One by One(99)

And then I remember Liz’s words to me, repeating Eva. Besides, Norland likes her type. He likes them young.

Did… did Eva send Liz in there, knowing Norland would likely make a pass, knowing Liz would fight him off and then… what?

The pieces click into place, with a horrible finality.

Then Eva would have video of a man, a potential investor, sexually assaulting her employee.

She would have him where she wanted him.

Eva is a blackmailer—I knew that already. But somehow, this cruel, calculated setup is infinitely worse than anything I had imagined.

She sent Liz in there like a lamb to the slaughter. What she didn’t know was that Liz was no lamb.

It’s like Liz said, everyone at Snoop underestimated her.

Well, that was a mistake. And Eva’s mistake killed her. And it killed Norland too. And now it’s killed Liz.

“She knew.” I say it quietly, and at first they don’t hear me, and the argument carries on over my head, but then Tiger says, “What did you say, Erin?”

“She knew.” When I repeat it, the others fall quiet, so that my words drop into the sudden silence like little bombs.

“Who? Liz?”

“Eva. She knew that guy would probably go for Liz. That’s why she was filming. She told you, Rik, do you remember? Norland likes her type. He likes them young.”

Rik says nothing, but the expression on his face says more than any speech. He remembers. He remembers perfectly. And he understands. Still, I spell it out for the others.

“She dressed Liz up, and she took her up to his flat, knowing that Norland would quite likely make a pass at her and Liz would panic. And she would have it all on film.”

“Fuuuck.” It’s Carl who speaks, and his face is ashen. “She told me once, when I asked her how she got so good at persuading investors. She said everyone has a button, you just have to find it, and then you press it as hard as you can, even if they squeal.”

“That film was supposed to be her button,” I say. “Only it didn’t turn out how she planned.”

“And all this time,” Tiger says slowly. “All this time she was holding it over Liz’s head. What do we do?”

“What can we do?” It’s Topher. He stands up, runs his hands through his hair. “Fuck, this is horrible—that fucking file. And it’s not just Liz. She had stuff on all sorts of people. It’s like a fucking time bomb.”

“Does Arnaud know?” Rik asks. Topher shakes his head.

“No, I haven’t told him what the folder contained. If this gets out, it’ll end Snoop. What do we do? A company built on blackmailing investors? We might have survived Eva’s death, even the revelations about Liz. But if this gets out, we could all be going down.” He looks across the table at Rik. “I mean literally going down. Like, you and me could be looking at prison time. How do we prove we didn’t know about this?”

“We can’t bury this!” Tiger’s voice is horrified. “Topher, what are you suggesting? That we pretend we never saw this?”

“I’m just saying—” Topher’s voice is desperate; he runs his hands through his tow-colored hair again, looking half crazed now. “I’m just saying, what good would it do to drag all of this out? Eva’s dead. Liz is dead. Norland is dead. No one can get brought to justice. All we can do is hurt Arnaud and Radisson.”

“And Snoop,” Tiger says accusingly. “That’s what you really mean, isn’t it? This isn’t about Arnaud, this is about protecting your position.” Her usually tranquil voice has grown high with anger and distress. “What about Liz?”

“Liz is a murderer!” Topher cries.

“She’s a victim!”

“She’s a fucking psychopath,” Carl puts in, matter-of-factly. “Was, I mean.”

There is silence, while we all consider this.

Because here’s the thing. They are all right. Liz was a victim. And just like she said, she never wanted any of this. She was just a poor, confused kid, in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I can’t forget that second, extra push. And I can’t forget little, trusting Ani. Perhaps Liz was both.





ERIN


Snoop ID: LITTLEMY

Listening to: The Verve / Bitter Sweet Symphony Snoopers: 43

Snoopscribers: 164

It’s still not resolved when dinner breaks up, and I climb awkwardly up the steep stairs to my room, leaving the voices of the others still raised in angry discussion and circular argument. It’s a relief in fact to stick my headphones in and slump back on the bed with my ankle raised, thinking of nothing but the music in my head.

I barely hear the knock at the door, but something makes me pull out one earbud, and it comes again, a brisk rap-rap.

With a sigh, I swing my legs off the bed and hobble to the floor.

It’s Danny. And he’s holding a crutch.

“You left this, mate.”

“Oh, of course.” I smack my hand to my forehead. “I’m such an idiot. Thanks.” He hands it over and there’s a moment’s awkward silence. “Do you want to come in?” I ask, waving a hand at my slightly meager room. “I know it’s not exactly the Ritz, but I’m not sure I can face sitting with the others downstairs.”