It began with a distorted voice, and a few seconds later, Mansour heard Riley’s voice—clear as a bell. He inhaled sharply. As the recording progressed, it became obvious tha
t the conversation was between Riley and whoever had set her up; she was agreeing to act as a mole, to send information to the other person.
“Hmm.” Mansour considered. He had told Riley that he didn’t want to know who had hired her; but there was something about the recording that set off alarm bells in his mind—not the least of which was the fact that it had been sent to him in the first place, when he already knew that Riley had betrayed him.
Mansour called up another program his friend had developed. It was an advanced sound processing system, and Mansour thought that it would do the job nicely. He opened the audio file in the program and worked on it for a few moments, breaking up the distortion, playing it back until the disguised voice came through as clearly as Riley’s had before.
Mansour smiled to himself as he recognized the first person speaking. “This is what happens when you outsource your tech to the lowest bidder, Alex,” Mansour said quietly.
He shook his head, sitting back in his chair and considering the import of what he had discovered. Mansour remembered Alex well; he’d met him for a business dinner months before production had started on Galaxy Wars. They’d gone to Le Roi and discussed business over steak and cocktails. Mansour seemed to remember that Alex was doing his slimy best to suck up to him, in the hope of landing himself a job at Wonder Studios. While Mansour had forgotten many of the details of what had proved to be a fruitless evening out, his experience of dining with Alex had stuck irrevocably in his mind.
Mansour had decided within fifteen minutes of the dinner that he wanted nothing to do with Alex; an impression that was doubly confirmed when Alex made a few casual, crass comments about some of the waitresses in the restaurant. Calling the details of the evening up in his mind, Mansour remembered what Alex had said about one of the waitresses in particular: “I dated that one a while back; I don’t miss her but I definitely miss the sex. Does yoga every day, if you know what I mean.”
Mansour shook his head again. He pressed his lips together and pulled up the email again, wanting to double check his instinct about the voice on the recording. Within a few moments, he managed to trace the IP address; it had been sent from the offices of Empire State Productions.
“Ahh.” Mansour nodded to himself. Everything was falling into place; suddenly a picture formed in his mind of what had happened, and why Riley did what she did.
EIGHTEEN
Riley
Riley heard the sound of a knock at her door and frowned. She’d been drowning her sorrows with ice cream and chocolate since the day after Mansour had told her to leave; she had counted herself lucky that Monday’s shooting had been canceled, keeping her for just one day longer from the humiliation that she knew would come when Mansour denounced her and had her fired on the spot. She hadn’t told anyone other than Alex about what had happened, and she doubted very much that he would take the time to come and see her.
Another knock at the door and curiosity won out over Riley’s depression. She stood quickly and strode towards the door. Probably the landlord—just what I need right now, she thought bleakly. Riley took a quick breath and told herself to be patient with whoever it was; it wasn’t their fault that she was in a terrible mood.
Riley opened the door and for a moment thought that she had to be hallucinating; the figure standing on her doorstep was not Alex, nor the landlord, or even one of her friends. It was Mansour. Riley opened her mouth, realized that she couldn’t think of anything to say, and closed it once more.
“Riley?” Mansour didn’t look angry; he didn’t even look upset. His brow was furrowed in concern.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” Riley gave herself a shake, trying to believe the evidence before her eyes.
“Can I come in?” Mansour said.
Riley hesitated, dread sinking into her stomach. “Okay,” she said, stepping back from the door.
Mansour stepped into her apartment and Riley closed the door behind him.
“I got an email this afternoon, from an anonymous account; attached to it was an audio file,” Mansour told her.
Riley closed her eyes; she knew without him having to tell her what that audio file had been.
“I can explain, just hear me out, please…” she started, opening her eyes again as tears began to form in them.
“You don’t have to,” Mansour told her, smiling slightly. “I already figured out the other voice on the recording was Alex’s.”
“You did?” Riley stared and Mansour in shock.
“I did,” Mansour said, nodding quickly. “I don’t know all the details yet, but I have to assume that if the person you made the agreement with sent me an email with a recording of you making the agreement…” Mansour shrugged. “That sounds like a plot against you.” He held her gaze for a long moment. “I understand that your hands were tied. I forgive you, Riley.”