“Please state your name for the record,” Liam said, arching
a brow over his horn-rimmed glasses.
“My name is Edward Anthony Masen, Jr.,” I replied, sitting
back in the seat and folding my hands in my lap.
“How do you know the defendant, Esme Platt?” Lim asked.
“I was introduced to Esme ten years ago after I was attacked
on the streets. I sold my body because I was an uneducated teenager who lost
his home, his father and care for his sick, ailing mother. I had to make ends
meet and with my real job working in a supermarket, along with prostitution, I
was able to do what I needed to do. However, I was beaten almost to death and a
police officer breathing down my throat about arresting me. Instead, the police
officer contacted Esme and she took over my bills, moved my mom out of my
shithole apartment and I thought I was getting a new life,” I said coldly.
“But, you didn’t get a new life,” Liam said. “What happened
after you moved in with Esme?”
“I was given time to heal since my injuries were quite
extensive. My mom was moved to a private, exclusive nursing facility, one known
for working with patients with early-onset Alzheimer’s. After I healed, Esme
approached me and handed me a bill. I asked her what it was and she said that
it was my debt, what I owed her. I had to work for her as an escort in order to
pay the bill off,” I explained. “The bill was exorbitant, but I had no way to
prove that it was falsified. I signed a contract and began working for her.”
“Your honor, here is a copy of the bill and the contract that
Esme asked Mr. Masen to sign. This is people’s evidence numbers eighty-four and
eighty-five,” Liam said, handing the copies to the jury. “How much was the
bill, Mr. Masen?”
“Over two million dollars,” I answered. “I didn’t know any
better. I was eighteen and naïve. When most people were eighteen they were
making fools of themselves in college. I was trying to provide for my sick
mother. I just didn’t know.”
“So, when you started as an escort, what did you do? Did
Esme tell you to sleep with clients?”
“At first, no. The women I went on dates with were older and
I was just glorified arm candy,” I said. “However, a few of the guys said that
you get paid more for the sexual dates. After about six months, I asked Esme to
up my client load. I wanted to move forward in my payments. And then, my mom
got sick. The debt grew more with her hospitalization and move to the other
nursing home. It was spiraling out of control and I knew that I’d never get out
from Esme’s hold.”
“What happened after Mr. Whitlock was released from Esme’s
employ?” Liam asked softly, looking at me.
“Esme made me her special pet. I was moved out of the shared
apartment with a few of the other guys and into her condo,” I snarled. I
clenched my hands, taking a few breaths. “That’s when Esme began raping me.”
