Three
THREE
“The sky is always darkest just before the planet rotates to face the sun.”
“That’s a black hole.”
Con Sulley and Lys Amarga, The Quantum Wraith
X avier must have heard Sutton wrong. The Quantum Wraith couldn’t be shut down. They were midway through the first unit schedule. The actors’ performances were impeccable. The daily footage, even in a rough stage without being color corrected and put through the postproduction process, looked amazing, if he did say so himself, but also mostly thanks to Jay’s cinematography.
The mere idea of everyone’s hard work, the soul and sweat they had invested for weeks if not months in many cases, thrown away just for a tax credit was… His heart pulsed like the wings of a wild bird suddenly trapped in an iron cage. “I’m sorry. Repeat that.”
Sutton stood, her arms continuing to be tightly crossed like a schoolteacher impatient with a willfully misunderstanding student. “You should speak to your representation about any contractual obligations you feel are owed you, and Monument will be in touch with the various guilds about compensating the cast and crew, as well as with their representation as warranted. I’m sure you’ll have lots of questions once you’ve had time to digest the news and starting Monday, Monument is prepared to devote as many resources as necessary to answer them and ensure production is properly wrapped up.”
Her gaze was blank, her delivery almost robotic as if reciting memorized lines. Which no doubt was exactly what her speech was. Her lack of emotion was more of gut punch than her actual words.
This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t lose The Quantum Wraith . All he had dreamed, all the plans he had not just for himself but for those closest to him.
He’d suffered catastrophic loss before. But the loss had been taken out of his hands, the outcome something he was powerless to affect. This was different. As long as he was still the director of the film, he would not give up. He would fight. His colleagues, his family, the people who mattered most to him deserved nothing less.
She was almost to the door before he could recover his power of speech. “Sutton?”
“Yes?” She slowly turned to face him.
“We didn’t go over budget. Strike that, I didn’t go over budget. If that’s the studio’s objection—”
“Monument is reassessing their entire slate, your film is not being singled out. I assure you this isn’t personal, it’s just business—”
“Is it? Really?” He tried to search her gaze, but she refused to meet his.
“I didn’t make the decision, Xavier.” She raised her head, but her eyes focused on a point over his shoulder.
“But you came to deliver the message.”
Her gaze flashed. But why, he wasn’t sure. “I’m doing my job.”
He could admit it now. He had been in over his head when he spent that semester at LAU. At the time, the offer to be the filmmaker in residence arrived like the answer to all his needs. His first feature-length film had been financed by a bequest left to him by his grandmother. But while the film performed well, winning an audience award at Sundance and securing a distribution deal, the financing for his next project was harder to come by. LAU offered him the school’s equipment and resources in return for employing student crew members and teaching a seminar, and he leaped at the opportunity, seeing only the ability to have complete control over his vision.
He never anticipated Sutton Spencer would sit in his classroom, upend his emotional world, and then disappear from his life. Only to show up now out of the blue and upend his professional world.
“Yes, I heard the corporate double speak,” he said. “But we haven’t gone over budget. There are missing payments meant for vendors, and I’ve asked Luisa to do an audit to see if more money is missing. If you could wait until she—”
Her headshake cut him off. “I told you. I’ve already examined the accounts. You’re going through money faster than Lys’s star fighter at warp speed.” Sutton took a laptop computer out of her bag and opened the device. After typing a few keys, she passed the machine to him. “Here.” A spreadsheet was on the screen. “This is the current status of your spending.”
Xavier ran his gaze over the numbers. One entry after another leaped out at him, each more nonsensical than the last. The vat of acid formed in his stomach upon learning of Pauley’s defection expanded into a vast, bubbling ocean.
He hoped Pauley and Hera were enjoying wherever they were holed up, because if they ever showed their faces around Hollywood again, he would make sure they were both banned from ever setting foot on a film set. He handed the computer back to Sutton and picked up his phone. “Luisa? I need you in my office. Now.”
“I appreciate you bringing in Luisa. She’ll be helpful in helping you craft a plan to wind down—
“We’re not doing that.” He opened a file on his computer and began to document everything he knew about Pauley and the missing money, creating a timeline.
Sutton sighed. “You have no choice. This was a decision made far above both our heads.” Her gaze remained distant, aloof. Impersonal. And then she shrugged, as if destroying the project on which so much depended—his big gamble on his future, the paychecks for the cast and crew—was nothing but an inconsequential minor inconvenience for her.
Was this who Sutton had been along? If so, ten years ago, she’d been a better actor than any of the award winners he’d worked with.
“I always wondered why you didn’t pursue a more creative career. You were one of the most promising screenwriters I’d ever met. I was shocked when you didn’t continue that. But now I understand.”
Her eyes widened, her gaze flying to his. Finally, some reaction out of the stone statue that Sutton Spencer had become. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You measure art by nothing but dollars and cents.”
“First, you don’t know me.”
“Obviously, I don’t. Apparently, I never did.”
“And whose fault—” Her lips slanted into a thin line. “Regardless. This isn’t show art. It’s show business . The entertainment industry .” She stressed the words. “Monument has investors who provide the studio with money, and in return, Monument gives you the budget to create a product that will hopefully make even more money for everyone. I know this is your first major studio film, but even you can’t be this ignorant of how the game is played.”
He rose from his chair, his hands flat on his desk. “I was hired because of my artistic experience.”
“To make a commercial product.”
“To make a film .”
She matched his stance on the other side of the desk, meeting his gaze head on. “A piece of intellectual property that belongs to Monument.”
He leaned farther into her space, his anger growing. “Property? Film is an art .”
She closed half the distance between them, her eyes burning bright. “Art doesn’t matter if it doesn’t put paying butts in chairs at cinemas.”
He pulled back, suddenly aware of her closeness. Of her lips just scant inches from his. “What happened to you, Sutton?”
Her gaze sparked, half fury, half hurt as she pressed her lips together, her chest visibly rising and falling. Finally, she spoke. “I grew up.”
The sound of a consistent knock at the door broke through the tension. Whoever was trying to gain admittance had been there for some time, judging by the increasingly rapid percussion. “Come in,” he said.
Luisa appeared, looking as devastated as seeing Sutton’s spreadsheet had made him. “Let me guess,” he said before Luisa could speak. “You found more missing monies.”
“Pauley signed off on—I didn’t know—the accountant didn’t—there’s a separate book.” She wrung her hands. “The numbers are bad. Really bad. I should have paid more attention. I take full responsibility.”
“The only person responsible is Pauley.” Xavier turned to Sutton, barely keeping the hurricane of frustration swirling around his head out of his voice. “Pauley was Monument’s condition for hiring me. They wanted an experienced producer on the film.”
Sutton glanced between him and Luisa. “I’ll let you two confer. Xavier, the studio will be in touch on Monday to go over the next steps.”
“Dinner is an hour in the dining room in the ranch’s main building. You can’t miss it. Look for the green-and-white striped awning.” Luisa blinked. “Oh, I didn’t even ask. My apologies. Are you staying the night? I can arrange a room for you.”
“I have a flight back to Los Angeles.” Sutton gathered up her laptop. “I should go now.”
“Sutton.”
She slowly wheeled to face him.
“You can’t leave.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I most certainly can.”
“No. You cannot drop a bombshell and run.”
“I’m not running. I came here to deliver a message. Teams from Monument will take over starting tomorrow and they will help you through the next few weeks. You’re not being abandoned.”
His stomach roiled. “The studio is abandoning this film. This crew. And you’re about to get on a plane without a backward look.”
Her face paled, then two spots of red appeared high on her cheekbones. “You think I’m abandoning you? Well, now you’ll know how it feels—” She snapped her lips shut. “This wasn’t my decision.”
“But you’re the Monument production executive. You can stay here. Investigate. See we didn’t knowingly spend all that money. Right, Luisa?”
The older woman still wore a shocked expression. “Swear to heaven, as far as my people knew, the film was on budget.”
Sutton glanced at Luisa. “There’s a second set of books?”
Luisa nodded. “I guess Pauley thought the jig was up and didn’t take them with him.”
Sutton’s lips pressed together. He’d forgotten how full they were, how sharp and precise the curves of the Cupid’s bow. “If money was embezzled, that does fall under my remit,” she murmured, as if to herself.
He saw an opening. A chance to keep control of his project and ensure he could keep the promises he made to his nearest and dearest. “Stay at the ranch,” he said. “Have dinner. There are plenty of flights to Los Angeles.”
Her head rose. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why? Don’t you want to eat with the crew? Get to know the individual people behind the piece of intellectual property?”
Her narrowed gaze was not amused.
But before she could respond, Luisa jumped in. “It’s getting dark and the roads around here aren’t lit, and they aren’t all that well marked. If you’re not a local, we don’t recommend driving at night. Too easy to find yourself lost. Why don’t you stay the night, and we can go over the books in the morning, if you don’t mind working on a Saturday. The room we usually gave to Chester is available, you’re welcome to it.”
Sutton’s forehead creased, a sign he remembered meant she was wavering. “That’s kind of you to offer but—”
He pressed his advantage. “We don’t want to lose another production executive. There’s a shop in the main building. You can buy what you need to spend the night there.”
“I still don’t think—”
“If Monument is so concerned about costs, then staying here to investigate the missing funds instead of flying back to LA and then flying back out would save time. Since time is money and money is all that matters. Right?”
Her mouth twisted at his echo of her earlier words. “I don’t want to put anyone out. I can stay at a hotel.”
“Your hotel room will be charged back to this production, adding to the budget overrun, while the ranch is already paid for. I didn’t think I needed to remind you how the game is played.” Throwing her words back at her felt surprisingly cathartic, considering his other option was to engage in a long, loud primal scream.
“I really would like you to look at the books,” Luisa offered. “Get a fresh set of eyes. I can’t…” Her voice shook. “I can’t believe mine.”
Sutton’s shoulders fell. “Let me make some phone calls. If there are irregularities, I should look at them and report back to Monument.”
Luisa’s smile could light a soundstage. “Talk to the front desk. Tell them you’re in Chester’s suite. They’ll know what to do.”
“Thank you. You said dinner was in the main building?”
“Do you need an escort? I can arrange for one.”
Sutton shook her head. “No, no, I’ll find it.” Her gaze met Xavier’s. Perhaps that was the thing about Sutton that had changed the least. Her eyes were still moss green, the color changing from brassy gold to deep verdant depending on the light. Or her emotions. Right now, they were opaque shade of olive. “I’m going to make those phone calls now.”
“You can use my office,” Luisa offered. “Turn right out the door, then second room on the left.”
“Thanks.” Sutton left with her head held high. Xavier couldn’t help noticing her hips were rounder, wider, her stride as graceful and her movements as arousing as ever.
“I hope I did the right thing convincing her to stay.” Color began to return to Luisa’s face.
Xavier’s anger at Pauley resurfaced all over again. How could Pauley betray Luisa like this? Her name was tied to his. She had a family, including elderly parents, for whom she was the main provider. Pauley torpedoed her career apparently without a care.
And what about all the other crew members? Especially the local crew for whom studio productions like this didn’t come around all that often? Pauley might have destroyed all their work as well.
Damn it. He would not let the studio steal this much-needed opportunity from him. From all of them. The people on his crew were talented, creative and worked their asses off in an industry that rarely appreciated them. They didn’t deserve to have Monument dismiss their hopes and dreams. He owed them that much.
And what about his hopes and dreams? He owed the people in his life even more. “Thank you for that. You did the right thing.”
Luisa threw him a crooked grin. “So much for playing happy families in front of the suit.”
“Or any kind of family. Monument wants to shut us down.”
“What?” Luisa’s queasy expression was back.
“Monument thinks we’re over by thirty million. We need to show Sutton we’re not responsible for the overages. If we can do that, maybe we can save the production.” Maybe. But the effort was worth the try.
Luisa searched his gaze and then nodded. “I’ll call everyone in Accounts and let them know it’s an all-hands-on-deck-all-night situation.”
“Good. Oh, and Luisa? Tell them to bring their coffee maker with them. We’ll require the extra machine.”
Stumbling, Sutton exited Xavier’s office. But instead of taking Luisa up on her offer, she left the building. She needed air, lots of air, and she took deep gulps once outside. The heat seared her lungs and woke her up from her stupor. “Go to Arizona, it’s a dry heat, they said,” she muttered under her breath. “No, the San Fernando Valley is a dry heat. This place could burn water to a crisp.”
But she had to admit her surroundings were beautiful in an austere way. The pathways that wound around and connected the various one- and two-story buildings and cabins that made up the Pronghorn consisted of large terra-cotta paving stones, interspersed with white gravel. The grounds were absent of grass, but succulents and cacti were laid out in geometric patterns that emphasized the whitewashed adobe buildings with red Spanish-style tile roofs and arched windows and doorways. The ranch vaguely reminded her of childhood visits to the missions built by Spanish priests up and down the California coast in the eighteenth century, but with less religious symbols and more sun-bleached cow skulls and iron horseshoes for decoration.
Her stomach growled, reminding her the last thing she’d had to eat was a packet of pretzels handed to her by a flight attendant hours ago. But—damn him for knowing exactly where to hit—Xavier was right. She didn’t want to go to dinner and make small talk with the crew members she was putting out of work.
Where was the catharsis, the cascading relief from the twisted knots that had taken up permanent residence in her gut? She’d faced Xavier. She’d looked him in the eye—well, mostly. She’d shown him she had attained success despite his obvious low opinion, to the point of being the one with the power to pull his projects.
So why didn’t she feel more victorious? Or at least vindicated? Shouldn’t she be thrilled she turned the tables so definitively on him?
Because he doesn’t deserve to have the film shut down , a small voice inside whispered. He didn’t know anything about the budget overruns. They weren’t his fault. Xavier was a brilliant director, but his acting skills weren’t nearly on par. No one could have faked that much surprise or dread.
She found a stone bench under a mesquite tree and called Nikki back. If anyone could help her puzzle out what was going on with The Quantum Wraith , it would be her. Her friend was talented at many things, but her ability to plug herself into the various gossip grapevines was truly unparalleled.
“Hey!” Nikki answered Sutton’s FaceTime call on the first ring. “How did it go?”
“It went,” Sutton said.
“You don’t look too happy. You still okay?”
Sutton traced the worn stone of the bench with her index finger. “I don’t think Xavier knew the film was in trouble. He seemed sincerely shocked.”
On Sutton’s phone screen, Nikki frowned. “How could he not know? I looked at the spreadsheets you showed me. The sign-off on those requisitions had to come from the director.”
“Or the producer,” Sutton said slowly. “What do you know about Pauley Robbins? He’s producing The Quantum Wraith . Or he was.”
“Was?”
“He quit the crew today. And apparently, he took some of the production’s funds with him. Not sure how much yet.”
“Seriously? He stole money?” Nikki glanced down and Sutton could hear computer keys clacking, followed by Nikki frowning as she read whatever was on her screen.
“What are you looking at?”
“The last films Pauley Robbins worked on… Hold on a minute. I want to confirm a theory that popped into my head.” Nikki clicked her tongue. “Yep, Pauley worked on Heaven Is a Place Next Door , Chasing Lightspeed , and Destiny’s Dragons .”
“Those are Monument films,” Sutton said.
“Even more of interest, they were Chester’s films.” Nikki held up a finger. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going—”
But Nikki returned to her chair before Sutton could finish speaking.
“I closed my door and made sure it’s locked,” Nikki said. “This is Code Silence, okay?”
Code Silence was their signal that whatever one had to say, the other would take the words to the grave. “Of course,” Sutton answered.
“Chester didn’t quit. He was fired.”
“What? But that makes no sense. He was doing well. He was rumored to be the next president of production someday.”
“Apparently, he was doing a bit too well. The story I heard is Zeke Fountaine got suspicious when he saw Chester driving a Maybach. There was no way Chester could afford a car like that on his salary, and he didn’t come from money. Zeke took it to Kellen and triggered a hush-hush investigation. But this is all rumor, mind you. No one is confirming anything due to legalities.”
Sutton wasn’t sorry Chester had left Monument. But she didn’t like the idea of being accused of malfeasance simply for driving a car. “Maybe Chester rented the Maybach. Or borrowed it. Or took out a massive loan. What business is that of Zeke’s?”
“As it turned out, others had noticed additional examples of Chester living above his means, but Zeke was the first to put the suspicions into words. I agree Zeke likes to cause trouble, but every once in a while, even a shit stirrer strikes gold.”
“We have to work on your metaphors,” Sutton said. “So, Chester…?”
“I’m still getting details. Everyone is understandably freaked out, what with all the stories about Monument’s board of directors cracking down on spending and potential layoffs.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Sutton said. “I’m being desiccated in the desert because of that anxiety.”
“Word on the street is some of the panic is thanks to Chester. He was a naughty boy, and not in the fun red room of pain kind of way. I’m hearing he skimmed money off his productions. A lot of money.”
“How is that even possible?” Sutton knew firsthand how many eyes were on film budgets.
“The best I can put together is he created several dummy corporations and sent invoices from those corporations to his productions to be paid out of the films’ budget.”
“But…” Sutton stared at Nikki’s face on the screen. “How did he think he would get away with that? There are armies of accountants watching the money. And if the movie had any profit participants, their people might comb the books as well.”
“Sutton. Honey. Dear sweet summer child. It’s Hollywood.” Nikki shrugged. “You know how tangled the accounting can get, between all the partners and the investors and the participants and the various windows and the—”
“You’re right.” Sutton rubbed her forehead. “I just…it’s inconceivable to me, to even think of such a thing. That’s fraud. Major fraud.”
“From what Fatima in Accounting told me, Chester started out small, using the dummy corporations almost as a way to make loans to himself because he would put the money back in by creating a refund—”
Sutton shook her head. “You know what my problem is? I’m not smart enough to come up with a scheme like this.”
“You’re not criminal enough. And your parents made you so afraid of setting a foot wrong and jeopardizing your salary, you would die on the spot if you did think of such a thing.”
“I have ethics, you mean.”
“I’m not saying that’s a negative, at least not about work, although you could be less uptight about dating—”
“No. I am not calling back that guy who said he works for Beyoncé. You want concert tickets so bad, you call him.”
“Anyway,” Nikki said, drawing out the word, “I caught Tam Shankar from Business Affairs this afternoon on a smoke break—”
“You don’t smoke.”
“No, but Tam does. Keep up. My best guess is Chester got overconfident, because according to Tam they just discovered several films have tens of millions outstanding in unreconciled accounts.”
“Tam told you this? Mr. ‘Act at all times as if I’m under an NDA.’ That Tam? Damn, you’re good.”
“I know.” Nikki made a fist with her right hand, blew on her knuckles and then pretended to shine them on her blouse. “And Tiago in Corporate Communications said Monument is scared because there is a potential internal scandal brewing that they’re trying to stop from going public because of the investors’ cold feet, so I’m betting that’s also about Chester. Do you have a list of the vendors used by The Quantum Wraith ?”
“I can ask. I’m meeting with the unit production manager tomorrow.”
“My bet is some of them are Chester’s dummy companies.”
Sutton pinched the bridge of her nose. “And since Pauley Robbins conveniently walked off just as Chester ‘left’…”
Nikki nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking. The two of them were probably working together. It’s even easier to get your fake invoices paid if you have someone inside the crew rubber-stamping them without question.”
“Xavier said hiring Pauley was a condition of Monument. I bet that means Pauley was Chester’s condition.” Sutton chewed her bottom lip. “Coincidence isn’t causation, but this doesn’t feel like coincidence.”
“I concur. Which is good news. Your man Xavier might be in the clear since Pauley is the link to Chester.”
“Not my man.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
“Regardless,” Sutton said, enunciating each syllable, “I honestly think he isn’t responsible for the overruns.”
“As long as you’re thinking with your head and not other parts of your anatomy. Listen, I’m not just spilling tea—”
“Except you are.”
“Except I am,” Nikki agreed. “However. I think we both agree that if Chester was defrauding Monument, it’s a good thing he was caught. But the way he was caught…” She shook her head. “Just be careful around Zeke Fountaine.”
“C’mon, we’re women who work in the entertainment industry. We’re tough. I’m not scared of Zeke.” With that, Sutton said goodbye and ended the FaceTime call.
The sun was now below the horizon, and some of the day’s heat had started to dissipate. The shadows had taken over and without the glow of her phone, her surroundings were still and dark with only nearby lit windows to remind her she was still somewhere resembling civilization. Luisa had been right. Sutton was glad she wasn’t trying to negotiate the long empty road she took to get to the ranch with only the headlights of her rented Prius.
A burst of laughter from afar splintered the silence. Sutton followed the sound to a row of open windows. She peeked through as she passed by, spotting a large room filled with long communal tables packed with a diverse array of people. The atmosphere was relaxed and cheery, with smiles and animated conversations in abundance everywhere she glanced. Contessina sat at a table in the middle, her face glowing and her fork waving as she spoke to the person on her left.
They looked so happy. Like a team who liked each other. Sutton was sure there must be disagreements and arguments among crew members. Making a film was a long, arduous and often tedious process interspersed with moments of sheer tension and often panic. But she’d been on enough sets to tell that this group was comfortable and confident, just as Contessina has said.
And she was breaking up the team. Correction: she was breaking up Xavier’s team, through no fault of his own. What good was besting him if the victory came on a technicality?
No matter her feelings about Xavier—and she didn’t have time to untangle that hopelessly convoluted mess right now—the film didn’t deserve to be canceled from underneath him. Looking at the storyboards, hearing the zeal in his voice and witnessing the excitement in Contessina’s gaze… Sutton’s job might require her to act like a jaded studio executive, but she saw the potential. Artistic vision, innovation and passion were being poured into The Quantum Wraith , and she was convinced audiences would respond well. Shutting production down was perhaps more of a risk to Monument’s future financial success than taking a tax write-off would be.
She went to the front desk to get her key card and directions to her assigned suite and then asked if a plate of food could be brought to her. She had several more phone calls to make before she could call it a night.