Page 132 of Gilt

“Out with it, mom. What did he buy you with?” I shouldn’t expect more, but I suppose it’s not too far-fetched that a woman who would leave her husband for what he did to her daughter would also want his ass in prison. But how could he pay alimony from a cell? Plus, there’s the issue of how it will look to those on the outside. Divorce is hardly unprecedented in the land of filth and money, but scandal should be avoided when possible.

“That’s unfair, Emma. I had to think about both of us. About our financial well-being.”

“And our reputations?” I add.

“He’s forgoing the prenuptial agreement. I get half of everything.”

“Do you get half of his guilt?” I spit back.

Nothing could ever make me feel more disgusting than when Hans von Essen admitted to me that he’d molested my sister for years. He could claim it was mutual all he wanted, but in the eyes of the law, and in mine, it was rape. Although the fact that my mother can overlook this comes pretty close to that sickening.

“Emma, you have to think about the consequences, how it will affect all of our lives if this comes out.”

“Yes, I wouldn’t want to destroy his career making crappy movies.”

“This isn’t about his career,” she shoots back.

“Then what is it about, Mom? Explain it to me.”

No one has held Vivian von Essen accountable for far too long. It’s a little tragic that it has to be her daughter that finally does it.

“I don’t want your sister to remembered that way.”

“As a victim?” I ask her. “Because newsflash, she’s already a victim. She’s already remembered that way. Don’t try to make this about anything more than the fact that you want to save face.”

“And so what if I do?” she admits haughtily. Fire sparks in her eyes, bringing some life back to her weary appearance.

“What about the other girls, Mom?”

“What other girls,” she asks in horror. She could always play the naïve ingénue on command.

“The other girls he’s done this to,” I explain to her. “Do you think Becca was the only one? Do you think I was a fluke? How many girls have found themselves on his casting couch?”

Tales of movie producers’ ethics have always been the stuff of legends. There’s no doubt in my mind that Hans had all too eagerly embraced that perk of his power.

“He told me there were no others,” she says too quickly. She’s not lying, but she knows that he is.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Look,” she says, shifting tactics, “A trust fund has been set up in your name.”

“I don’t care.”

“There’s ten million dollars in it.”

“I don’t care,” I repeat. “He can’t buy my silence.”

“You’ll never have to worry about money.”

One way or another, I’m not going to have to worry about money without taking Hans’ dirty money. “I don’t need his money. After all, think of the other trust funds I might be privy to.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she says.

“I know about Becca. I know why Dad settled with Nathaniel West all those years ago.” I take a deep breath and ask the one question I’m not sure I want an answer to. “What I don’t know is whether or not Nathaniel West is my father?”

It takes a second for my query to process through the shock frozen over her classic features.

“No, he’s not,” she tells me, but the pit in my stomach doesn’t close.