Now, finally, Mathew knew what his cousin had become, and what he was capable of. It was no longer the mysterious “Brazil- ians” who were threatening to mete out violence, if they indeed existed in the first place. It was Le Roux himself. “I spent the next five years in absolute fear,” Mathew said.

Violence wasn't the only form of depravity coursing through Le Roux's world. As I delved further into it, I discovered an under- ground river of sexual depredation. Le Roux himself often bragged of his sexual adventures—“15–20 a week,” he once wrote to his cousin, “sometimes 3 per night. Depends on my cock.” Le Roux had a habit of sending photographs of his conquests, like a teen- ager seeking approval. “I take these pics to remind myself why I bother to make money,” he wrote. In Manila, where prostitution was tacitly permitted, participation in the trade was woven into the lifestyle of Le Roux's employees, from call center managers to mercenaries.

None seemed to relish the bar-girl culture in the Philippines more than Le Roux himself. “Bitches,” he called them, in chats with his cousin.

LE ROUX: going to setup some orgies here with these bitches

LE ROUX: btw one of my guys has put brands on his bitches

LE ROUX: did i tell u this? he puts his initials on the back of their necks. . . . . .

LE ROUX: in tatoos

LE ROUX: basically he is branding them like cattle here

At times, Le Roux's business seemed to consist of a toxic blend of money, corruption, and sex. “I need a white hooker for PNG,” he wrote to his cousin at one point.

“PNG?” Mathew wrote.

“Papua New Guinea,” Le Roux responded. “Promised it to a government minister there, vital to my business.”