“He thought she was trying to extort him, and came to us for help,” Estelle said. “He won’t tell us what the blackmail was about—his prerogative. But we believe this extortion network already suspect whatever it was he was trying to hide, and offered her a substantial sum for proof. She refused, and went to the police, but was dismissed, written off as a fantasist. We have a useful source in the LAPD, though unfortunately not at a high level.”
“But they have an entire unit for this kind of crime,” Griffin said. “My manager is dealing with them constantly about my stalkers. They’ve prosecuted a lot of celebrity extortion cases.”
“Only the low-hanging fruit. Easily proven, easily remedied. The cops have no leads on this group, no one even knows who they are—until now. We believe Vivien does know—or did.”
Lana flinched at Estelle’s use of past tense. “Vivien’s last text said, ‘I know who they are now.’ She meant this gang?”
“I damn well hope so.”
“So you and I have both been victims of this?” Griffin said.
Estelle pressed her lips together.
“There’s more? Estelle…”
“You remember how, after Ethan Pillay’s death, the news leaked about your involvement?”
“It was these guys?”
“Though first, they tried blackmailing your parents.”
“What?”
“Your parents refused to pay, so they followed through on their threat and it all came out. In fact, it proved so lucrative they doubled down. They infiltrated the cleaning service your family used and got a maid to steal your journal. She funded a nice new life for herself and her family in Costa Rica.”
“My parents never mentioned this.”
“That’s something you’ll have to talk to them about. We also believe the death of Toby Fong is related.”
“How?”
“They were blackmailing him. I’m sure this will go no further, but we have it on good authority that he killed himself over it.”
“Oh, shit.” Griffin leaned forward, propping his elbows on his thighs. Lana placed a hand on his back.
“Whatever it was about, it was bad enough that he couldn’t see a way through. You know what all this is like at that age.” Estelle contemplated her drink. She hadn’t touched it, as if it were a prop. “These people destroy lives—lives, fortunes, careers, reputations. And all the cops do is shrug and suggest we deserve it. We hoped that if we could get to Vivien first, she could identify the ringleaders and help us bring them to justice. But increasingly, it would appear that…” She met Lana’s worried gaze with genuine sympathy. “I’m truly sorry, it doesn’t look good. We haven’t found a trace of her—and we’ve been looking.”
In Lana’s vision, Estelle went watery at the edges. She’d kidded herself that the goons chasing them were proof Vivien was alive. Griffin shifted along the sofa and put his arm around Lana. Estelle looked from Lana to Griffin and back, and stood, silhouetted against the skyline.
“I trust that nothing I’ve said will go beyond these walls, and also that if you find out anything, you will keep me informed.”
“Sure,” Griffin said, obviously having as much trouble processing this as Lana was.
“I’ll see myself out.” Estelle took one more look at Lana—somehow folding pity and envy into the same glance.
For a long time after she left, Lana and Griffin didn’t talk.
“Maybe Vivien did take the money,” Lana said, eventually. “Went to Costa Rica.”
“She did have the baby to think of.”
“The baby,” she said to herself. “Thebaby. About that…”
From the door, a woman cleared her throat. Evangeline. “I’ve figured it out.” She strode in, carrying the tablet and a laptop. “The connection between Vivien and Walter Shepherd.”
“Me, too,” Lana said, surprised.
“Really?” Evangeline sounded disappointed.
