Kenzie’s voice went cold. “I would. In a heartbeat. You have no choice. You gave pills to a girl that killed her, just so you could get in her pants, and you made sure it was covered up. You will help me with this or it’s over for you. How’s jail sound?”
Even with the grainy footage, Beau’s flinch was visible. “What do I need to do?”
The video continued with them mapping out tactics, discussing how to provoke me, when to leak photos, how to cut the footage for maximum damage.
When it ended, Vance reached forward and closed the laptop. His jaw was clenched so tight I thought it might crack. “This is unbelievable.” He turned to me, his hands gripping my shoulders. “She’s been stalking you for five years. And before that she orchestrated your divorce. She’s been planning this the entire time.”
“The whole thing’s so nasty and awful.” My voice came out hollow. “It was always personal. All of it. Carter, the intern, everything. She set it all up.”
“A very unstable person,” Vance said. “And dangerous.”
I pressed my hands to my face, trying to process. Five years. She’d been watching me for five years. That feeling I’d had sometimes—that prickle at the back of my neck, the sense of being observed—it hadn’t been paranoia. It had been real.
“We need to call Ethan and tell him what we’ve got,” I said.
“Already on it.” He pulled out his phone.
An hour later, we were back in Ethan’s office.
As it played, Ethan sat there, jaw working, lips pressed into a hard line. When it ended, he leaned back with a long exhale.
“Well,” he said. “That explains a hell of a lot.”
He looked at us, eyes sharp. “Where did you get this?”
“Cassidy Monroe,” I said. “Beau’s ex-girlfriend. Apparently she was supposed to get the host position until Kenzie interfered. Cassidy showed up on set today. She’d hidden acamera in the apartment she shared with Beau before filming started. It’s all here. Kenzie’s entire plan.”
Ethan whistled low. “This is gold. And it’s admissible. She recorded it in her own home. That’s legal in California.”
“What do we do with it?” Vance asked.
“I send it to the network’s legal department and the executive producers. Quietly.” Ethan steepled his fingers. “If we go to the press first, it turns into a circus. But if the network sees this before it leaks, they’ll act fast to protect themselves.”
“You think they’ll actually do something?” I asked.
“They have no choice,” he said. “If this gets out before they take action, the liability’s massive. They’ll want to handle it internally—control the narrative, save face.”
I sank into a chair. “She knew exactly what she was doing. Every moment on that set was part of a plan.”
Ethan stood and crossed to the window, hands in his pockets. “And Beau?”
“He’s not innocent,” I said. “But I don’t think he wanted it to go this far.”
Vance’s expression was dark. “He still did it.”
“He did,” Ethan agreed. “But the real target here is Kenzie. Or Anne Gilmore, as we now know her. This video, paired with her falsified records and plagiarism expulsion, is the nail in her coffin.”
“How long?” I asked. “Before they act?”
“Twenty-four hours. Maybe less.” He turned back to us. “You two need to lay low. No statements. No leaks. Let me handle the backchanneling.”
“So what do I do?” I asked.
“Be quiet,” he said. “Let this video speak for you.”
I let out a long, shaky breath. The tension that had been coiled in my chest for weeks lessening second by second.
We had her. Finally.
