by Rachel Shane
His words echoed in my head like a gong. “No, that’s not true. They just needed to wait until after today to be able to properly fund the money.”
Trevor gripped my shoulders as if trying to shake sense into me. “It’s a ruse. The money’s being used to bribe networks, record labels, publishers—you name it—to fire expensive employees and replace them with younger, newer members of the Key & Lock organization.”
I clapped cold palms against my cheeks, his words blotting out all thought. “What? That’s crazy.”
“It started this summer. There was some Gala in Manhattan that was a test run for this scam. Erin, I think your dad lost his job because of that trial run.”
I stiffened, white hot fear clawing up my spine.
“And if you don’t stop them tonight, more people are going to lose jobs. The scholarship recipients are already screwed.”
I stumbled backward, my skin prickling. Pieces aligned in my mind, stringing together as clear as day. Keane wouldn’t care to help random prospective students. He would care to make sure he got a job right out of school and so did his friends. He was taking secret meetings with young recent graduates—not so they could donate money, so he could get them jobs wherever they wanted simply by paying off their future employers. He had millions of dollars coming in via donations that celebs thought were going to a good cause, but none of that money was going to prospective students.
I gasped. Reagan Caridi had mentioned on the phone that she had a cousin who worked for Unlock. I bet every single one of those students had a relative who worked for their campus version, just like Robby. We were all suckers, being kept in the dark so we could break the news easily when the scholarships didn’t pan out. Keane had mentioned he got the idea for the scholarship program when I’d told him about my brother the night of the Key & Lock ritual. I bet he hadn’t considered extending the Met Gala scam until that very moment.
Bile rose in my throat. I was going to be sick.
Trevor watched me with a look of grimace on his face.
I tilted my head at him as I realized there was one part that didn’t add up. “But—how do you even know this?”
He face darkened. “I’m a member of Key & Lock too. After the podcast took off, someone from my old college called me up and asked if I needed help finding a job. I hadn’t realized what was going on until I accepted and the network inquired about when they would receive the ‘finder’s fee.’ When I questioned this to my boss, she told me about the payoff. She thought I was in on it. After that, it only took a little digging to piece the rest together.”
“Holy shit.” I clamped a hand over my mouth.
“Are you going to out this?” he asked, his voice full of fear.
My stomach dropped again, another loop on the roller coaster. If I outed this scam, I’d be outing him too. He was part of it. Hell, I was part of it. I had no doubt my position as co-host came from blood money. Still, Trevor didn’t have to tell me. He could have kept his job, cradled his new career in the palm of his hands, but instead he handed me this info on a silver platter.
Gut twisting pain coiled in my stomach. “No.” It took extra effort to push the word past my lips. “I’m not going to out this.”
He glanced at me from beneath his eyelashes, his mouth parted.
“My dad’s going to expose it,” I finished. The idea hit me like a ton of bricks, my whole body pulsing. My dad lost his job because of them, but if he was the one to out the breaking news story to the world, it might be strong enough for him to get another offer. There was a ticking clock here. He needed to break the story before the donations started rolling in.
I glanced at my phone. Layla’s team still had fifteen minutes, then a half hour for Unlock. I wouldn’t be hosting it. I had other plans.
I started marching toward Key & Lock, but then looked back over my shoulder. “You coming?”
He raised his brow. “Where?”
“To break in there and get some evidence.”
“THIS FEELS WRONG.” TREVOR stood behind me as I punched in the Key & Lock code, warm breath sending the hair on the back of my neck blowing in a breeze of his own making. The entire organization was either on the quad or the makeshift green room. This was the only time the house would be completely empty.
“You’ve got a conscience about this but not about falsifying your singing voice?” I twisted the knob and the door swung open easily. For a secret society that was trying to pull one over on their own members, they weren’t taking enough precautions to actually be, well, secret. Like locking those members out when no one on the inside of the scheme was home.
“Hey now. I told you. Connor approved. I gave him a cut. It was a win win for everyone.”
“Except the record label. And your reputation.”
We traipsed inside the house, dark except for the light streaming in through the windows, turning everything a murky gray. The floorboards creaked as we traipsed through the halls, bypassing the luscious crimson wallpaper and dark hardwood floors. A sense of dread welled up in my stomach, similar to ritual nights. But Trevor reached for my hand, interlacing his fingers in mine, and suddenly the fear dissipated. Only anger remained—at Keane, at Unlock, at these people I trusted. These people I chose over my own best friends. Over the guy I loved.
But I hadn’t lost him. He was here, by my side, even if revealing this news would derail his career a second time. And that might be one too many times to crawl back from.
We ascended the stairs and met a locked door outside of Keane’s room. I cursed under my breath, annoyed at being stymied by simple hardware. I could try to pick the lock but considering I majored in useless stuff like Broadcast Journalism and not how to lead a life of crime, I suspected that would get me nowhere.
“Stand back.” Trevor ripped his hand from mine and stared down the door as if it had personally offended him. He cracked his neck from side to side.
I scrambled backward. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know if you heard what happened at the Roosevelt Hotel two years ago?”
I wracked my brain, sifting through all the tabloid stories about Trevor I once pored over as if they would give me a clue to what he was really like. But they were all lies. They were all for show.
“I kicked down my hotel door.”
Except that one, it seemed.
“I’d lost control after getting angry at Cliff but the tabloids ran with it, and then my publicist decided the negative press was leading to sales. So she set up similar stunts for me afterward.”
I remembered now—he’d been fined thousands of dollars in damages and the start of his bad boy image swept the press, only for the fire to be fueled the next night when he destroyed a guitar and amp live on stage. From there it was destruction mixed with the dramarama that gave him a reputation for being a diva and also made his shows sell out in seconds because no one wanted to be the one to miss out on his downfall.
Trevor lifted his foot behind him like he was gearing up to punt a football, then swung in forward, grunting. His foot slammed into the door, and my teeth clenched from the loud sound. Trevor let out a howl, and then hopped around, wincing in pain. “Fuck,” he said, breathing hard. “I must have had a lot of alcohol in me last time.”
“Or maybe just a death wish.”
He stopped hopping an eyed a chair stationed in the hallway. It was ornate, with cherry wood and a red damask fabric with gold filigree that made it look like it belonged in a sixteenth century castle and not the hallway of a secret society. “Better idea.” Trevor heaved it high in the air, his muscles shaking. With heavy grunts, he hurled it at the door with all his might.
A loud crash made me jump but also sent a weird feeling of satisfaction through me. This wasn’t technically Keane’s property but it still felt a little like punching him in the gut for what he did. Destroying him the way he was destroying my family. My pulse ticked. Had he ever really been interested in me or was he only keeping m
e close in case I found out about the role he played in my dad’s firing and my brother’s fake scholarship?
The chair collided with the door, cracking the wood into two splintered pieces. Trevor reached his arm between the broken pieces and unlocked the door from the inside. When he swung it open, one of the door pieces hung precariously, so we scuttled through the doorway fast before we became victims of our own plan.
Inside Keane’s room, everything was neat and orderly but Trevor immediately yanked open drawers and started throwing the contents onto the floor. Boxers, shirts, notebooks all landed in piles. I took a more calculated approach and headed straight for Keane’s laptop.
Of course, Keane wasn’t stupid enough to leave his laptop with open access. I cursed when the password screen popped up. I could sit here all night typing random things I thought Keane might use as a password but he was smart. And that meant he likely used a random combination of numbers, letters, and special characters to make something completely out of the realm of guessing. I bet he even rotated passwords every few weeks. Which meant he probably had them written down somewhere in case he forgot.
I pulled open his desk drawer, searching for a notebook or something else he might have jotted down the password in. I found something better. Taped to the underside of the drawer was a post-it containing a string of random numbers and letters. I let out an excited squeal as I typed each one into the entry box. I held my breath when I hit enter but the screen whirred away to reveal Keane’s desktop.
From there it was as simple as clicking on his email icon to find the paper trail of evidence. Emails to various celebrities, asking for a donation in exchange for whatever they wanted—movie role of their dreams? Points on the back end? There were exchanges with studio big wigs, CEOs of publishers, media companies, etc. Some simply confirmed in person meetings but then there were a few that simply sent two names. One to cut, one to hire. And a dollar amount attached.
I forwarded every single email to my dad.
Keane had a bank app on his computer, linked to Unlock, and I took a screenshot as much as I could and forwarded those too.
I even found an email exchange with Dean Malcolm. A handshake agreement. The battle was just a ruse, a publicity stunt. The Dean had already agreed to give Unlock the house.
“Holy shit.” His computer backed up his text messages, and when I clicked on them, I found a string of lovey dovey messages sent to Keane’s ex-girlfriend. No, not ex-girlfriend. Current girlfriend. They’d never broken up. That was all a ruse too.
Just to keep me quiet.
Erin dumped me, thank God, he texted her recently. I wasn’t sure how much more I could take.
My stomach lurched and I felt bile rising to my throat. I had liked him. Hell, I almost chose him over Trevor. But only one of them was actually loyal and it wasn’t the jerk that had been using me this whole time.
With shaky fingers, I punched in my dad’s cell phone.
“Honey?” he said, sounding wary. “Can I call you back? Something strange is going on with my email and—”
“It’s from me. I need you to get dressed in your nicest suit, sit at some kind of desk, and blow the hell out of this story.” I explained quickly what Trevor had told me and how we had broken into Unlock headquarters for this evidence.
“But—I don’t work at CNN anymore.” He sounded flustered.
“I know. Just get on Facebook live video. Then tweet the link to every person in the media you know. Send me the link too. It’ll blow up, I promise.”
And if all went well, other news organizations would be impressed with the way Dad broke down this scandal even when he was out of work. Maybe one of the companies affected by the scandal would feel grateful and give Dad a job. Based on merit. Not money.
“Do it quickly dad. Ten minutes tops. You need to break this before—” My phone buzzed. “Hold on, I’m getting a text.”
Hey—where are you? We’re on in 1 minute. From Keane.
And here I was going to say “before Unlock took the stage.” But too late for that now.
BY THE TIME I finished sending all the evidence and Trevor finished messing up the room as a delightful parting gift, Unlock’s performance was nearly half over. I’d texted Keane that I was dealing with a family emergency and to start without me, which was mostly true. After all, this was an emergency and it involved my family.
Trevor and I hustled out of Key & Lock—leaving the door wide open on our way out as another fuck you to them. Secrets exposed, all of them.
We weaved through the crowds that cheered and squealed as Alexis Rae strutted across the Unlock stage in cowboy boots and a sparkly dress while Gemma pouted into the microphone with her sultry voice. During the chorus, they sauntered toward one another until they sang face to face, their torsos touching, their lips rubbing against one another against one microphone. And when their lips locked after the final note, the crowd went wild.
I felt thrilled for them but a knot welled into my stomach. They’d done this for the good publicity it would bring…but that publicity was about to turn bad. Very bad.
“Does Cliff know?” I asked Trevor as eager concert goers pressed against us, blocking our path.
He shook his head. “Didn’t have a chance to tell him.”
I nodded gravely until we finally reached the Clever Media stage where Holly was already set up behind a folding table, ready to start her sex questions podcast. Fallon was the first to spot me and she squealed, throwing her arms around me as if she hadn’t just seen me an hour ago. “Erin! What happened to you hosting? You were—” She jutted her chin to the Unlock stage, where I was clearly not manning. Then her eyes slid to Trevor. “Oh. Never mind.”
Harrison face turned cold, and he practically mowed Fallon down to reach us. “What’s he doing here?”
“You once broke a story that ruined my career, now it’s my turn for revenge.” He pressed a finger to his lip. “Except this one will also ruin my career. Fuck.”
Harrison squinted, confused. “A story?” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his trusty mp3 recorder. I had to laugh. He was always prepared.
I shook my head at him. “We’re going to bust it on the podcast. Sorry, Harrison, but this time you don’t have the exclusive.”
But he simply grinned. “Do I not work for Clever Media as well? That means I do have the exclusive.”
I laughed as Bianca sidled up next to him. “What’s going on? Have you come back to grovel?” She poked me playfully in the shoulder, and I loved how my friends didn’t hold a grudge against me for ditching them. My stomach squeezed at that mistake. I’d never abandon them again.
In a rush, I explained everything. As if on cue, I received a text message from my dad with a link to his video. He was ready to go. I was ready to go.
I turned to Bianca. “What did Layla do for hers, by the way?”
She rolled her eyes. “It was so lame. She actually got booed. It was this ridiculous skit that might have been funny if we were watching in Quigley’s drunk off our asses, but it was so cheesy out here. Just lots of bad puns about students helping students while finding any excuse possible for the girls involved to strip down to bikinis.”
“Sorry I missed it,” Trevor said.
I nudged him in the stomach and he held up his hands in surrender.
Alexis and Gemma finished out their performance to a rage of cheers. “Don’t forget to donate to Unlock!” they said in unison, then turned to each other and giggled. I swear, the crowd let out a collective happy sigh at their young love.
“Thank you, thank you!” Keane said as he took the stage again, stomping across it in his tuxedo. “I hope you all enjoyed our performances tonight. We have some stiff competition.” He outstretched an arm toward Layla’s team and his lips quivered as if he were holding back snickers. “And I’m sure we’ll be in for a treat with Clever Media’s performance.” He turned to our stage and his eyes locked on mine. I watched as his entire body went s
tiff.
I winked, then flounced across the stage and took a seat next to a very confused Holly, who I had apparently forgotten to fill in in advance. She glanced at me, then Trevor, then vacated her seat to him, looking rather stunned.
Keane continued, in the middle of a sentence, but I was done playing by his rules. I cut him off. “And I think that’s our cue!” I said into the mic. It boomed over the crowd, louder than Keane’s.
“I’m not finished,” Keane said.
“Oh, I think you are,” Trevor said into the mic next to me.
Keane’s face drained of color. The crowd volleyed their heads back and forth, clearly unsure who to pay attention to.
“Welcome, folks, to the next episode of Clever Cast. I’m your host, Erin Behr.”
“And I’m Trevor Cardinelli.”
A mild cheer rushed through the crowd.
“And we’re about to change your minds about which organization to support. Because one of the three organizations up here is lying to you.”
“Scamming you,” Trevor added.
A few gasps rang out but most people squinted at us in confusion. Beneath the table, Trevor grabbed my hand and squeezed.
Keane lifted the mic to his lips. “Don’t listen to them, they’re just trying to trick you.”
“That so?” I asked. “As we speak, there’s a breaking news story making the media rounds. You can find the video at this URL…” I read off the link address my dad gave me.
I watched as most of the crowd bent their heads and typed that address into their phones. My dad’s voice faintly played from thousands of phones.
“But in case you don’t have access to the internet right now, I’m happy to play the audio clip.” I clicked on the link myself and held my phone up to the mic. The crowd couldn’t see the way my dad sat at our kitchen table, plants draped behind him, looking prim and put together in one of his old suits. There wasn’t even a crack in his voice as he looked straight at the camera and revealed the story.
