Elliot
I leave my wife sleeping again and go into my home office. The idiots my client is employing have screwed up the model again. I have no idea how my client found them, but they have the logic of a two-year-old with a frog’s ass for a brain.
My phone is silent at the moment, but it won’t be for long. I turn my focus to the overall structure of the model. The analysts put in way too many damn exceptions, and of course if you do that, it doesn’t work. They were supposed to look for a pattern that fits the greatest number of people, not predict how everyone on the platform behaves. People with their idiosyncrasies are, on the individual level, unpredictable. And just like you can’t apply a general aggregate level behavior to an individual and have it match perfectly, you can’t apply an individual behavior pattern to a group with millions.
I suddenly sit back. Something hasn’t been right—other than my wife being passed out after drinking—and it finally dawns on me. How the hell can Traci afford a place like that? There is no way Gavin pays her enough, and from what I understand, her parents lost almost everything in Belle’s father’s Ponzi scheme.
Maybe she has a sugar daddy… But then why did she act so coquettishly around me?
Follow the money.
The anonymous tip comes back to me. Maybe it wasn’t about my wife but about the people around her. I had Paddington check Traci and Dennis out, but not do a detailed workup on their finances.
Quickly, I text Paddington, rectifying that. He confirms my request, as usual. I tap my fingers on my desk. How am I going to get my wife to stop seeing Traci until Paddington comes back with information I’ve requested? They work together, and I know Traci’s been ingratiating herself with Belle, who’s been too lonely and isolated over the last two years to reject her childhood friend.
My phone goes off, jarring me out of my contemplation. It’s Ryder.
“Did you see that what-the-fuck article?” His words ring loud and clear through the Bluetooth piece hooked to my ear. “I say article. It’s more like…tabloid diarrhea or something.”
“I thought you didn’t read tabloid trash.”
“I don’t, but my publicist forwarded it to me since it involves you and Wife Number Three.” Ryder curses under his breath. “I haven’t shown it to Paige—no reason to upset her—but god. ‘According to an unnamed source,’ my ass.”
I press my lips together. I appreciate the outrage, and I don’t want to fess up to being the unnamed source. If any of this shit blows up, I don’t want Ryder dragged into it. “Well. What can you do?”
“I have an excellent attorney for this kind of stuff.”
“There’s the Streisand effect,” I point out.
“Argh. Well…I don’t know. But you gotta make them pay.”
Hmm. Maybe Ryder has a point. Besides, I do want as many people as possible to read the damned article. “Maybe a lawsuit is just the thing. Make it as big as possible.”
“No,” Ryder says. “You’re supposed to make it go away quietly.” He pauses. “That’s what you want, right?”
“Hold on a minute.”
I open a browser. The “article” is more like a titillating gossip piece with the photos I supplied. The “reporter” did a good job of spinning everything into an over-the-top exposé with a salacious undertone suggesting a fucked-up and forbidden obsession on Annabelle Underhill’s part. I skim the writing. The piece starts from our initial dating, then to her marriage to my father, her divorce, her second marriage to Stanton and now her quest to break Belle and me up so she can take her place by my side as Mrs. Elliot Reed. The photos add authenticity.
I check some social media sites. There’s no point in putting something like this out there if nobody hears about it. Thankfully, it’s one of the top trending topics. Given the unexpected market movement yesterday, I’ve been bracing myself for disappointment.
Smiling with relief, I pour some scotch and silently toast myself.
“Are you there?” comes Ryder’s concerned voice. “It’s not that bad.”
“You’re right. It’s not.”
“Who did you piss off to get that shit smeared everywhere? My team had no clue somebody was going to do this. They never noticed anybody digging.” The terse note in his words does not bode well for his people.
I feel bad, since they couldn’t have known. They most likely never suspected I would betray myself. “I’m actually relieved it all came out.”
Ryder doesn’t speak for a moment. “Uh…what?”
“Everything in the article is true.”
“Jesus.” He huffs out audibly. “Even the closet incident?”
“Yup.”