Broken Record

Chapter 4: Stevie

"Where are they?" Cortland Morris, Pacific Record's Chief Legal Officer, addressed the federal agents with a warm cup of coffee in his hand. In Benton West's boardroom, he had been afraid. No one ever wanted to go to the big boss with that type of news. But here, minutes away from interrogating the group of digital wannabe artists that put him in such a compromising position in the first place? He felt angry and powerful. This was the type of repeated breach that could have left an irrevocable stain on his sterling legal career resume. And he wasn't happy about it.

"There's no they, sir." Mirian addressed Cortland, his strong arms crossed across his chest. "We only have Stevie Marlowe in custody whose sole IP address has been identified in connection to uploading the pirated music."

"Have we not yet scrubbed her computer for links to others? I still have a hunch that a competing record label, or one of those indie fuckers is behind all of this." Cortland was agitated, his signature red flush creeping up his neck when he was either embarrassed or angry.

"We did, sir." Jack responded, the technically savvy one among the federal agent squad. "So far, we have not identified any other IP addresses related to pirating software or streaming upload services. And Miss Marlowe is remaining adamant that she worked alone. She doesn't seem keen on giving anyone up."

"We'll see about that." Cortland downed the rest of his hot coffee, tossing the paper cup in the trash. Mirian nodded in the direction of Stevie, who was seated in an all-white room, the handcuffs still around her slender wrists. As Cortland approached the two-way mirror of the interrogation room, he muttered, "what in the fuck" under his breath.

"What is this?" He gestured at Stevie who was staring blankly at the wall, her face deep in concentration.

"Stevie Marlowe."

"She's the infamous MarLow?! Who uses their own goddamn last name," Cortland grumbled before adding, "and she has pink hair."

"Sir, our intel is correct. That girl is a twenty-four year old woman, Stanford computer science dropout, with off-the-charts test scores since childhood. She had an entire makeshift studio in her apartment, including DJ mixing consoles and electric keyboards." Mirian opened the door to the room and Stevie's attention snapped toward them. Cortland's frustration turned momentarily to lust. Behind Stevie's pink hair, excessive eyeliner, and litany of ear piercings was a beautiful woman. Cortland let this realization manifest into more anger within him.

"Look, guys, these handcuffs are really unnecessary. I mean, I can barely open a jar of pickles by myself. You really think I'm going to try and pull a fast one?" Stevie had a feminine, crooked smile on her face and Mirian shook his head, his annoyance with her turning into a hint of admiration.

"She's all yours." Mirian left the room and the door clicked behind him, leaving Stevie and Cortland alone.

"Stevie. Marlowe." Cortland took a seat across from Stevie. "My name is Cortland Morris, the Chief Legal Officer at Pacific Records. It looks like you and your band have made my life a bit difficult as of late."

Stevie studied Cortland's ruddy face and beady, brown eyes. "You're...the Chief Legal officer...at Pacific Records?" She leaned in further, a mischievous look taking over her face, "Just tell me...between us...is Jelean Kingston like, really pissed?" Stevie's voice was high and excited. Her pale eyes, further accentuated by her dark, navy blue liner, looked electric against her face.

"The antics are not appreciated, Stevie. Drop the act and I'll do what I can to get you the lowest five-year sentence for digital piracy."

"I swear," Stevie raised her handcuffed hands, a faint smile still on her lips, "I had no intention of my remix going mega-viral and I never, ever sell these kinds of remixes for money. I've made zero profit on this whole thing."