My gut twisted as I fought the urge to contradict her. Zania stood at the threshold to Brenae’s studio, then brushed her hair back from her cheeks. “My dad had a reputation in London. He came from rough places. Nobody messed with him. He could have kept James Compton’s money and made himself huge.” Her chest swelled with a defiant breath. “But he moved away so he could become someone new, and devote his life to helping artists.”

I wondered if Zania would defend her father if she’d seen pictures of Calvin’s body, of Ray’s fractured shoulder. Maybe she had seen pictures. Maybe Layla had told her about how Nelson had seduced her and controlled her for years. Regardless, I didn’t want to hear Zania’s thoughts on her father. I already knew who he was.

“If you ever want to talk about Brenae, let me know,” I said. “You have a rare perspective on her.”

Her hand went to her neck, tugging at the tight collar. “I hope I never see you again,” she said, looking into the empty room beyond us.

I left her there. It was almost time for the screening.

THE LOBBY WAS SO CROWDED when I arrived that the only space left was at the left edge of the projection, opposite the podium where Hal Giroux was now speaking, extolling the talent of Brenae Brasil, and “humbly asserting” his own regret at not celebrating it sooner.

“What you are about to see will shock and pain you, as it did me,” Hal said. “But shock and pain should not be avoided for the sake of partial truths. I learned this the hard way. In art, as in life, we are always mastering this lesson, mastering our own understanding of the suffering of others and extending our compassion to them. I failed Brenae Brasil. I cannot make up for that.” He paused, letting the confession sink in. I looked around for Janis’s reaction, but her height made her hard to spot in a crowd. Hal went for a few more minutes, repeating himself and soaking in the spotlight, his voice rich and full, his collar parted at the neck, his forehead glistening with sweat. He did not look like a man ashamed, but a man grateful to relieve himself of his burden, and I was pretty sure that Hal thought that, once this night was over, he would be exonerated, privately and publicly. Maybe he would be. Maybe he was doing all he could. I could tell by the tense look on Lynne Feldman’s face that she didn’t buy it one bit, but when she got up to the podium, she simply introduced Brenae’s biography and both films, and when they were made.