I knew I had to be cautious, and so I vowed not to act until I had a solid plan in place. I began combing through Audrey’s accounts, and thirty minutes later, I found my opening on a two-day-old Instagram post. It was about something called microblading, and I had initially skimmed the post because I didn’t completely understand. Tattooed eyebrows? That didn’t sound right. Surely I was missing something.

But I didn’t miss the last couple lines of her post: Have you had microblading done? I’d love to see your results!

There it was, as near to an engraved invitation as I was going to get. Hiding behind a VPN, I started a new message in an email account I’d created under the name “Aria Williams,” the kind of upper-middle-class millennial white girl name that I imagined belonged to her followers. I pasted in Audrey’s email address, prominently displayed on her blog.

Subject: Fan letter + microblading vid

Audrey! I’m a huge fan! I would DIE for hair like yours! Anyway, I saw you ask for pictures of microbladed brows. I’ve had mine done and love it—my coloring is similar to yours, too! I attached a short video of the process for you to see. xx

Then, hands shaking with a potent combination of nerves and excitement, I added an attachment. I had named the attachment “microblading-vid,” but that’s not what it was. Rather, it was the program that would install the RAT on her computer. I hesitated, wondering if the attempt was too clumsy. File name aside, if Audrey paid the slightest bit of attention to the file size, she would realize it was far too large to be a “short video.”

But I was desperate.

I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs to their capacity, and hit “send.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT CAT

I had told Audrey I couldn’t join her at some self-defense class she’d found, and still she appeared on my porch on Sunday morning, wearing a cropped, emerald-green exercise shirt that exposed her taut stomach, tricolor leggings, and a high ponytail.

“Good morning,” she sang, handing me a to-go cup from Columbia Brews. “Ready to kick some ass?”

I frowned, trying to recall the exact conversation I’d had with Audrey. I was certain I told her about the new memo Bill had assigned me. Bill had a reputation for being ruthless; a chance to redeem myself and still earn a spot on his trial team was an unexpected gift, and I couldn’t squander it.

“No,” I said slowly. “I have to work. Remember?”

She rolled her eyes dramatically, giving me a view of the new lash extensions I’d heard so much about. “How could I forget? You always have to work. But I remember you said your thing isn’t due until Wednesday, which is three whole days away. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

You and your not taking no for an answer is the entire reason I’m in trouble at work, I thought irritably.

Before I could say anything, though, her demeanor changed, a flicker of fear showing through her veneer of carefully applied makeup and wide smile. “Please, Kitty-Cat? I’m just so sick and tired of feeling helpless.”