She nodded. She had flown across the country so that Henry could confirm things she had mostly already understood.
She reached for her coffee, took a sip, then chased it with her martini.
Henry said, “There’s one more thing.”
She set the glass down.
“Tell me.”
Henry opened the folder in front of him.
He took out a single printed sheet and turned it around on the table so that Vivienne could read it. It was a screenshot. A direct message exchange on Instagram. The account initiating the conversation was unidentifiable, a handle made of numbers, no profile picture, no posts. The account receiving the message was verified, blue-checked, and had six million followers. Riley Dane.
Vivienne knew the name. Riley Dane ran a podcast calledYou Can’t Hide From Riley Dane, that had been running for four years. She built an audience by naming closeted athletes and celebrities when she had enough circumstantial evidence to justify it and the athlete was famous enough to be worth the noise. Nine names in two years. Five had sued and all had settled, but were still outed.
The message attached a Dropbox link. The Dropbox contained the photographs.
Vivienne did not have to open the link to know which four.
“Fuck you, Henry, you read me lip service and you knew this cunt is holding all the cards this whole time?”
“Vivienne, she is holding back.”
“Why?”
“Riley wants to verify. She is more cautious now that we have all these deep fake AI images out there. She knows a guy who can get her The Beverly Hills Hotel security footage, and the minute she gets that she will release the images.”
She breathed out.
“So, the story breaks when Riley finishes verifying, which could be any day now.”
“Correct.”
She was quiet for a minute.
Then she said, “Can you stop Riley? I mean, don’t kill the bitch, but.”
Henry looked at her for a long time.
“No.”
“Can you slow Riley?”
“Possibly. Not by much. Riley does not operate on the rails I am on. Riley operates on an Instagram account, a Patreon subscription, and the ethics of a pathetic bitch who hunts people in the closet. You cannot litigate that view out of someone, and you cannot bribe it out of someone either. I can try to reach Riley personally.”
“Who does Riley listen to, would she listen to my Glock?”
“Don’t even think about it, Vivienne, this is not a fucking Martin Scorsese mob movie.”
She thought about it. “I did loveGoodfellas.”
“Should I let Carmen know?” she said.
“I think it’s time, but it’s going to be a major playoff distraction.”
“Honey, so will being outed by this Riley bitch.”
Henry looked at her.
