MEIRNA: Summarized version: he borrowed money from the mob, he’s been cheating on me with a hoe named Jolene, and several others in multiple cities, and Harding Holdings is a sinking ship.
NETTIE: The mob…
NETTIE: Did you say the MOB?
NETTIE: The MOB?!
NETTIE: Meir, where are you? Are they going to come after you next? You need to call the police right now!
MEIRNA: I’m safe, I promise. And I’m doing my own research.
NETTIE: How? You’re not a private investigator.
MEIRNA: *screenshot*
MEIRNA: I’d say I’m doing pretty good because I already found Jolene’s Instagram without knowing her last name.
NETTIE: There’s no way…
NETTIE: How do you know that’s not this Bronte dude? This could be him framing Bobby.
MEIRNA: Check her profile and tell me that’s not Bobby.
Jolene Abgail Fontaine is some basic little waitress in the Bronx, but she’s always posting pictures of Bobby’s shit with her in it.
His black Lexus.
His gold watch I bought him for Christmas two years ago.
His Aaron Judge New York Yankee jersey. Again, something I bought for him.
But the most damaging piece of evidence that nails Bobby to this cross is the compass tattoo on the inside of his arm, right above his elbow.
Bronte doesn’t have that.
I checked when he was still lying in bed asleep this morning.
Which he still currently is.
NETTIE: He cheated on you.
MEIRNA: Yep.
NETTIE: Shit, are you okay?
Not really.
I loved Bobby, I did. But it’s hard to be fully heartbroken when the man I initially took an interest in is in the other room and looks just like him.
MEIRNA: I’ll get over it.
NETTIE: What are you going to do?
MEIRNA: Do you still talk to that one guy in accounting? The one who loved anime and bugged Bobby all the time about costs?
NETTIE: Not really, but I still have his number.
MEIRNA: See how much information you can get out of him. I don’t know how you’d do it, but…anything to support Harding Holdings that is going downhill is going to be helpful.
