I even reached out to the director of my own foundation, the Frank Armitage Foundation. But in the end, everything pointed to one inescapable truth."
A brief montage of court documents, blurred faces of victims, and investigator reports played on the screen.
"Jeffrey Epstein, a multi-millionaire financier based in New York, has been molesting girls for decades. The FBI knows it. They have all the evidence needed to put him behind bars for the rest of his life. But instead of seeking justice, they're finalizing a plea deal that will allow him to walk free in a year. The official charge? 'Soliciting prostitutes.'"
I leaned closer, the anger in my voice barely contained.
"Let's be clear about what that means. These aren't criminals. These are vulnerable girls who were either orphans or runaways—recruited under the guise of legitimate job offers, only to be trapped in horrific abuse and trafficking. And now, the government is labeling them as prostitutes."
Images of victim impact statements, voiceovers of redacted testimonies, and a timeline of Epstein's known travel and social activity filled the screen.
"This plea deal? It's almost done. And if the public stays quiet, it'll all be swept under the rug. Why is this happening? I don't know for certain. But I do know Epstein is extremely well-connected. He's known to socialize with billionaires and high-ranking politicians. He's even partied with President Bill Clinton."
At that moment, a photo of Epstein and Clinton together appeared on screen—both smiling, holding drinks, clearly comfortable with one another.
"And here's another truth you won't hear from the government," I said, voice tightening. "Agent Tom Walker, the same man who falsely targeted me with insider trading charges, is now being investigated for tax fraud. But what they won't tell you is that he's also the one who negotiated Epstein's plea deal. Yes, the same agent. And one of the deal's terms? None of Epstein's co-conspirators will face prosecution. Not one."
The screen faded to black, and my voice returned for the final line.
"Stay with me. At the end of this video, I'll show you irrefutable proof—evidence that cannot be ignored—of Jeffrey Epstein's crimes. You deserve to see it. And once you do, I hope you'll raise your voice too."
I took a deep breath before continuing my monologue.
"But Epstein isn't alone in this. There are numerous other men complicit in these crimes—men the FBI already has evidence against. And to give you an idea of just how powerful some of them are, I'll tell you this: at least one of the co-conspirators is a member of the British Royal Family."
I let that hang in the air for a moment.
"I'm not naming anyone else right now, because I want to give the authorities a chance to do their job. Arrest every person involved in this operation. This is your warning. If you hand Epstein or his associates any kind of deal—if you let them off the hook—I will release every name. I don't care about the repercussions."
I looked directly into the camera and said with certainty. "I am not suicidal. I haven't had a single sip of alcohol in my life. Not a sniff of drugs either. So if mysteriously, something happens to me in the coming months, everything will be made public immediately. I have made multiple fail-safes for this exact reason. I will fight this all the way to the Supreme Court if I have to. And the first institution I will sue... is the FBI, for its corrupt practices."
I shifted in my seat, softening my voice.
"To all my loyal fans out there—if you're still watching this—I want to thank you for your love and support. I know this is not what you were expecting from me today, but hopefully you will understand why I had to use such a clickbait tactic to get everyone's attention on this matter."
I leaned back slightly.
"I've said what I needed to say. What follows now are a few interviews with victims of Epstein and his network. All victims' identities have been concealed. These same interviews were already submitted to the FBI, the DOJ, the CIA, and the NSA—uncensored—but they chose to ignore these 'prostitutes.' Their words, not mine."
I shook my head in disgust one last time as the screen cut to the first interview. A girl—her face blurred, voice distorted—began to recount the horrors she had endured.
As she spoke, her voice trembling with pain, I sat quietly and listened. I knew this was just the beginning. Things were about to get so much worse.
I could've named Prince Andrew in the video. But I decided to wait because Roger couldn't find irrefutable proof against him just yet. Let the authorities make the first move. And if they don't? Then I'll make damn sure the royal bastard goes down with the rest of them.
________________________
AN: Visit my personal website to read ahead, or check out my second Hollywood story set in the 80s.
Link: www(dot)fablefic(dot)com