“No.Everything’s being tightly guarded.”Jessy shakes his head.
I rest my chin on my hand, propped on the wooden table.My gaze cuts through the cafe window across from Gene’s office.The door is sealed with yellow police tape.Two officers sit there for most of the day, watching the perimeter and stopping anyone from entering.
“I guess they really shut it down,” I murmur, staring blankly as my fingers fidget with my iced coffee cup.
“I know,” Jessy says, taking a sip.
“The good side of Ms.Lola’s dementia… she doesn’t remember anything.I can’t imagine her heart breaking if she saw Gene’s office like this.”I fight back tears.
“Let’s hope her kids don’t tell her,” he says, looking down at his cup.
Since this morning, we’ve been sitting quietly in the cafe, keeping an eye on Gene’s office from afar.We came to grab some materials for my portfolio and some email data from Jessy’s computer.But the police won’t let anyone in.The place is a crime scene now, and all the documents are already at the prosecutor’s office.
“So, what happens with the February contract?New York Fashion Week for next season starts prep next week, right?”
“Even now, everyone should be doing go-sees,” Jessy sighs.“All contracts had to be canceled.Everyone’s scrambling to find agencies willing to take them last minute so they can sign new deals.Just to keep their careers going,” he says gloomily.
“Oh, please.Models survive on salads and fruit.No one cares about their careers.”I roll my eyes.
“Smart mouth.You forget they still need apartments.What about yours?”
“Er… I’m staying at Laird’s place now.He’s still recovering in Boston, so I thought I should clean his apartment before he gets back.”I give a guilty laugh.
“Lucky you,” he murmurs.
“Yes, you’re right.Sorry.”He’s right.How can I be comfortable staying in my boyfriend’s apartment while others aren’t as lucky?And it’s all because of the case we cracked.
“Nah, it’s okay.It’s not your fault,” he waves a hand.“It’s all based on skill and connections anyway.Like Kiara—she’s still wandering around, looking for agencies that’ll take her,” he mumbles before taking a sip.
“Senior models must have an easier time getting jobs now, right?”I ask, sipping my coffee.
“Quite the opposite.Most of them quit entirely.They said this case was their last push to leave it all behind—too old to walk on a runway in ridiculously high heels.”He glances between his cup and my face.
He’s careful not to hurt my feelings, but I almost don’t care anymore.Before, getting older terrified me.Now, I’m oddly relaxed.That doesn’t mean I don’t love working, especially as a model or chasing the supermodel title.It’s just not my top priority anymore.
“What about Greg?”
“Still looking,” he answers quickly.
“Oh,” I murmur.“And the other agents?”
“Some found new agencies.Others are freelancing.”
“Oh…” I sigh.
“Some designers and agencies are being objective, but some still judge based on the reputation of their previous agency.”He sighs.
“They must be blaming me.”I grimace, regret tightening my chest.My head bows as I squeeze my cup.“If only I hadn’t helped Golden catch Alan, maybe they’d all still be working.”
“Hush.Don’t blame yourself.You did the right thing,” Jessy presses, squeezing my hand.“The scandal hit the fashion and entertainment world hard.Some accuse designers or celebrities of money laundering, some praise your courage.You don’t have to feel sorry about it.”
“Thanks, Jessy.I just hope this case settles soon and things can return to normal.”I shrug with a small smile.
“Hey, you know what?I don’t think we’re ever going back to the old normal.People are leaning toward niche micro-scale designers now.With the economic strain from corruption and war, small businesses are popping up everywhere.”
“Do you think so?”I sip my coffee again.
“Yes.Whether it’s established designers or newcomers, they still need models to sell their products.So, yeah, our friends are still in demand if that’s what you’re worried about.”He rests his cheek on his hand, leaning on the table.
