I read through reports and message chains, following a breadcrumb trail that never left me sated. No matter how far down the threads seemed to lead.
It was jarring to see how often Simon and I had communicated while I was in his employ. I had lived those years, of course. But there was something about seeing the hours of my life tallied up in black-and-white emails that cast a harsh light on exactly how much of myself I had handed over. And for what? I responded to messages around the clock as he pinged about research he wanted me to do, mistakes he needed corrected, and presentations—some real, others euphemistic—that he insisted we “work on.”
I found small comfort in knowing neither of us had ever slipped up and revealed the details of the intimate relationship between us. But my name was a pervasive player in the Reddit threads that analyzed Simon’s downfall.
And speculation wasn’t easing up anytime soon now that the email leak had revealed something far worse than Redwood’s flimsy cyber security.
Simon had been quietly developing a surveillance empire. Once it dominated the current market, the only way for Redwood’s profits to grow was to reinvent itself.
And Simon had his sights set on a vision that would takeRedwood from home resource to a product with the kind of reach that gave me chills. He wanted cameras on street corners, feeds from doorbells and phones. He wanted data pulled from cars. It would all be fueled by AI powerful enough to curate and catalog every detail. The new consumer? Government agencies.
Privacy would disappear as Simon’s Orwellian machines gobbled up every corner of daily life.
The brief glimpse Simon had once given Beau was only the tip of the iceberg. But when Redwood collapsed, the technology died with it.
“Find anything good?” Beau asked, handing me my drink.
I looked between the laptop and him. “Huh?”
“Net-a-Porter? I thought you were shopping.”
We curled up in the daybed, a tangle of arms and legs, and I let my Simon research slip into the recesses of my mind.
We had a house to build.
It took time for the house to be ready—a month of late mornings in cabanas and dinners at Lemon & Fig.
I know. I am God’s strongest soldier.
Before I knew it, though, I was standing in the backyard Beau had shown me—the one with a sweeping green space that went down to a dock—as lake water lapped gently against our shore, and the moss dangling from towering oaks swayed gently in the breeze. A low pontoon boat crept along in the distance, and we could see the shells of the Rollins College crew team as they lined up for practice.
The renovation was nearly completed, and as we looked out at the glistening lake, I felt light and a little giddy. Look up “old Florida charm,” and it would have called up this exact view.
It was like stepping into someone else’s life—a softer, quieter one. And I decided to pretend that this version of me had been the real one all along.
We’re home.
I leaned in. I gave away all of my old work clothes, and bought a designer wardrobe of athleisure, resort wear, and maxi dresses. I’d decided I’d never need to think the words “businesscasual” again. I changed my number and deleted all of my old social media accounts.
Este Todd from Simon’s email hack kept attracting reporters and internet sleuths.
Este Todd can’t come to the phone anymore.
When the renovation wound down, our new home was ours to enjoy, along with lazy days on the lake. We brought back side quests and got into water sports, like wakeboarding and stand-up paddleboarding, and we spent a few nights a week at Marcus’s restaurant, sitting at the bar and chatting with him between courses as he popped out from the kitchen. With some encouragement and a generous member sponsorship from our new neighbor Will Somerset, Beau negotiated our entry to one of the coveted clubs in town—Interlachen Country Club.
We found our groove—slow days, good food, the kind of peace that makes you forget life ever hurt.
Which is probably why I never saw Carol Parker coming.
We were grabbing drinks at the club’s bar the first night I met her. I can’t be sure if she waited for Beau to step away or if it was merely an unlucky coincidence. But when Beau spotted Will in the lobby, he told me he was going to say hi, and that’s when Carol pounced.
“You must be the new member,” she said, and the double string of pearls around her neck made me uneasy.
“Carol Parker.” She extended her hand. “Etiquette committee chair.”
“Este,” I said.
“Este Todd, is it?” She narrowed her eyes, and I would have sworn I saw the specter of Simon’s emails flash behind them.
