The Podcast

Chapter 28

Tuesday afternoon

"Don't send it yet," Ina's long manicured index fingers balances in the air, like a magic wand directing her team. "Once we hear a whiff of an actual charge, then we send it."

The morning had been a PR nightmare as leaks of Sumner's visit from an LAPD Homicide Detective spread online like wildfire. On days like these, Ina misses the era of centrally controlled media, one without stupid Reddit threads and TikTok theories from unverified fan accounts that can ignite a media storm so violent and unexpected even the most well-staffed and prepared teams like her executive comms group at Podster were blindsided.

But a part of Ina has always known this would happen. Or at least, that it could. It's critical however that she remains as surprised as everyone else. So as not to implicate her own reputation in the mess.

Never go down with the talent.

Formatted and ready on her most trusted contract attorney's computer is an amendment clause, stating a violation on behalf of Sumner's West Coast Killers IP if she's in any way convicted of a crime: in this case, the crime of first degree murder.

Ina thinks back to the meeting she had with Sumner before they officially signed the contract. Sumner's hair was too long with a $20 blunt cut from Great Clips. Hair that thick needed layers and a blowout. Her suit jacket looked cheap, a dull sort of navy blue, too broad around the waist for her slender frame. But the look in her eyes—in those mesmerizing gray-blue saucers—told Ina all she needed to know. This girl was desperate and determined. Two of Ina's favorite traits in potential talent.

"And Sumner, I have to ask," Ina tucked a silky wisp of white-blonde hair behind her ear, her long legs crossed at the ankles, "your...rise in popularity is so intimately tied to the murder of your best friend. Chloe. I'm about to invest a significant amount of manpower and marketing dollars into your show, and therefore into you. Like any business decision, I'm weighing risk versus reward. Now just between us, off the record of course, I need to know: did you murder Chloe Burgess?"

"I loved Chloe, Ms. Glaser. Like a sister."

That had been Sumner's initial response. Not a 'no, I didn't murder her' but instead an emotional plea. One in the past tense—loved. Sumner's face remained rigid when she said it, her eyes hard and cold. Not even a flinch.

"And not now or in the future do you foresee yourself implicated in any legal indictments or charges related to the killing of Chloe Burgess? As I understand it, the case is still open."

"It is," Sumner nodded, the rest of her body still. "I've never killed anyone, Ms. Glaser."

Interesting. She'd said it with such an odd combination of casualness and specificity. I've never been to Paris, Ms. Glaser. I've never been a millionaire, Ms. Glaser. I've never killed anyone, Ms. Glaser.

A stone-cold bloodhound graduating top of her class at Wharton, Ina liked to think of herself as the devil; the one that the talent were getting into bed with. But as she stared across the glass conference room table at the outwardly unassuming young woman who had transformed her own personal tragedy and controversy into a near internet traffic jam, Ina felt the slightest chill ripple over her skin.

She couldn't simply say no. Turning Sumner away would be streaming suicide. Competing platforms had already made her generous offers. She'd be signed one way or another by the end of the day.

So with a curt nod, a simple gesture that ended any further lines of questioning, Ina extended her long lean arm over the table. Sumner's hand was cold against hers, her grip firm.

Sumner flashed a quick grin. It had been the first time Ina had seen her smile with all her teeth. It was too intense, Machiavellian.

From then on Ina instructed Sumner to exclusively adopt a closed-lip smile. Trapping down whatever might be hidden deep within her.