Brittany rolled her eyes, "What's this paper for?"
"A ransom letter." The man stated, manner of factly.
They can trace hand-writing, you oaf!
"And you're gonna write it," he assured her. "Mr. Vossian always picks the young ones, and those that party in your part of town are always stinking rich."
The man's eyes glazed over, and he mused, "I think you'll fetch a good fifty thousand. Maybe sixty, all in one piece."
Dread and frustration swept over Brittany, as the duct tape went back around her mouth. And she began to write, as the truck pulled into a stop. Without it moving, she wrote smoothly. And he even made her sign it, imitating the exact signature that was on her student card.
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