Black Deeds E-Book

Larry Darter

• Herausgeber: Fedora Press
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

A Malone Novel. In this latest thriller featuring the intrepid Los Angeles PI, Malone gets reacquainted with some old friends and meets new enemies in a troubling case that threatens to shake the City of Angels to its core.

An aspiring investigative reporter, Piper Lang has her cornflower blue eyes set on becoming more than just another pretty face in the newsroom of a major L.A. newspaper. She also has somebody sending her death threats and threatening to rearrange her lovely face if she keeps snooping into the goings on at a secretive Los Angeles-based female empowerment and entrepreneurial training group. It seems the shadowy company is operating with impunity like a multi-level marketing scheme that one of Lang’s sources claims is only a front for a dangerous sex cult.
Malone’s job is to keep the attractive and vivacious Piper healthy until she breaks the biggest story of her career. But after her primary source is almost murdered by two tough guys, Malone’s professional skills are put to the test in a deadly game–a game that may cost Malone and Piper Lang their lives.
When it seems clear Malone may be outgunned this time, series favorite L.A.P.D. detective Jaime Reyes comes to the rescue to provide backup. From the mansions of Bel Air to the film studios of Tinseltown, Malone will need to watch his step as he and Piper unravel a exploitative sex-cult. In L.A., all that glitters isn’t always gold.

Leseprobe

Larry Darter

Black Deeds

A Malone Novel

First published by Fedora Press 2020

Copyright © 2020 by Larry Darter

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Larry Darter asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Larry Darter has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020907665

First edition

ISBN: 978-1-3936052-5-6

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy Find out more at reedsy.com

For Jessica,

None is as interesting,

nor nearly so luminous.

“In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds, And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.”

— Shakespeare’s Sonnet CXXXI

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Bonus Reading Material

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

Also by Larry Darter

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

It was eleven o’clock in the morning, the last week of October, with the sun not shining through the west-facing window of Piper Lang’s office in the Los Angeles Tribune Building, a late art deco building at the corner of First and Spring Street. A Santa Ana wind was finally dying off after blowing in off the Mojave for three weeks and setting close to a hundred thirty thousand acres of Los Angeles County on fire. Smoke from the fires had stretched a hundred miles out over the Pacific and had darkened the days. There was a sense all over Southern California of living inside a tenebrous soup of black smoke and soot. It was one of those days when Los Angeles seemed most perilously and breathtakingly itself, a place of paradisaical promise and apocalyptic natural disaster.

Piper Lang looked about thirty-five. She had golden blond hair and skin the color of honey that brought out the blue in her midwinter sky-colored eyes. Piper wore a gray glen plaid blazer over a white crew with skintight black slacks. I thought she looked a little like an older Blake Lively. I didn’t know what I’d expected an investigative reporter to look like, but whatever it was, Piper had exceeded it.

“Liz Harper is a friend of mine and thought you might help,” Piper Lang said. “She said you’re the best in the business.”

I smiled at the thought of Liz and her long silky legs, maybe the best I’d ever seen.

“So you didn’t just Google handsome sleuths?” I said. “And chose me because you liked my picture?”

Piper grinned. “No,” she said. “Liz also warned me you were, and I’m quoting here, ‘a smart-mouthed bastard who tries to be funny.’ Though it wasn’t said without obvious affection.”

“I am funny,” I said. “I don’t even have to try. It’s a gift. The problem is, I have a hard time meeting people with a sophisticated enough sense of humor to appreciate my sterling wit.”

“If you say so,” Piper said, her thin cynical mouth curved slightly into a satisfied smile. “Maybe you are a little handsome in a rugged sort of way.”

I said, “I get that a lot.”

Piper chuckled. “I’m sure you do. Now, to the business at hand. I only gave you the general situation over the phone. Would you like me to tell you why I want to hire you?”

“That or else I could recite a list of reasons people hire a private investigator, and you could tell me when I’m getting warmer or colder,” I said.

Piper laughed. “Are you always so goofy?” she said. “Anyway, I’m an investigative journalist here at the Tribune. We’re working on an investigative series on a company called Ethos. The company claims to provide educational tools, life coaching, and training to people from all walks of life aimed at helping them succeed both professionally and personally. I’ve come across some solid evidence, all that is only a front for something more sinister.”

I said, “Um-hmm.” Four million people call Los Angeles home. Four million stories. I was about to hear another one.

“As I’ve dug deeper into the company, I’ve received anonymous death threats mailed here to the office. Recently, when I’ve left work, a car, a silver Lexus, has followed me on several occasions.”

“What is your solid evidence?” I said.

“Eyewitness statements from a confidential source who contacted me, a woman who had taken Ethos training,” Piper said. “She completed a series of modules in a course called PDP, or Personal Development Program. It’s billed as female-focused training promising personal and professional development.”

“And what deeper digging have you done?”

“I’ve researched the background of Ethos founder and CEO Gary Rensselaer, who curiously refers to himself as ‘Primus.’ And, I’ve been in touch with the state attorney general’s office seeking information on Rensselaer and Ethos.”

“Any documentary evidence of wrongdoing?” I said.

“Not yet. Ethos is a highly secretive organization. They require course attendees to sign non-disclosure agreements and to make promises not to reveal anything about Ethos teachings to outsiders. I’ve learned that Gary Rensselaer formerly ran a multilevel marketing scheme in Las Vegas called Cyber Mart Consumer Systems. The Nevada Attorney General investigated the company. They forced Rensselaer to close the company as part of a settlement agreement around a year before he founded Ethos.”

“Pyramid scheme?”

“Exactly,” Piper said. “But, the Nevada authorities filed no charges when Rensselaer agreed to close the company without making an admission of any wrongdoing.”

“That’s why you’re investigating Ethos? You think it’s another pyramid scheme?”

“That’s part of it,” Piper said. “Once they get participants to sign up for what they call the PDP level one course, they immediately pressure them to sign up and pay for higher-level courses to attain their personal success goals. These courses cost as much as six-thousand dollars for a five-day seminar.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, my source told me she spent over thirty-thousand dollars on the courses, much of it charged on her credit cards,” Piper said.

“They must cater to a wealthy crowd,” I said.

“Yes, their clients are mostly actresses, models, heiresses, and other wealthy female elites,” Piper said. “But, the possibility that Ethos in a criminal multilevel marketing scheme isn’t the sinister part I mentioned.”

“Not a surprise,” I said. “White-collar criminals rarely make death threats.”

Piper nodded. “My source also says there is another Ethos group that they encourage PDP participants to join called APS, which stands for Adelphic Polyandry Society. They present APS as a sorority-like sisterhood, a secret society like the Freemasons only just for women. But, in reality, it operates as a hierarchy of slaves headed by masters.”

“Slaves and masters?” I said. “I assume you aren’t speaking euphemistically.”

“No. Slaves and masters in the literal sense. The masters require the slaves to perform acts of care for them and to pay tribute to their masters in various ways. Acts of care and tribute akin to acting as personal assistants to the masters—bringing them coffee, shopping for them, preparing meals, running personal errands, cleaning their houses, etc. The slaves serve in effect as free personal assistants.”

“And Ethos actually finds people willing to sign up for this APS group?”

“Yes, and this is where it gets even more bizarre. My source claims the PDP courses are nothing short of cult-like brainwashing exercises aimed at coercing and persuading participants to join the APS group. To join, a woman must not only sign another non-disclosure agreement but also has to collateralize her promise to maintain complete secrecy about the group.”

“Collateralize?”

“Yes, the women must provide material or information that the prospective ‘slave’ would not want publicly revealed because it would be ruinous to her or someone close to her like a partner or family member. For some, the collateral has included sexually explicit photographs or videos. They tell slaves if they break their vow of silence, Ethos will make the collateral public.”

“This sounds a little like a bad remake of The Manchurian Candidate,” I said, “combined with the Manson family.”

“Yes, if it’s all true, it’s quite horrific and exploitative of the women involved,” Piper said. “And, according to my source, the ultimate goal of APS is to provide sexual slaves to Gary Rensselaer, aka Primus.”

“You said a confidential source approached you with all this?” I said.

“Yes, after trying several times to file a complaint with different law enforcement agencies, she came to me,” Piper said. “They all told her what she had described was activity between consenting adults, and there was nothing they could do.”

“But you don’t see it that way?”

“Of course not,” Piper said. “The coercive, cult-like control is abuse. They are recruiting, enticing, and soliciting women for commercial sex acts using force, threats, fraud, and intimidation. Not to mention bankrupting them. There is nothing consensual about it. It’s human trafficking, possibly even racketeering.”

“The question is, will you be able to prove it?”

“I think so,” Piper said. “If I can gather enough evidence, I believe the law enforcement authorities will have to take notice and do something about it.”

“What role do you expect me to play in all this?” I said.

“A protective role,” Piper said. “I only need someone to watch my back while I’m doing all the investigating.”

I nodded. Her nose was nice and straight. Her eyebrows were darker than her hair, and so were her eyebrows, revealing she wasn’t a natural blonde. That didn’t mean she wasn’t a sensational-looking woman.

“Three hundred a day plus expenses is my usual rate,” I said.

“That’s fine,” Piper said. “The paper is paying. My editor finds the death threats more frightening than I do. He is the one insisting I need a bodyguard.”

“Better to be safe than sorry.”

“I understand you’re a professional investigator. But it’s my story. I want to do the work. You have any issues with me handling the investigation aspect alone?”

“Nope.”

“I’m good at my job,” she said. “Everyone thinks if you’re a woman, you get ahead in the journalism business by wiggling your ass for the right people.”

“And?” I said.

“I won’t say I haven’t used all the assets I have available,” she said, “but I’m a damn good investigative journalist.”

“So, you have wiggled your ass a little?”

She looked at me and smiled. I figured she could smile like that with the constant eye sparkle whenever she wanted to.

“I wiggle it sometimes,” Piper said, “when and for whom I want to.”

“I hope you’ll let me know the next time you do it,” I said. “I’d hate to miss out on seeing it.”

Piper giggled. I liked it when she did that.

“Do you think I’m too assertive, too pushy?” she said.

“Maybe in this case,” I said. “You don’t have to be with me. I’m satisfied with the job as you’ve outlined it. I’m not a guy who has a problem with a woman taking the lead in something like this. But no way you could know it. So, no harm in you being direct.”

“I’m in a tough business,” Piper said. “I have to prove every day I have everything the guys have, so I have to be tough. Some men find that intimidating.”

“I’ll try not to let it intimidate me,” I said.

Piper grinned. “I doubt that will be a problem,” she said. “According to Liz, you’re faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, and able to leap tall buildings at a single bound.”

I grinned. “I’m afraid Liz exaggerated a little.”

“You mean you can’t do those things? That’s disappointing.”

“Think how I feel,” I said.

Piper smiled and did the sparkly eye thing again.

“I think we’ll be okay,” she said.

“When do we start?”

“Can you come back at five and follow me home?” Piper said. “My editor is having a meltdown over the death threats.”

“Sure.”

“By then, I’ll have a schedule for tomorrow. I can let you know then what we’ve got going.”

“Swell,” I said. “See you at five then.”

“Cool, and thanks.”

I nodded and left the office. Piper hadn’t sounded frightened. I liked that about her too.

CHAPTER TWO

The window was tightly shut. The room still smelled of smoke. I sat in my office. The sun had broken through a little and was coming through the window as I read the stuff about Gary Rensselaer I’d found online.

The office was quiet. My longtime secretary, Rhonda, had finally made good on her threats and had retired. I was stuck doing the research on my own. Rhonda had been better at it. It felt like I was studying for a test in a subject I didn’t like.

Gary Rensselaer was fifty-four. He’d grown up in Chicago. He had graduated from college with undergraduate degrees in computer science and philosophy. That struck me as an odd combination. I had found little about Rensselaer beyond the basic biographical information until I found an old archived newspaper article from 2005. Someone had interviewed him after he got involved with a well-known national multilevel marketing company that sold health, beauty, and home care products. It seemed he must have taken to multilevel marketing. I found another article where a reporter had interviewed Rensselaer about his own multilevel marketing company. In 2008 he had founded Cyber Mart Consumer Systems in Las Vegas.

After typing the company name into a search engine, I found a link to a state of Nevada court document. It was a consent order in connection with accusations by the Nevada Attorney General’s office Cyber Mart Consumer Systems was a pyramid scheme. Rensselaer had signed the consent order in 2011, agreeing to be permanently banned from promoting or offering any chain distribution scheme while denying any wrongdoing. It was clear he’d signed the agreement to avoid prosecution.

Next, I pulled up the Ethos website. Rensselaer had founded the company only eleven months after Nevada had shut down his previous business. The site didn’t have much in the way of useful information. It was mostly new-age gobbledygook like the mission statement: “To raise human awareness, foster an ethical, humanitarian civilization, and celebrate what it means to be human.”

While the site mentioned PDP, there were no course descriptions or explanations of the content of the courses. I supposed the women who paid to take the PDP training modules accepted it on faith Ethos would raise their awareness and help them become more ethical human beings. My guess was Ethos, like all multilevel marketers grew their membership by word of mouth, not by attracting clients with their web presence.

Under a tab labeled “Gender Studies,” it mentioned APS. The page identified APS as a separate Ethos company “designed to promote the furtherance and empowerment of women.” The APS page, too, was short on useful content and long on flaky gibberish.

After reviewing the official website, I returned to the search engine and typed “Ethos” in the search bar. Among the links, I found anonymous complaints unsatisfied clients had posted to business review sites claiming Ethos and its training courses were nothing but a scam.

Nothing I’d seen was hard evidence to back up what Piper had told me. Of course, I hadn’t spoken with her confidential source. I was about to head back downtown to pick up Piper from work when the phone rang. I answered it.

A man’s voice said, “Mr. Malone?”

“Yes.”

“My name’s Downing. I’m Piper Lang’s editor at the Tribune. She asked me to call you. She’s been hurt and wants to see you.”

“Where is she?”

“The hospital,” Downing said. “I’m here with her now.”

“What happened?”

“She got beat up.”

“Is she all right?”

“What do you mean, is she all right?” Downing said. “Have you never seen someone who has been beaten up?”

“I mean, how bad is she hurt?” I said.

“The injuries aren’t life-threatening, she will recover,” Downing said.

“Who beat her up?”

“You’ll have to talk to her about it,” Downing said. “You coming or what?”

“Sure, soon as you tell me which hospital,” I said.

He told me. I hung up and left the office to drive to the hospital on Temple Street.

* * *

Piper Lang was on her back on the hospital bed with an IV needle stuck into the top of her right hand. When I walked in, she moved her mouth slightly and tried to smile. The effort seemed to hurt, so she stopped. Downing scowled at me and left to get coffee.

One of Piper’s eyes was swollen shut. Her bottom lip was split and swollen. The end of a stitch was visible at the corner of her left eyebrow. She was wearing a neck brace.

“I guess Ethos was serious when they warned me to stop snooping,” she said.

She had barely moved her mouth, but it was the same voice I remembered from the morning, though it came from a battered face I barely recognized.

“Any broken bones? Ribs?”

“No, they only hit me in the face,” Piper said. “It feels messed up, but they haven’t let me look yet.”

“Tell me what happened,” I said.

“I got a call from a woman who told me her name was Abby. She said she had important information for me about Ethos and asked me to meet her. She said she wouldn’t talk on the phone because she was too frightened. Then she asked me to meet her at Spring Street Park but said she wouldn’t wait over fifteen minutes. I dashed out of the office and walked toward the park.”

I could see the talking was tiring for her. She paused for a while.

“And you went alone,” I said.

“I’m a journalist, Malone,” she said. “I had to follow it up. There wasn’t time to call you. She only gave me fifteen minutes.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Halfway to the park, a white cargo van pulled to the curb ahead of me and stopped. When I reached it, the side door opened. Two guys jumped out, grabbed me, and threw me on the floor inside. It happened so fast. I didn’t even have time to scream. While a driver drove us away, the men bound my wrists together with tape and put a black cloth bag over my head. While the driver drove around, the men beat me.”

“Did they say anything?”

“Yes. One said they wouldn’t kill me this time. They were just going to mess up my face. Then they started hitting me. After a while, they stopped. The same guy said if I didn’t stop snooping, they would kill me the next time. Then they hit me some more.”

“And?”

“The van stopped after a while. The men cut the tape off my wrists and dumped me out. Then the van drove away. I didn’t know where I was at first when I pulled the bag off my head. Finally, I realized I was at Elysia Park. A woman walking her dog saw me and rushed over. She phoned the police and waited with me until they arrived. Then an ambulance came, and they brought me here.”

“Cops take your statement?” I said.

“Yes.”

“You give them descriptions of the two guys?”

“As best I could,” Piper said. “They both wore masks. I never saw their faces.”

“What kind of masks?”

“Full face latex novelty masks. Bugs Bunny and Mickey Mouse.”

“What descriptions were you able to give the cops?”

“One was a big muscular guy. Like the guys who lift weights down at Venice Beach. The other, the one who did all the talking, seemed older. He was shorter and had a big belly. Also, I saw a tattoo on his left forearm before they put the bag over my head. It was an anchor with a compass thing in the middle.”

A tear ran down Piper’s cheek, then another. She cried for a while. I waited.

“I wasn’t really frightened until this happened,” Piper said sniffling.

I pulled a chair up beside the bed and sat down. I took her left hand in mine and patted it gently.

“Understandable,” I said. “It gets real when two thugs grab you and use you for a punching bag. Being scared is okay. There would be something wrong with you if you weren’t.”

“Jesus Christ,” Piper said.

She cried some more, softly. I waited some more. I patted her hand. It was small, like the rest of her.

“I’m not quitting,” Piper said after a while.

“No, I didn’t expect you would,” I said.

CHAPTER THREE

The morning was warm, and the sky had started to clear. After driving home to my apartment to pack a bag the evening before, I’d returned to the hospital. I spent the night in a chair inside Piper’s room. After the beating, it didn’t seem a good idea to leave her alone. I’d convinced her to let me stay at her place until she completed her investigation and ran the feature series.

The doctor released Piper at about ten in the morning, and I drove her home. We sat around her place for three days while the swelling subsided, and the bruises started to heal. I cooked for us using whatever I found in the pantry. But pickings were slim, and I’d depleted the meager food stores in the pantry by the end of the third day.

When Piper wasn’t up for conversation, I entertained myself watching television or reading the book I’d brought with me, Preface to Shakespeare. Nights I slept on the couch.

Early morning on the fourth day, I was on the couch watching the morning news when Piper emerged from her bedroom dressed with her hair brushed and makeup done. The makeup did a fair job of covering up the residual bruising. She looked good.

“I’m ready,” she said.

“For?”

“Getting back to work and maybe some grocery shopping after.”

“Suffering from cabin fever?”

She smiled. “Yeah, a little, I guess. But, I really need to get back to work. I want to show them I won’t give in to intimidation.”

I nodded. “Atta girl,” I said.

I switched off the television, put my gun and holster back on my belt, and grabbed my sports coat off the back of the couch.

From Piper’s house on Clark Street in West L.A., we drove downtown on San Vicente and then onto Beverly Boulevard. When we arrived at the Los Angeles Tribune Building, Piper directed me into the parking garage next to it.

“The Tribune will take care of your parking fees,” she said. “But you don’t have to babysit me all day. We have security inside the building.”

“I think I’ll hang around at least a day or two,” I said. “You hired me for protection, and I have nowhere else I need to be.”

“All right,” Piper said. “I admit I’ll feel safer with you around.”

Inside the Tribune Building, we took the elevator up to Piper’s floor. Getting off, we had to run a gauntlet of well-wishers, welcoming her back to work. Her secretary was a sturdy gray-haired woman with a kind face. She got up, came around the desk, and hugged Piper.

“I’m so happy you’re okay,” the woman said. “We were all very upset when we heard what happened.”

“Thank you, Jane,” Piper said. “Any phone messages?”

“Yes,” Jane said, turning to scoop up a handful of message slips from her desk.

“There is a woman who has called for you the last two days, but she refused to leave a number or message. She said that she would call back today.”

Piper nodded. “I think I know who she is.”

Jane smiled at her, and we went into Piper’s office. Piper sat at her desk and returned phone calls. I settled into a chair beside the desk with the morning edition of the Tribune.

Jane came in with two cups of coffee. She handed me one and set the other on the desk in front of Piper. Jane gave me the once over.

“You’re the private detective?” Jane said.

“I am.”

“My, you’re a big one, aren’t you?”

“I try not to be.”

Jane smiled.

“May I feel your muscle?” she said.

“Better not,” I said. “If I make a muscle, I might tear my jacket.”

Jane giggled. “Oh, my goodness.” Then she turned away and left the office.

I glanced at Piper. She had the phone to her ear listening but was looking at me. She smiled and winked. When she hung up, she said, “Aren’t you the modest one. You didn’t let Jane feel your muscle.”

“I have a lot to be modest about,” I said.

Piper grinned and sipped her coffee.

“I see you’re not wearing a ring,” she said. “Married?”

“Sort of,” I said.

“Sort of? Piper said with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m in a relationship with Sara Bernstein, the girl of my dreams,” I said. “We’ve been together going on four years.”

“I see,” Piper said. “That must be why Liz Harper hasn’t sunk her claws into you yet.”

“Well, it’s not from the lack of trying,” I said.

Piper giggled.

“So, if this Sara is the girl of your dreams, why haven’t you closed the deal and married her?”

“Sort of is as far as either of us wants to go,” I said. “Maybe we’re both a little afraid of tampering with perfection.”

“Hmm,” Piper said. “After only knowing you for a few days, if I were in a relationship with you going on four years, I’d be ready to get a ring on your finger.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said. “We share custody of Trixie, so I guess that’s all the commitment we need right now.”

“Trixie? You have a child together?”

“No, a dog,” I said. “Trixie is a terrier mix.”

“Ah, okay.”

“Though I also have a daughter, sort of,” I said. “Bridgette. She is a freshman in college.”

“A sort of daughter too?” Pier said. “Adopted, you mean?”

“Sort of,” I said. “It’s a long story.”

“You’re just full of ‘sort of’ things aren’t you?” Piper said, grinning.

“Sort of,” I said.

We both laughed.

“So, anything on the agenda today?” I said.

“I’m hoping the woman June mentioned calls back,” Piper said. “I’m pretty sure she is my source for the Ethos story.”

“You don’t have her number?”

“No. She is so frightened and skittish,” Piper said. “She hasn’t even given me her name yet, much less her phone number. We’re still working on establishing trust.”

“And she’s all you’ve got?”

“Yes, at the moment. Though she knows other women who attended the Ethos seminars and are also defectors. She is trying to persuade them to come forward and talk with me.”

“Defectors?” I said. “Sounds cultish.”

“Yes, that is what the Ethos people call those who drop out of their training courses,” Piper said. “I guess the women have adopted the term.”

I nodded.

“Anyway, the source calls me when she is willing to talk,” Piper said. “But she won’t talk on the phone. She chooses a public place for us to meet.”

“How far along with her are you?” I said.

“Not far enough,” Piper said. “I need to interview the other women who were involved with Ethos she knows. My editor won’t let me print even the first story based on allegations from a single anonymous source. He is afraid we will get sued.”

“Were you able to verify her story about trying to file a complaint with the cops?”

“Yes, but as you may imagine, the police wouldn’t tell me much beyond confirming an individual had come to them with complaints about Ethos. They refused to comment on what she said. And since they aren’t pursuing it, there are no written reports to get my hands on.”

“Have you talked to anyone at Ethos?”

“Tried. I called and asked for an appointment to interview Gary Rensselaer. They asked why I wanted to see him. I told the lady I spoke to the reason, and she became defensive and hostile. She said Rensselaer couldn’t be bothered to respond to a pack of lies a deranged former client was spreading.”

“If it’s all lies, you would think they would be happy to get their side of the story on the record by talking with you,” I said.

“You would think,” Piper said. “Their defensive attitude only makes me more suspicious.”

Piper returned more phone calls. I read the paper. At noon we walked down the street to a sandwich place for lunch. I watched her out of the corner of my eyes while we were walking. She had the rolling, arm-swinging gait of an agile woman. Despite the residual bruising and the fact we were in downtown Los Angeles, a city with more than its share of attractive women, she turned a lot of heads.

Back at the office after lunch, Piper worked on the article she hoped to publish soon. I stood at the window and looked out at the people passing on the sidewalk below. The phone rang. Piper answered it. From the one-sided conversation, it sounded like her source had called back and was ready for a meeting. I listened as Piper told her about the men assaulting her and how she would have to bring me along. It was clear the source didn’t like the idea, but Piper didn’t back down. After a five-minute conversation, Piper said goodbye and hung up.

“Shit, I was afraid she would bail altogether when I told her about the men beating me up,” Piper said. “And she isn’t happy about me bringing you to the meeting.”

“But she will meet you?” I said.

“Yes, we’re meeting at the Santa Monica Pier in an hour,” Piper said. “We better get going to allow for traffic.”

I nodded, and we left the office for the parking garage. Piper’s car was there too from the last time she had driven it to work. But we took mine. We drove west on the 110 from First Street and then onto Santa Monica Freeway to the meeting location. After parking the car in a lot off Colorado, we walked to the Pier Shop, the meeting spot, and waited outside. We had arrived fifteen minutes early.

The source showed up about ten minutes after we did. She looked middle-aged, but it was hard to tell with the get-up she was wearing. She had on a black wig, a hoodie with the hood up, a scarf that covered her mouth, and a pair of large sunglasses. The woman looked like a celebrity avoiding the paparazzi or maybe a character in a Hollywood spy comedy.

Piper exchanged a few whispered words with the woman, then we all walked back across Colorado to Tongva Park to some concrete park benches beneath a lot of olive trees with low-hanging branches at the base of a knoll that rose above the winding sidewalk.

Ever mindful I was only there as the hired muscle, I kept my eyes peeled for marauding Ethos thugs while the woman talked with Piper. But, ever the professional sleuth, I stayed close enough to them to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“They suspect I’m the one talking to you,” the woman said nervously.

“Have they threatened you?” Piper said.

“Not with violence, but the Ethos attorneys sent me a letter,” the woman said. “They threatened to sue me if I violated the non-disclosure agreement I signed. I’m terrified now after hearing what they did to you.”

“I’m sure they believe they can control you with the non-disclosure agreement,” Piper said. “I see no reason they would attack you.”

“I’m so scared,” the woman said. “This is making me a nervous wreck.”

“I know how hard it must be,” Piper said. “But if you want the authorities to act, you must stick it out and let us expose Ethos by running the series in the paper.”

“Why is it taking so long?” the woman said.

“We need corroboration from the other women,” Piper said. “I believe you, but my editor won’t let me publish the articles on your story alone.”

“Three other women are thinking about talking to you,” the woman said. “But they haven’t agreed yet. They are as frightened as I am that Ethos will retaliate by releasing their collateral or worse.”

“Keep trying to persuade them,” Piper said. “Generating public outrage against Ethos through the press is the only way we can put pressure on law enforcement to act.”

“I’ll keep trying,” the woman said.

“Are their stories similar to yours?” Piper said.

“Except for one girl who was a member of APS,” the woman said, “the master-slave group I told you about. The others, like me, left PDP when the trainers pressured them to join APS.”

“Did they pressure you to join APS?”

“No, I’m the wrong demographic for Rensselaer. He prefers younger women. The younger, the better.”

“What about APS intimidated the others?” Piper said. “You told me they don’t tell prospects what it is really about until they agree to join.”

“They start by pitching it as some kind of badass bitch secret sisterhood,” the woman said. “But once you show interest in maybe joining APS, they pressure you, and that’s when they press you super hard to provide collateral,” the woman said. “When they told the two women I know they would have to provide nude photos or videos as collateral, they dropped out of PDP.”

“Tell me about the girl who joined APS,” Piper said.

“They initiated her at the same time as another girl I know,” the woman said, “both as second-tier slaves.”

“I thought you said you only knew one woman who joined APS that might speak with me,” Piper said.

“I did say that,” the woman said. “The other girl I mentioned won’t speak with you. She is still in APS and is loyal to Rensselaer and the rest. She is brain-washed.”

“Oh, okay. So, what has the other woman told you about her experiences with APS?”

“Her master punished her in various ways when she failed to recruit new girls, when she gained weight, or didn’t answer a call or text from her master within sixty seconds.”

“How was she punished?” Piper said.

“Different ways,” the woman said. “Sometimes her master stripped her naked, tied her to a bed frame, and beat her with a whip or paddle. You know, things like people into S&M use. Other times her master made her take five minute cold showers or run some prescribed distance.”

“So, they practice sadomasochism?”

“Yes, and other kinky sexual stuff.”

“You mentioned the dieting before,” Piper said. “Why are they so obsessed with weight gain?”

“Because the entire purpose of the APS group is to recruit sex slaves for that monster Gary Rensselaer,” the woman said. “Another slave who had been in APS longer told the girl I know that Rensselaer once told her an ounce of fat on a woman turned him off so much he couldn’t get it up to have sex.”

“Oh my God,” Piper said. “So, he demands sexual partners who are thin.”

“Not just thin, emaciated. The girl I’m speaking of weighed about one-hundred-thirty pounds when she joined APS. She was down to one-hundred-two-pounds when Rensselaer told her that. He was pressuring her to lose more weight.”

“Rensselaer is obsessed with excessively thin women?” Piper said.

“I think it’s more than that,” the woman said. “He also insists on no pubic hair. I believe Rensselaer is a pedophile. I think he has a sexual preference for underage girls. When he doesn’t have access to them, he wants the young women he has sex with to look like underage girls.”

“This gets worse and worse,” Piper said.

“The man is a monster,” the woman said. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. It’s what I tried to tell the police.”

“Can you give me the names of other key players at Ethos?”

“One is Emily Watson,” the woman said. “She used to be an actress in a popular superhero television show several years ago. But she gave up acting to work for Ethos full-time. She is Rensselaer’s top slave, but she is also a master with slaves of her own. Everyone calls her the pimp. Rensselaer put her in charge of furnishing other girls for him to have sex with. That’s why Emily heads the APS program.”

“Any others you can name?” Piper said.

“Asia Stewart, Heather Wasserman, Kristin Wilson, and Rachel Brown,” the woman said.

“Asia Stewart, the model and actress?”

“Yes, and one of Emily’s slaves. She is the one I told you wouldn’t talk with you because of her loyalty to Rensselaer and the others.”

“Okay, but you must do your best to convince the others to talk with me,” Piper said. “This is insane. We have to stop it.”

“I’m trying, but like me, they have been beaten down and brutalized mentally and emotionally,” the woman said. “They are paranoid, worried they are being watched and frightened to death of Rensselaer. They are worried his lawyers or goons will retaliate against them if they talk to anyone.”

“I’m sympathetic, but I promised to be honest with you,” Piper said. “My editor will never allow me to publish the revealing articles needed to expose Rensselaer and Ethos based on anonymous sources.”

“What?” the woman said. “No one will talk to you if their names will appear in your newspaper. They are too frightened.”

“My editor won’t insist on publishing your names,” Piper said. “What I meant is he wants to know the names of verified sources before we publish the stories. He needs assurance Ethos can’t successfully sue the paper for libel or defamation. While I believe your story, I don’t even know who you are. I haven’t any names to give him.”

“I needed to know that I can trust you and that you will actually publish the stories before identifying myself,” the woman said. “There is a lot at stake here.”

“You shouldn’t be so concerned about the non-disclosure agreement they made you sign,” Piper said. “Our attorneys say if Ethos requires non-disclosure agreements to cover up illegal activities, the NDAs aren’t worth the paper they printed them on.”

“It isn’t just the non-disclosure agreement I’m concerned about.”

“Then what? You seem to want this story to go public, and you’ve said you hadn’t given Ethos any collateral they could expose.”

“Asia Stewart is my daughter,” the woman said. “I got her involved with Ethos. Now they have brain-washed her, and I can’t get her out of it. I’m afraid of what they might do to my daughter if I speak out publicly.”

“You’re Kathleen Bergman, the actress?”

“Yes,” the woman said, removing her sunglasses. “An acquaintance urged me to get involved with Ethos. He told me it would be truly life-changing. I’ve been a seeker my entire life. I’ve been involved in almost every kind of self-help, self-improvement, self-realization program you can imagine. Asia was at a crossroads, trying to decide what she wanted to do with her life. So the PDP modules sounded like a good idea for both of us. I convinced my daughter to attend the introductory meeting with me, and we both signed up for the first course.”

Piper and the woman talked for another five minutes. Then Piper stood up and nodded to me to follow her. We left the woman sitting on the bench and walked back to the parking lot where I’d left the car.

CHAPTER FOUR

Piper was quiet for a while on the walk back to the car, deep in thought it seemed.

“Bergman was so paranoid, I’m surprised she didn’t walk back with us,” I said. “I’m sure she must have parked her car in the same lot.”

“Guess she needed some time alone after deciding to open up to me,” Piper said. “That’s the most she has told me since she first contacted me. I assume you heard most of it.”

“I did,” I said.

“What do you think?”

“I’ll admit I had my doubts that Ethos was all you claimed when you first told me about it,” I said. “I’m more convinced now. She seemed credible.”

“I expect you would know,” Piper said. “Liz told me you used to be a cop.”

“I was.”

“Why did you leave the force?”

“My superiors thought me insubordinate.”

“Were you?”

“I prefer to think of it as being uncompromising in doing the right thing,” I said. “But, I understand why my bosses had the opinion they did.”

“Uncompromising?”

“Yes, I sometimes ignored policies and procedures when they impeded doing the right thing.”

“So, you quit?”

“I did. But, had I not, the department would have got around to terminating me. I preferred leaving on my terms.”

Piper stopped walking, pointing at something across the parking lot. “That looks like the car I told you about.”

I followed her finger to a silver Lexus sedan. “Sure it’s the same car?” I said. “Probably thousands of silver Lexus sedans in Los Angeles.”

“I know, but I remember that the car that followed me had the same minor damage to the front bumper,” Piper said.

We walked over to the car. No one was in it. I inspected the right front bumper, which had minor damage, and some red paint transfer.

“I’m sure that’s the car,” Piper said.

I handed her my car keys. “Go back to the car and wait for me.”

“Why? Where are you going?”

“To check on Bergman,” I said. “Whoever was in this car must have followed us here from downtown. Since they haven’t confronted us, they must be here for Bergman.”

“Oh, shit,” Piper said.

I turned and jogged back across the street to the park and up the sidewalk to the park bench where we had left Bergman. She was no longer sitting on the bench, but there was a purse on the ground beside it. I picked up the bag and dug through it until I found a wallet. Inside the wallet, I found a California license issued to Kathleen Bergman.

Glancing around, I saw a gravel walking path leading uphill from the sidewalk toward a thick stand of Torrey pine trees. Since I hadn’t run into them on the sidewalk when I reentered the park, it seemed a good bet whoever had followed us in the Lexus had taken her that way.

I followed the gravel track uphill, careful to stay off it on the grass so the soles of my shoes wouldn’t crunch on the gravel. The trees were so dense at the top of the hill I couldn’t see anything beyond them. I realized that I had my Glock in my hand, though I didn’t recall taking it from the holster on the right side of my belt. When I got to the trees, I stopped and listened. Ahead of me, I heard a kind of low wailing sound coming from the other side of the trees. After several steps into the trees, I saw a clearing on the far side there were indistinct figures. Once I reached the edges of the tree line, they came into sharper focus. Bergman was the one making the mournful sounds. She was on her knees and wailed louder. A slightly paunchy, balding, middle-aged man wearing a black polo shirt over gray slacks brought a long-barreled semi-automatic from his side and placed the muzzle against the back of Bergman’s head.

Stepping out of the tree line, I dropped into a Weaver stance and extended the Glock. “Freeze!” I yelled.

The guy with the pistol snapped around, and I heard a bullet thunk into a tree behind me simultaneous with seeing the muzzle flash and before I heard the muffled shot. I let out a breath with the front sight on the middle of his chest and pulled the trigger. He fell over backward. His pal was shooting now, and more bullets thumped into the trees. At the edge of my vision, I saw Bergman crawling for some bushes, and I turned and dove behind a tree. It was quiet again after the explosion of the shots. Belly down, I peered around the base of the tree. After what seemed a long while, but was probably less than a minute, I saw the other guy. He looked mid-twenties and was tall and muscled, like a Venice Beach Boardwalk bodybuilder, wearing his blond hair in a crew cut. He held a big frame nickel-plated revolver. It looked like he had tried to flank me, but it took him a second to realize I wasn’t where he had thought I was in the trees. When he turned toward me, I put two shots into his chest. His gun fell from his hand and thumped softly onto the ground. His legs buckled, and he fell slowly sideways to join it.

Getting up from the ground, I walked to him. I checked for a pulse, placing my index and middle fingers over his carotid artery on his neck to the side of his windpipe. There wasn’t any. I walked over to check on his pal and got the same result. I looked around for Bergman.

“Kathleen,” I yelled. No response.

“Kathleen, it’s Malone. You’re okay. They’re dead. You can come out.”

“Kathleen Bergman!”

Then I saw her pop out of some bushes about a hundred yards away. The hood from her jacket was off her head, her hair streaming behind her as she ran downhill over the grass like Rams cornerback Jalen Ramsey trying to stay with a wide receiver.

“Kathleen!” I yelled.

She never looked back before disappearing over the hill. I turned and looked at the two stiffs on the ground. Sonofabitch, I thought. It would have been nice if she had hung around to talk to the cops. I took out my phone and punched in 911. After giving the operator the details and location, she told me to stay on the phone while she dispatched the police. I hung up, dropped the phone into my pocket, and started down the gravel track to the sidewalk where I had told the operator I’d wait for the cops.

Piper was waiting by the benches when I got to the sidewalk. I told her what had happened.

“Good God, Kathleen must be terrified,” she said. “Was she hurt?”

“She was okay,” I said. “There was no blood on her, and she was running like a track star when I saw her disappear over the hill.”

“You should have run after her.”

“Couldn’t. The Santa Monica cops wouldn’t have liked it if I’d left the scene. Besides, I doubt I could have caught her with the lead she had.”

“Are they the men who beat me up?”

“Probably. The older guy had the tattoo you described.”

The first of Santa Monica’s finest to arrive after I called it in were four uniformed officers. They got our names, separated us, frisked me, and took my gun. Two officers stayed with Piper at the benches. Two stayed with me. I led them uphill through the trees to the bodies.

Santa Monica Fire Department EMS arrived and checked the stiffs, though they were long past needing medical attention. It was about twenty minutes after the uniformed cops arrived when the SMPD homicide people showed up. Along with them came the SID people and an investigator from the medical examiner’s office. A detective of the major crimes unit, Martin Goodman, led the crew. I’m six foot two, and he was taller than I was. He had large hands and thick fingers. His salt and pepper hair was in a buzz cut. His suit was immaculate, his shoes gleamed with fresh polish, and his tie perfectly knotted. Goodman’s partner was an attractive Latina who had her long dark hair up in a ponytail. She introduced herself as Detective Perez.

After surveying the scene and squatting beside the bodybuilder for a closer look at the wounds, Goodman stood up and nodded for me to follow. The detectives walked me back to the benches to get out of the way of the SID team. I showed Goodman my P.I. license and told him what I knew, which wasn’t much. He stood looking at me with his suit jacket open and his hands in his hip pockets.

“Lucky break for us, Malone, having a professional like yourself here to help us out. I’m sure you’ll keep us from missing important clues and stuff,” Goodman said.

I decided I didn’t like Goodman much. He reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out my Glock the blue suits had turned over to him earlier. He lifted the barrel to his nose and sniffed.

“Licensed to carry this?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Have your concealed carry permit on you?”

“I do, in my wallet,” I said.

I took out the wallet and removed the permit. I handed it to him. He looked at it carefully, made some notes in a notebook, and handed it back.

“What were you doing out here?” Goodman said.

“My client, a reporter with the Tribune, and I came here earlier to meet a woman,” I said. “She is a source for a story my client is working on.”

Goodman nodded. His face was impassive.

“Know the victims?”

“No, never saw either of them before this afternoon,” I said.

“Know the name of the woman you claim these idiots accosted, the source?”

“No.”

“And you’re a hotshot private detective?”

“Embarrassing isn’t it,” I said. “I was only here to protect my client. She has received death threats.”

“From whom?”

“Don’t know. They were sent anonymously through the mail with no return address.”

“Why did you come back to the park?”

“On our way back to the car, we saw a vehicle parked in the lot that someone who has been following my client has been driving. It made me suspect something might have happened to the woman my client had talked with.”

“Like?”

“Like serious bodily harm.”

“What happened when you arrived?”

“The woman was gone, but her purse was on the ground beside the bench where we’d left her.”

Goodman nodded.

“Then suddenly you got the feeling someone had taken her up the hill, possible to do serious bodily harm to her? You went up there looking for them?”

“That’s right.”

“You didn’t think to call 911 instead of handling it yourself?”

“No, there wasn’t time.”

“Why?”

“Because I figured the guys had followed us here from downtown and had seen us talking to the woman. When we discovered their car in the parking lot and knew we hadn’t encountered them, it seemed logical they were here for her. I expect they knew she was my client’s source and wanted to shut her up.”

“So, assuming it went down the way you claim, it didn’t surprise you to find someone with a gun pointed at her head?”

“No.”

“Why do you think she didn’t hang around to back up your story after you rescued her?” Goodman said.

I shook my head. “Can’t say for sure,” I said. “I assume she ran away because she was frightened.”

“Good shooting,” Goodman said. “All three shots in the ten ring. You some kind of expert?”

“You could say that,” I said. “I was with LAPD before I went private.”

Goodman gave me a long look. “Doing what?”

“Homicide investigations.”

Goodman nodded. “Okay, I guess that’s all for now,” he said. “But—“

“Don’t leave town,” I said. “Got it.”

Goodman didn’t crack a smile. “Yeah, we may want to talk with you again,” he said. “Wait here with these officers while we talk with your client. If her story matches up, we’ll probably kick you both loose for now.”

“Sure,” I said.

Goodman and Perez walked over to Piper, who was standing about thirty feet away. They talked to her for almost an hour. Then they walked her over to me and told us we could go. I shot Goodman with my index finger, and we walked back to the parking lot where I’d parked the car.

“I feel sick,” Piper said. “We led them right to her. Those men could have killed her.”

“Yeah,” I said. “We probably did.”

We got in the car and drove towards the freeway.

“You seem so calm about it,” Piper said. “Aren’t you appalled? Morally outraged? Or, I don’t know, angry?”

“All that’s useless,” I said. “You can’t always spot a tail when they’re good. She’s alive, they’re dead, and there is nothing more we can do about any of it.”

“My God, you act as if it’s commonplace to shoot people dead in a city park,” she said. “How can you act so cavalier about it?”

“I’ve shot people before,” I said. “Nothing to feel good about. But I killed them because they were trying to kill me. They didn’t give me any choice. Hard to feel sorry for them.”

“Well, forgive me, this is my first involvement in a shooting,” Piper said.

“Doesn’t matter much,” I said. “It never gets easier.”

“You know what really makes me sick?”

“What?” I said.

“In this country—the land of the free and home of the brave—all that shit. I still need a man with a gun to protect me simply because I’m trying to do my job.”

“Yes, that’s upsetting.”

“My God, we led them right to her,” Piper said again.

“You can’t think of it that way,” I said. “It wasn’t our fault. Those thugs probably knew more about her than we do. They just didn’t know where to find her. So, they followed us here to do what they would have done anyway if they had found her on their own. She didn’t deserve what happened. But that’s the truth.”

We drove on in silence.

“Want to get dinner?” I said. “Too late to go shopping and cook.”

“I don’t think I could eat,” Piper said. “But stop if you want to get something.”

“Okay.”

I drove to an Italian place on Westwood my girlfriend Sara liked. I order veal scaloppini. Piper ordered the vegetable lasagna. I guessed the scent of the garlic, tomato sauces, and baking bread sparked her appetite. We shared a bottle of pinot noir. She had four glasses to my two, saying, “I never drink this much, usually,” each time I refilled her empty glass.

After dinner, we drove to her place. Once we got there, she pulled out another bottle of wine, merlot this time. We drank that one too. Again she had four glasses to my two. I supposed she’d had a tough day.

“How does your girlfriend feel about you sleeping over at another woman’s house?” Piper said. “Sara, isn’t it?”

She had slurred the “s” in sleeping and Sara slightly. Then she giggled.

“Probably fine with it as long as I’m only sleeping in the house, not in the woman’s bed who owns it,” I said.

Piper giggled again. She pushed herself up off the couch. She stood unsteadily and looked me in the eye.

“You really don’t have to sleep on the couch,” she said. “I have a large bed. You could help me undress.”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Because it is easy to imagine what would follow helping you undress,” I said. “Thanks, but the couch is fine.”

“No one would know except us.”

“Sara would know,” I said.

“You would tell her?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because we shouldn’t have things we don’t tell each other,” I said. “I wouldn’t do anything I couldn’t tell her about.”

“Jesus,” Piper said. “The last boy scout.”

“Go to bed,” I said. “You have to work in the morning.”

“Don’t know why I thought I’d succeed where Liz Harper has failed so often,” Piper said. “I mean, look at me. I’m no Liz.”

“You’re every bit as attractive and desirable as Liz,” I said. “It’s not about that.”

“But, your answer is still no?”

“Yes, still no.”

“Your loss,” Piper said.

“And how,” I said. “Goodnight.”

Piper leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead.

“Goodnight, boy scout,” she said. She giggled once more and went into her bedroom.

CHAPTER FIVE

The next morning I was finishing up breakfast when Piper walked into the kitchen. She had freshly showered, dressed, and had her makeup on. She looked no worse for the wear after drinking most of two bottles of wine the night before.

“Hope you like omelets,” I said.

“Looks delicious,” Piper said. “What kind?”

“Denver. My specialty.”

Piper nodded. “One of my favorites.”

We carried our plates into the dining room and sat down at the table.

“I apologize for my behavior last night,” Piper said.

“Excuse me? What behavior?”

“I had too much wine, but I vaguely remember trying to entice you into sleeping with me. I’m sorry. You told me you were in a relationship.”

“Oh, no problem,” I said, putting my fork down on the plate. “No harm done. So, how do you feel about your investigation after what happened yesterday?”

“It only makes me more determined to expose Rensselaer and Ethos. But, if I’ve lost Kathleen Bergman as a source, it puts me back at square one.”

“I thought she gave you her phone number,” I said.

“She gave me a number, but she didn’t answer when I tried calling her this morning,” Piper said. “And, it’s probably the number for a burner.”

“But, you know who she is now,” I said. “We could probably find her if we looked hard enough.”

“Finding her doesn’t mean she will talk with me or continue cooperating with me on the story,” Piper said. “I can’t force her.”

“What put you on the Ethos story to begin with?”

“I was working on another story. I had stopped by city hall one day to look at the city planning board agenda and noticed something unusual—an architect’s futuristic rendering of a large multi-use building to be built in West L.A. at Bundy and Olympic. The item on the list was a public hearing called at the request of a local neighborhood group opposed to the project. They were already collecting signatures on a petition to block construction. I learned the building was the proposed headquarters for a company called Ethos. The controversy sounded intriguing. I wanted to find out why the neighborhood group objected to the Ethos headquarters being built. I did a little digging.”

“And you learned what?”