But one thread on an old modeling forum caught her attention.The post was from seven years ago, archived on a site that catalogued industry gossip and rumors:
Anyone remember that girl who completely lost it at Fashion Week a few years back?The one from Iowa or Nebraska or wherever?She was walking the runway—pretty big show too, one of the tent shows—and she just stopped in the middle.Like, completely froze.Then she started crying, couldn't move, couldn't speak.Security had to literally carry her off the runway.Heard she got institutionalized after that.Total career ender.
The replies were vague and contradictory, the way memories get when they're passed from person to person over years.Some people claimed to remember the incident vividly, describing details that couldn't possibly all be true.Others thought it was an urban legend, a cautionary tale passed around to scare newcomers about the pressure of the industry.No one could agree on the model's name, or exactly when it had happened, or which show it had been.
But the timeline fit.Seven or eight years ago would put it right before Diana started working at Image Management.
Kari kept digging, following links from one archived forum to another.She found another reference on an old gossip blog, a brief mention of "that model who went crazy and ended up in a psych ward—remember her?Whatever happened to her anyway?"The post was from six years ago, with no replies.Again, no name.Again, no specific details.Just fragments of a story that people half-remembered and couldn't quite piece together.
A model from the Midwest.A very public breakdown.Hospitalization.And then...what?A new name, a new identity, a job as an assistant at the very agency that recruited vulnerable young women?
It wasn't proof.It wasn't even close to proof.But it was something—a thread to pull, a hint that Diana Shepherd had a past she'd deliberately erased.People didn't reinvent themselves so completely without a reason.
Kari leaned back from the laptop, rubbing her tired eyes until she saw spots.She thought about the conversation at the cafe, about Diana's presentation of herself as a survivor who now helped others.I came to L.A.with dreams of my own, once upon a time.Small town girl from the Midwest.It didn't work out.
The story had felt genuine at the time—the weary wisdom of someone who'd been through hard times and come out the other side.But what if it was only a partial truth?What if "it didn't work out" was a massive understatement?What if Diana hadn't just struggled in the industry—what if she'd broken completely, publicly, in a way that required hospitalization and a complete reinvention of identity?
She checked the time—almost three AM.She needed sleep, needed to approach this with fresh eyes in the morning.But the questions kept circling in her mind, refusing to let her rest, demanding answers she didn't yet have.
Finally, she closed her laptop and lay back on the motel bed, staring at the water-stained ceiling.The air conditioner hummed in the corner, providing a white noise that should have been soothing but instead felt oppressive.
Tomorrow she would go back to Image Management.She would find Diana and ask her directly about her past, about the breakdown that the forums hinted at, about what she'd done before she started working as Vanessa Caldwell's assistant.
Or, if Diana wasn't there, she would find someone who knew the truth.
Vanessa Caldwell had hired Diana after her breakdown, had given her a second chance when no one else would.According to Diana's own story at the café, Vanessa had felt responsible for bringing her to L.A.and wanted to make amends.That meant Vanessa knew who Diana really was—knew her real name, knew what had happened to her, knew the secrets she'd buried beneath her new identity.
And Kari was going to make her talk.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Image Management's lobby was designed to impress—all white walls and chrome accents and oversized photographs of beautiful people in beautiful clothes.A young receptionist sat behind a curved desk that looked like it belonged in a spaceship, her smile carefully practiced as she looked up at Kari's approach.
"I'm here to see Diana Shepherd," Kari said.
The receptionist's smile flickered almost imperceptibly."I'm sorry, Diana called in sick today.Can I take a message, or would you like to speak with someone else?"
Kari felt a prickle of unease crawl up her spine.Diana had seemed fine yesterday at the cafe—tired, but not ill.And calling in sick the morning after their conversation felt like more than coincidence.
It felt like someone who knew the walls were closing in and was preparing to run.
Before she could respond, the lobby door opened behind her and a young woman rushed in.She was barely twenty, with the kind of striking bone structure that photographers loved—high cheekbones, a long neck, eyes set at just the right distance apart.But her appearance was disheveled, her mascara smeared, her hands twisting together nervously as she approached the desk.
"Is Mama here today?"the girl asked the receptionist, her voice carrying the edge of barely contained panic."I really need to talk to her.It's important—I just got back from a casting and something happened and I don't know what to do—"
"I'm sorry, sweetie."The receptionist's voice softened with sympathy."She called in sick this morning.Do you want me to try her cell, or—"
The girl's face crumpled with disappointment."I've already tried calling her.She's not answering."She stood there for a moment, looking lost, then seemed to collect herself."Never mind.I'll figure it out."She turned and hurried back out the door without another word, leaving behind a faint scent of perfume and desperation.
Kari stood frozen in the lobby, the word echoing in her mind like a bell.
Mama.
The models called Diana "Mama."
M.
She thought of the messages on Jennifer's phone, all those texts she'd read and reread, certain she was looking at a toxic romantic relationship.I made dinner.Too much for one person.Not a lover cooking for their partner.A surrogate mother offering a home-cooked meal to a lonely girl who probably hadn't had anyone take care of her like that in years.
