The Podcast

Chapter 16

Saturday Evening

The sound of a real, wood-burning fire crackles and snaps under a monolithic black soapstone mantle. The white veins streaking through the slab of stone had been chosen with care. Like everything else in the Scandinavian penthouse, modern with touches of the earth for warmth.

But the woman sitting across from the fire is all ice. From her severe platinum blonde bob to her pale blue eyes, to the stony expression held tautly across the thin line of her mouth. She isn't beautiful in the classical sense, but she makes up for it in elegance. Originally from Sweden, she finds the New York winters mild in comparison. Her accent still lingers, faintly but present after nearly twenty years of living in Manhattan. Upper East Side.

She swirls her chilled Vodka in a glass, finding it so utterly American to ruin such a smooth, beautiful thing with colored syrups and—heaven forbid—soda.

This evening the unblunted burn is especially welcome. The orange curl and lick of the fire's flames reflect in her icy-blue stare as the parameters of a calculated risk play out in front of her. She'd been counting on four years, not two. Realistically she'll get two and a half, courtesy of the failed U.S. justice system.

But she's getting ahead of herself. It was only a few interviews. It could be about anything. It could amount to nothing.

Ina recalls the day she first met Sumner. It had been on one of her rare business trips to Los Angeles, a destination she avoided at great length. The languid pace, the sloppy work ethics, the lawless social climbing. But her talent executives had begged her to meet with a particular budding talent—one they greatly feared was on the heels of signing with a competitor—her stats having worked their way up the ranks all the way to the top. Ina expected an internet celebrity—reality show darling turned podcaster with a stupid trendy designer bag, poorly matched extensions, and lacking mental math skills. But Ina's team knew her well and they'd delivered.

Sumner West had an ice of her own, not quite as fortified as Ina's, that went without saying. But she was polished. Knew her numbers, her demographic, her market opportunity. Could quickly calculate basic percentages, contract rates, ad revenue. She was perfect.

But of course there had to be something. With the talent, there always is.

Sumner hadn't told Ina that she was an unofficial murder suspect. Not that Ina could fault her for that. Hard to work that grave tidbit into the pitch of your professional life.

And yet it was so intricately woven into Sumner's allure. A beautiful, albeit somewhat unassuming, young woman building her own grass-roots empire in the true crime space. Intelligent, whip-smart, articulate. A voice that could sell. A face that raised the rates. But she'd found this genre through firsthand experience—as either a secondary sort of victim...or as a killer.

Ina didn't bother passing judgment. Deciding whether Sumner was guilty or not meant nothing to her. Only the risk to reward ratio. Controversy is a delicate art in the world of entertainment. Too little and you've lost your chance. Too much and the sponsors pull away. In the case of Sumner West, was the allure worth the risk? Ina had decided yes.

Now she's wondering if she should have decided no.