“And it worked?” I asked, feeling a strange surge of hope. If hackers could get bought off, then maybe mobsters could too.
“It worked,” she said, then chewed her lip uncertainly. “I think at least. I don’t know. They never came back, but I left the company, and I never felt good about it, you know? They were rewarded for shitty behavior. Because they got paid off, they probably went ahead and did the same thing to another company. I mean, why not? They got away with it once, maybe they could do it again.”
“You think Zeke might do this again,” I said, frowning with uncertainty.
Lisa only laughed. “No, no, I don’t think so. With this, I think it’s just a crime of opportunity more than anything else. But I don’t know, it makes me wonder, that’s all.”
“We need to decide what to do,” Bret said, sounding a little impatient. “And we need to inform Fluke about this new development.”
“Definitely tell her,” Lisa said. “But I wouldn’t tell her I know.”
“Definitely not,” I said with a nervous laugh.
“I’ll craft some spin in case these pictures go public,” Lisa said, tapping at her knee. “I’m thinking we could turn this into a real win, if he actually went ahead and released the pictures. Lots of people might feel very bad for Lady Fluke.”
“It’s honestly hard for me to think about selling cookies right now, but you’re probably right,” I said.
Lisa grinned at me. “It’s my job to think about that so you don’t have to. Anyway, tell her what’s going on, and pay the guy. That’s my recommendation.” She stood up, glanced at Bret, nodded to him, then left the room.
I sat back and observed the silence for a few seconds. Bret remained on the couch, looking at his hands like he’d never seen them before.
“What do you think?” he asked after a long few seconds of silence.
“I think she’s right,” I said, and reached for the phone. “And I can’t put this off any longer.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, but he didn’t get up to stop me. I wished he would.
I dialed her number without answering. It rang, and rang, and some dumb hope made me wish she wouldn’t pick up, but of course she did.
“Hello, Jude,” she said, and she sounded tired. I wondered what time it was in London—I realized I had no clue.
“Lady Fluke,” I said. “How are you?”
“I’m fine enough,” she said. “Do you have news about my new American office?”
“We’re doing good here,” I said, glancing toward Bret who only frowned at me in concentration. “Actually, I’m calling about something else.”
Silence on her end, then a muffled sigh. “Zeke, I suppose.”
“He’s making a new demand.”
She didn’t sound surprised, only resigned, and that broke my heart even more. “What is it now?”
I felt dizzy, and my heart raced, but I had to get it out. “He came to the office last night with a folder of compromising photographs he took of you when you two were married, and he said he’d release them if we didn’t pay him.” The words tumbled out, wild and stupid, and Bret grimaced a little, but nodded his head, like he was proud of me.
I tried to cling on to that: he was proud of me. I couldn’t remember anyone ever saying they were proud of me, and that gave me some comfort, and a little strength.
Lady Fluke didn’t say anything for a long time. I stared at the phone, and wondered if I’d lost her, but I could hear her breathing at the other end of the line. Finally, she said, “I suppose you saw them.”
“Only me,” I said, “and only because I had to verify—”
“Of course,” she said quickly, interrupting me. “Of course you did. But you will show nobody else, I hope?”
“Nobody,” I said. “I swear it.”
“Bret knows?”
I died inside just a little bit, having to admit this. “He knows.”
She sighed, and I could hear her embarrassment. “God, what a god awful mess. A bloody awful goddamn mess.”
“I’m sorry, Lady Fluke,” I said. “What do you want me to do?”
Another short pause. And when she spoke again, I leaned back in my chair, and stared out at the window.
“I want you to nail the motherfucker,” she said.
I almost laughed. Her tone was venomous. “Nail him?” I asked.
“Contact the police. I don’t care if he releases the photographs.” She hesitated, and I could picture her stoic face. “I was quite pretty when I was younger, and who will care now, anyway? It was a long time ago, and we were married, and it’s not like I’m famous, so who will care?” It sounded like she was trying to convince herself, but the undertone was anger, pure anger. “I want to nail him, Jude. I want him arrested. I want him to rot for this.”