Page 40 of The Cut

A burning fire emoji.

‘Hey … you there?’ Freckles burst on to the screen.

Nate sat up from the bed as the message dropped.

‘Hey, how’s it going?’

‘Check this out.’ Nate turned his camera on, lifted his T-shirt and turned to the side. A rainbow of livid bruises peppered the side of his ribcage.

‘Whoa, is that real?’

‘What do you think?’ A little artist with a beret and a paint-brush, then a wink emoji. Nate was a master with a make-up palette but the bruises looked awful against his pale skin.

Freckles’ three dots rotated. As Nate waited, he noticed another follower had logged on. He frowned and turned off the camera.

‘Did you shoot any of the vintage film yet?’

Nate had completely forgotten about the Panasonic that Karine had given to him. He typed back.

‘I haven’t got enough tape.’

‘You’re gonna be the next Spielberg.’ Camera emoji.

Nate stood up from the bed, moved across the room and pulled out the camera from his desk drawer. He returned to the screen. Freckles was fast.

‘eBay?’ Detective emoji.

Nate sat back on the bed and opened the little door on the camera.

There must be some old tapes somewhere. There was all that junk in the basement, the Atari game console with the 220 geriatric tennis game that was like watching paint dry.

Old VCRs, a Betamax and a beat-up ZX Spectrum, boxes of crap that should have been dumped at the charity shop.

Maybe there were some video tapes buried in there.

‘I have a plan.’ He sent Freckles a fingers-crossed emoji and signed off.

Ben sat in his office staring at the screen in disbelief.

Nate’s RetroFX site was open on one side, Lily’s Instagram on the other.

He’d always allowed both of his kids their privacy online, he had never intervened or checked up on what they did …

until now. He’d just witnessed Nate’s live feed.

He’d seen the bruises, but he couldn’t see who he was talking to.

He cupped his face with his hands and exhaled sharply.

He didn’t know how to stop this; it was way out of control. Ben gritted his teeth and hit the keys so hard his fingertips stung.

Karine Mickelsen.

The Wikipedia entry flashed up an old head shot of her from a few years ago. She was Danish, but a profile link listed her training at Stockholms Filmskola, and there was a short entry about her private life, including a divorce.

A link to a video of huddled crowds at a black-tie event.

A line-up of winners, Cate Blanchett, Léa Seydoux, and Karine Mickelsen draped in red silk, her white-blonde hair pinned up in a chignon, surrounded by a gaggle of studio executives smiling and waving on the steps of la Croisette at Cannes 2018.

That was the year she had received the Palme d’Or and a César for best adapted screenplay for The Hoax .

‘The search for the truth is everything to a filmmaker like me.’ Karine was standing at the microphone, making her acceptance speech.

‘It’s all about pushing boundaries. I see myself as an archaeologist digging into the earth, to reveal the 221 secrets hidden in the past. Thank you to my agent and my backers at Sony and Ray of Light, and especially to Shiv Banerjee, who financed the movie – we couldn’t have done this without you. Thank you.’

Ben paused the video and sat for a moment.

Banerjee … that name rang a bell. He continued to scroll through more articles about Mickelsen as a rising star, coming from a journalistic background, through a successful career as a documentary filmmaker and in 2018 breaking out as a feature director.

A Hello! magazine article of a UK premiere press launch.

The after-party at Claridge’s in London, and a sea of well-known faces whose names slipped the mind.

Ben stopped and clicked on one particular picture.

Karine was at the centre of a shot, with five or six others. Below, their names were listed.

‘Karine Mickelsen entertains Shiv Banerjee and her husband, Mukash Das, at Claridge’s for the after-party of The Hoax .’

Ben froze. Mukash Das was an Indian billionaire and one of the major backers of the IF Group.

‘I knew it.’ Ben’s hands swept sweat from his brow as his heart raced.

Das was one of the financiers currently threatening IF with a major lawsuit.

He zoomed in closer on the face. They’d never met but the name was etched into his brain.

In the background of the shot was a bar; and sitting on a stool, facing away from the camera in profile, was a face Ben thought he recognised.

He zoomed in closer still until the frame pixelated.

‘It can’t be,’ Ben muttered to himself. ‘What the hell?’

He couldn’t be certain, but the profile was familiar. Ben strained to read the copy at the bottom of the picture. Akshata Patel and her husband, Sandeep. Ben’s stomach dropped. Mukash Das, the Patels and Karine Mickelsen were all at the same party. 222

‘Knock knock?’ Karine was standing at the open door to his office.

Ben’s hand whipped out like a shot and slammed the laptop closed.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump.’ In her hands she held two heavy crystal glasses. ‘Whisky rocks, peace offering … Looks like you could use a drink.’

‘What are you doing here?’ He looked absolutely terrible.

‘I thought you and I needed to have a little chat … to break the ice.’ The cubes chinked in the glass as she held one out to him.

He pressed his fingers into his tired eye sockets and pushed back in his chair. ‘I have some business I need to deal with … in private. Work stuff.’

Karine glanced at his laptop and smiled. ‘Come on. It’s five o’clock somewhere.’ Ben took the glass obediently.

‘D?rligt er aldrig godt, f?r vaerre sker.’ She smiled at Ben.

‘Sorry?’ Ben’s glass hovered by his mouth.

‘It’s a Danish proverb … bad is never good until worse happens.’

Ben inclined his head. He inhaled through his nose.

‘Are you having work problems?’ Karine leant in closer.

Ben eyeballed her. What the hell did she know?

‘This is cosy.’ Dani’s voice cut through the tension. She was standing at the top of the stairs with her arms folded. ‘Cocktail hour?’ Her eyes drifted to Ben and she pursed her lips.

‘It’s my fault. I’m corrupting him, Dani.’ Karine laughed, brushing it off, and placed her glass down on the desk. ‘But I do have an ulterior motive.’

‘I’m sure you do.’ Dani cut her dead. ‘Ben, can I have a word?’ She whipped around as best she could on four-inch heels and moved off into the kitchen.

He set down the glass and wearily 223 hauled himself out of his chair, following behind her.

Karine shrugged apologetically but didn’t move. Her eyes returned to Ben’s laptop.

She downed her drink in one, then picked up Ben’s glass and knocked that back too.

She needed some Dutch courage. Karine slid an expensive-looking business card from a marble holder on the desk and studied it.

He’d really made something of himself. A CEO no less; it was impressive how high he had risen.

Just like her, he was at the top of his game.

She pondered for a second; it was such a shame to have to do this.

But Ben was the last piece of the puzzle; he was the most important element of all.

She studied the phone number on the card.

It was all just a game, a bit of artistic fun; a text from the director with a set of instructions – what could be simpler than that?

Karine sensed that Ben would need a little more encouragement, a little more prising open than she had anticipated.

She had them all in her sights; the cat was among the pigeons, exactly as she had planned. 224