Page 1 of Filthy Liar

1

Melinda

What doesjustice really look like? Not a billionaire’s suicide, that’s for sure.

Somehow I always knew the journey would end like this. Not in a court of law, not at the end of the imperfect course of justice being served, but cut short by an act of brutal selfishness.

Of course Gerome Lively killed himself. He was in jail, denied bail, and looking at multiple life sentences with no chance of ever seeing freedom again. Removing himself from the justice process was his final “fuck you” to every woman who came forward about him abusing them when they were girls.

After everything the survivors of his sex-trafficking did to bring him to justice—twice, because the billionaire had a disturbing number of friends in high places who didn’t care what he did, or worse, had been a part of his depravity—he took the coward’s way out.

I get the news alert on my phone. A minute later, my college roommate texts me.

Caroline: The fucking coward.

Melinda: My thoughts exactly.

Caroline: The conspiracy theorists are going to love this, too.

Melinda: Not if we can help it.

Caroline: You need to come back to D.C. so we can have drinks.

Caroline is a federal prosecutor. She didn’t work on his case, and we’ve always been careful about work boundaries. When I wrote my book about Lively, the one that thrust him back into the public eye and triggered a new investigation, we had an ethical firewall from the moment I decided to cover the story on the off chance it might blow up in her jurisdiction.

But it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility for her to be a source on one of my stories. I open the sliding door and step out onto the deck. It’s still early on the west coast and the Pacific Ocean is a beast this morning. Far below, waves crash against rock.

Go back to D.C.?

It’s the last place in the world I want to spend any time. But to see Caroline—and maybe for a story, if there’s something she can only tell me in person—I’ll get on a plane.

After booking a flight, I go to social media to see what trends are being pushed around Lively’s death. I know even before I go to Twitter there will be chatter that he didn’t actually commit suicide.

I’m not wrong. And there’s just as much chatter about who might want to “silence” him, as if there was ever a chance in hell of him turning on his acquaintances. As if Lively’s celebrity “friends” had anything to fear from him, as if the dubiously elected POTUS had a need to silence him. Or my favorite: as if the British prince who spent his mid-life crisis “accidentally” being a pedophile had somehow ordered a hit to happen at Riker’s Island.

All of those rumors assume a lot more competence in certain high places than actually exists.

But most of all, they deny the depths to which a depraved criminal can sink.

Gerome Lively never valued anything beyond twisted power. Stripped of it in almost every way, he used the last tool in his disposal to cause pain one more time.

For five years, I’ve been writing about this story, and others like it. For five years, I’ve worked within the bounds of the law. I’m a journalist and freedom of the press gives me some latitude to hold sources in confidence, to investigate stories.

Lively’s suicide means a lot of information is never going to come out in court.

He didn’t die to protect anyone’s secrets but his own, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t collateral damage.

I put my phone down and stare out at the ocean. I need to clear my mind and remind myself of the endgame.

No more secrets. For anyone.

2

Jason

The text arriveswhile I’m glad-handing at a glitzy reception at the French embassy.

Cole: New client. Meet at the office in an hour.

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