She hung up, still a bit puzzled. She hadn’t had time to read the article in this week’s New Yorker about the way nondisclosure agreements were silencing victims and providing cover for repeat offenders, but she knew it named a number of famous actresses who’d signed documents with Silvertown and other media companies. Apparently, Caitlyn was one of them. Zanne remembered the day of the Getty Gala last year, about a week after Stabler Studios shelved The Bag Man. Ted had asked Zanne himself to inform Caitlyn that a decision had been made not to accommodate her at his table. It had been a quick call, over in less than a minute.

But why was the reporter also asking about Jerry’s relationship with Phoebe Lee? Zanne called up Phoebe’s name in Ted’s contacts database. There were entries for everyone, family and friends, Tom Cruise and Julia Roberts, Bill Clinton and Jerry Brown, present and former personal staff. Even Zanne was in there. But Phoebe wasn’t listed at all.

Just then, Ted opened his door. Zanne quickly closed out of contacts.

“Zanne?”

“Yes?”

He had a view of her computer, but there was nothing on the display that betrayed her curiosity, no reason that she shouldn’t have been looking at contacts for legitimate reasons. Still, her heart thumped the way it had as a kid when she’d been caught shoplifting a comic book, when she’d braced herself for her father’s temper.

“Can you join us?” Ted asked.

“Absolutely,” she said, jumping up.

James was sitting on the couch, which was so low and his legs so long that he couldn’t possibly be comfortable. She watched him shift in his seat while Ted asked her to help find a new specialist for Nikole.

“Got it,” she said when he was finished, all the key words jotted down in her notebook. “I’ve got some leads to look into, and I’ll let you both know as soon as I find anyone promising.”

“Thank you,” James said to her. He stood and straightened his tie, and then he looked at Ted. “I’m so grateful.”

“Tell Nikole we’re praying for her,” Ted said, and Zanne startled. Ted so rarely said the right, polite thing.

Back at Dawn’s desk, Zanne reviewed her notes. Then she jumped online and began her research, starting with the National Library of Medicine’s clinical trials database and cross-checking principal investigators against the authors of relevant studies in another database of biomedical literature. There was a clinical trial happening out of MD Anderson in Houston and another at the Mayo Clinic, but something in LA would be better. She looked at the author of a promising study of immunonanoparticles in the treatment of triple-negative breast cancer. He was based in Tokyo, but if there were any local oncologists who were on the same track in their research, he’d know. She sent him an email.