For my Mum for always believing in me.

THE CLIQUE

RHIANNON BARNSLEY

One More Chapter

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2024

Copyright © Rhiannon Barnsley 2024

Cover design by Lucy Bennett © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2024

Cover illustration © Shannon Fagan/Getty Images (women); Shutterstock.com (skyline)

Rhiannon Barnsley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

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.

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Source ISBN: 9780008646158

Ebook Edition © June 2024 ISBN: 9780008646141

Version: 2024-09-02

Chapter One

Everything changes in an instant.

People stop what they are doing, stop typing on their keyboards, stop their phone conversations mid-sentence. Everybody looks at each other, eyes wide and afraid – deer caught in headlights. The silence is overwhelming, everybody waiting for somebody brave enough to break it. We all know that something terrible has happened, but until somebody vocalises that, we stay in this strange limbo between normality and tragedy.

‘Did anybody see that?’ one of the secretaries whispers, her gaze fixed towards the tall windows surrounding us.

‘What was it?’ another asks.

‘Was it a bird?’

We all know it wasn’t a bird.

We go from silence to a tsunami of questions. A shriek pierces the chorus of worried voices. Everyone’s attention turns to Alexa’s office and a few of us hurry towards her to see why she’s screaming. Others hang back, their fear rooting them to the spot.

There’s a crimson streak down the glass, inches away from Alexa’s peroxide-blonde ponytail.

‘What was it, Alexa?’ Stephen, one of the partners, asks, summoned from the other side of the floor by her scream.

‘I don’t know…something fell and it hit my window. I…I…was in the middle of a conference call so I didn’t get a proper look,’ she says, her headset draped around her shoulders.

It’s not like Alexa to be lost for words. The red power suit she’s wearing isn’t living up to its reputation. She continues to stare out of the window, hypnotised by whatever she saw.

Stephen walks towards the window – sensing the rising hysteria, he’s trying to take charge, asserting his male dominance. Nothing unusual about that – Stephen always has to be in control. It’s why he’s a nightmare to work with. His micromanagement is so bad it’s enough to bring any associate to tears.

‘Oh my God,’ he says, clasping his hands to his mouth as he peers at the ground below. Stephen is not an emotional person, so whatever it is must be enough to turn stomachs. The crowd murmurs behind me. It takes a lot to rattle me, but I can feel the nervous energy swarming around me, closing in, suffocating.

‘What? What is it?’ somebody shouts from the impatient mob of spectators circling Alexa’s office, desperate to get a glimpse of what is going on outside.

‘Somebody is on the ground outside.’ Stephen rushes from the office. ‘Please return to your desks and go back to work. I need to find David.’

David Atkins, the firm’s managing partner. Stephen may like to think he’s in charge, but just like the rest of us he’s still at the beck and call of David.

A herd moves forward towards Alexa’s window, while the rest of us hurry towards the lifts, ignoring Stephen’s request that we return to our desks – as if anybody would after what he told us. I follow the crowd, but I’m smart enough to know that we aren’t all going to fit in the first lift. I take the door to the right and instead rush down the stairs. We’re on the tenth floor, but I bet I can still make it to the ground quicker than those waiting. I owe it to the occasional Barry’s Bootcamp class for being able to descend the stairs at pace.

I remove my heels so I can hurdle the steps without worrying about tripping and breaking my neck. My breathing is laboured, the combination of adrenaline and winding stairs making me dizzy and disorientated. Maybe just the occasional class isn’t enough to keep me fit.

I finally get to the reception and stop briefly to catch my breath. The usually attentive receptionists have left their desks, phones abandoned. A noisy mass has gathered outside the building, and there are blue and red lights reflected in the glass. The emergency services are here.

The lift opens and people spill out, all unsure how to approach the situation, whether to join everyone outside or hang back.

‘Cass, do you know what’s going on?’ Nat says, spotting me as she leaves the lift.

Nat, not just the person I share an office with, but also my best friend. It feels like we’ve almost grown up together, meeting in our early twenties and starting at Carrey & Watson together, so full of life and inexperience, transitioning to being in our early thirties, slightly more experienced and with far less optimism. She starts biting at her cuticles – her worst habit.

‘No…I just…got down here.’ My voice is broken as I try to catch my breath.

‘Somebody was saying they think one of the window cleaners fell when cleaning the higher floors.’

‘Oh, God. That’s terrible.’

‘Should we go outside?’ Nat dances around on the spot, moving her weight from one foot to another, making her look as if she’s about to wet herself.

I nod and walk towards the revolving glass doors. Nat follows closely behind.

As soon as we leave the building, the noise intensifies. London is always loud but this is something else. There are sirens blaring, men and women yelling. There’s an ambulance nearby, uniformed officers ordering everybody to ‘stay back’. Traffic has been stopped, and there’s a woman unravelling blue and white police tape as she starts to cordon off the area.

‘I need you all to take a step back, please. Let the emergency services do their job,’ she says, trying to be heard over the mayhem. Half of our office must be outside. Jo from accounts, Ella from the property team. Greg from HR.

‘Stay back!’ she shouts again to the uncooperative mass.

People start to listen, slowly shuffling back. The men in front of me leave a gap between their bodies, a space just wide enough for me to see what everybody is looking at. I take this chance to squeeze in and get a better look – admittedly I’ve never been the best at following instructions.

On the pavement lies a woman. Her legs have bent the wrong way and her arms are splayed out. Blood trails from her temple, leaving a red puddle surrounding her head like a morbid halo. Her eyes are vacant. She’s still.

She’s wearing a fitted grey dress with a black cardigan over the top. I can see the gold buttons gleaming in the afternoon sun from here. Chanel, of course. Her feet are bare, but I notice her stilettos are nearby on the ground. Her once nude Valentinos are covered in blood. Her once tidy hair is now matted.

She had been wearing that same outfit when I saw her this morning. I remember she was rushing around the office. She was stressed, even more than usual. Something was off with her. I asked her what was wrong but she brushed me off like a piece of dirt on her shoe, which wasn’t like her; she always made time for me. I remember the way she jumped when I touched her shoulder, as if she thought I was someone else.

And now, here she lies. Sara O’Neil.

Dead.

Chapter Two

My colleague’s face is plastered across the front page of the newspaper that the man across from me on the Jubilee line is reading. I can’t help but notice that his shirt is crinkled. He’s put it on without ironing it properly. I get my work outfits dry-cleaned weekly. It’s unprofessional to turn up to the office with creases.

Colleague is the wrong term for Sara. Sara was always more to me than just somebody I worked with. She was a mentor, a friend, and there aren’t many of those in the legal industry. People are too quick to tear others down just to get ahead, but Sara wasn’t like that; she wanted to help people. When I joined the firm as a naïve twenty-two-year-old trainee solicitor, she was my mentor to help me through my training contract. The mentorship was part of an official programme the firm organised, but Sara continued mentoring me long beyond that period. We didn’t only talk about work, we used to confide in each other. She always knew the right thing to say.

Sara’s photo stares back at me. The headline: YOUNG SOLICITOR FALLS FROM ELITE CITY FIRM ROOFTOP. It’s only when I look at the photo more carefully that I realise it can’t have been recent. Sara looks too relaxed, with a slightly rounder face and a wider smile that causes the corner of her eyes to wrinkle. It wouldn’t surprise me if that photo was taken before she came to Carrey & Watson.

The man opposite gets off at the next stop, abandoning the newspaper on the seat he vacates. I grab it. I look at the photo of Sara again. I’ve seen her so many times, sat across from her desk, but it’s only now that I understand how beautiful Sara is. Was.

The article has today’s date.

YOUNG SOLICITOR FALLS FROM ELITE CITY FIRM ROOFTOP

3rd October 2023

Sara O’Neil, 34, a resident of Putney, London, fell to her death yesterday from the rooftop of prestigious firm, Carrey & Watson, to the horror of onlookers. The firm is located near Liverpool Street, which was in chaos yesterday following the accident. An ambulance was called immediately by members of the public, but O’Neil was pronounced dead at the scene.

The Oxford graduate was a junior partner at the firm, which boasts a profit per equity partner of £1.2 million and has 11 offices across Europe and America.

Carrey & Watson’s managing partner, David Atkins, paid tribute to the young rising star:

‘Sara was an ambitious, intelligent lawyer. Everybody who knew her is shocked by yesterday’s terrible accident. We offer our deepest sympathy to her family and friends at this difficult time.’

Those close to the victim, however, believe that Sara’s death is another fatality in a series of suicides by young City professionals under intense pressure. Mental-health charity MindWell has reported a 20% rise this year in the number of suicide attempts among affluent 25-34-year-olds in London, describing it as an epidemic.

I scoff at the insincerity of David’s statement. The firm had no sympathy for her or her family when she was forced to miss her aunt’s funeral because a client wanted to complete a transaction on the same day. There was no sympathy when her fiancé ended their seven-year relationship because she was spending too much time in the office, and there was definitely no sympathy when she wanted to take time off due to a kidney infection. She was made to work through it all. She tried not to show how badly it affected her, she shrugged it off and said it was all part of the job, but I knew she was lying. I knew by the way she kept wearing her engagement ring for six months after the relationship ended, constantly fidgeting with it and twisting it on her finger. When she finally removed it, I would catch her trying to play with the ring only to remember that her finger was naked.

After she died yesterday, we all felt guilty. Nobody had noticed she wasn’t at her desk. Nobody had noticed that she’d gone up to the roof terrace despite summer being long gone. I’d just finished a two-hour conference call when the commotion started. Everybody else had a similar excuse. They say lawyers are cold-hearted, callous and uncaring. We certainly lived up to our reputation yesterday.

I wonder if the rumours could be true – if she jumped. I don’t see how it could have been an accident – the barriers are too high – but then when I mentioned that to Nat she said they’d been doing some construction work on the roof terrace and part of it had involved rebuilding the barriers to make sure they were secure. Apparently we’d been sent an email that the roof terrace was out of bounds. I must have missed it.

Even then, surely she couldn’t have accidentally fallen – which means she might have jumped? That’s what people have been suggesting. I don’t agree. There were no signs that anything was wrong, but then nobody likes to admit they can’t cope; it’s seen as a failure. I know she used to hide her emotions. Of course she was stressed, but so is everybody these days. Sara was one of the youngest partners ever at Carrey & Watson. She had everything aspiring lawyers dream of. Everything I want.

I try to think of the last time I had a meaningful conversation with her. I saw her yesterday but she wasn’t herself, she was on edge and clearly not in the mood to talk. I’d clocked that she’d been distant for a while, cancelling our monthly catch-ups at the Ned. When I was a trainee we used to have monthly lunches at the fancy members’ club, paid for by the firm. They were intended to be a chance for us to talk about work without worrying about being overheard in the office. They remained a tradition of ours, which eventually we turned into a lunch followed by a massage. Now I think about it, Sara cancelled the last two with no explanation. I put it down to her being busy at work so never bothered to ask why. Maybe that was a mistake.

I bumped into her last week, coming out of the ladies’ toilets. She’d been crying. Sadly, crying isn’t unusual at Carrey & Watson. I’ll never forget the talk we had at a department meeting once, telling us that if we must cry, we should do it behind closed doors because it’s unprofessional to cry in public. They’d found a poor trainee – the most junior of lawyers – crying at their desk. Safe to say, that trainee solicitor left the firm not long after. I’d never seen Sara cry before, not in the ten years we’d known each other. I should’ve asked her what was going on.

Nobody at the firm actually cares if we’re stressed or struggling mentally, as long as we keep up the pretence of being fine. We get all the lip service from HR – the mental-health awareness week, the free yoga classes that everybody is too busy to attend, the occasional complementary fruit basket – like a free banana is going to make me feel better about never leaving the office before 10 p.m.

The police came into the office after Sara’s death, asking questions. They wanted to know why she was on the roof terrace. Nobody knew anything. There’s no CCTV anywhere in the firm, which the police weren’t impressed with. Our clients’ confidentiality is the most important thing to us and so we don’t have any cameras in the place. There’s CCTV in the reception area, but apparently there’d been a malfunction and it wasn’t working – some would say that’s convenient. But security has never really been an issue – all the doors are locked. You need a key card to enter and only employees have those.

I toss the newspaper behind me onto the back of the seat. I can’t look at Sara’s face anymore. It’s too painful.

* * *

The tube arrives at London Bridge underground station and I stroll into the office. On the tenth floor, I scan my key card and slump into my desk chair. I’m one of the first people here; it’s 7 a.m., but I’m trying to get as much face time as possible to impress the partners. Soon decisions will be made about who should be promoted to partner and only the very best will be invited to join the ranks of the elite.

Making partner is the pinnacle of any lawyer’s career. Each year, the firm will promote only a handful of its associates. Those at the top get a share of the profits so it’s a lucrative role. Firms like Carrey & Watson have an ‘up or out’ policy, meaning if you get to a certain level of experience and haven’t been promoted, you have to leave. I’m at the level where I’m a prime candidate for partner, but I know what happens if I get passed over too many times.

There used to be a senior associate in the office next to mine, Grace Turner. She had a couple of years more experience than me. She kept trying for partner but got knocked down for one reason or another. It never made sense to me – she was more experienced, and in my opinion a better lawyer, than all the people they promoted over her. Last year, they chose to promote a male senior associate in our department instead of Grace. He was three years junior to her and didn’t work anywhere near as many hours – he always used to leave early to go to the pub or to play football. It showed Grace exactly what the firm thought of her hard work. After that she left. I don’t know where she is now but I hope she’s being treated better than she was here.

I remember walking in on her packing her things that last day. She confided in me that somebody had mentioned to her that she wasn’t going to make partner because she wasn’t serious enough about her career. The reason they gave for that excuse? Because she’d dared to go on maternity leave four years ago when she had her first and only child.

I kick off my trainers and place blister plasters on the back of my heels where the stilettos I wore yesterday have cut my feet. I’ve yet to find a pair of designer shoes that don’t make my feet feel like they are constantly being stabbed with tiny needles. I was wearing a brand-new pair of heels and I should’ve worn them in before wearing them to the office, but I was too excited to show them off – they were new season and hard to get hold of. I pull on the black Louboutins I keep under my desk. I’ve had these for a few months, but they still pinch my toes. I’ll need to replace them soon because the red sole is so badly scratched. You can only get them repaired in Paris. Maybe Nat and I should make a weekend trip.

I open Outlook and a flurry of emails bombard the screen, new ones coming in rapidly. I can’t keep up. I checked my work phone at 1 a.m. and again at 6 a.m., but during my commute I’ve amassed several more, all claiming to be urgent with big red exclamation marks demanding my attention. I make a to-do list before I head to the staff kitchen to make my first coffee of the day.

‘Morning, Cassandra,’ Hugo says.

He’s one of the partners in my team. He’s been at the firm for over a decade and almost has more years of experience than I’ve been alive. His grey hair is virtually non-existent and the lines on his face are deep-set. I need to impress him, though; he will have serious influence over who gets promoted to partner.

‘Morning.’ I smile, trying to appear happier than I feel, but I worry the bags under my eyes betray me. I only got four hours of sleep last night.

‘Good to see you putting in the hours, Cassandra. You’ve been spending a lot of time in the office and it’s not going unnoticed. Keep up the good work.’

He walks off, coffee in hand, before turning back. ‘But obviously, be careful. We don’t want another...incident.’

Whatever word they choose to use to describe what happened to Sara, for the next few weeks, the firm will make a big deal of mental health and stress, to avoid being crucified in the press. They’ll tell us not to work through lunch and to have eight hours of sleep a night, but that won’t last long. The clients’ demands come before our health, our family and our friends. When the salary is this good the price is your life.

I sit down at my desk, ready for a day of staring at the screen, when the phone rings, shocking me out of my autopilot trance.

‘Cassandra Harlow, Carrey & Watson.’

‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘Stephen?’

He must not be in the office yet.

‘Where are your comments on the Heads of Terms for the Project Windmill deal? I told you I wanted them first thing this morning.’

All our deals have weird code names – it’s so we can talk about them freely without worrying about being overheard and breaching confidentiality.

‘Sorry, Stephen, remind me, when did you send them?’

‘Last night sometime. Check your inbox.’

I already know that no such email exists but I check anyway just to be sure. Stephen hasn’t sent me anything.

‘Sorry, I can’t seem to find them, do you mind sending them again?’

I can’t call him out for forgetting – the thing about men like Stephen is that they don’t like being told when they’ve made a mistake. I called him out once and he screamed in my face about disrespecting him so I’ve never repeated my transgression.

‘Fine.’ I hear his impatience through the phone speaker. ‘I’m sending them now. I’ll be in the office in an hour. Those amendments better be on my desk by the time I’m in.’

‘Sure, I’ll do it now.’

The line goes dead. Not even a thank you. I had other work to do this morning, but I’m going to have to push it back to concentrate on this. I can’t risk Stephen bad-mouthing me to the other partners. I’ll never make it if he isn’t in my corner.

Stephen’s email comes through and I open up the documents. I’m going to have to work quickly to get this done before he gets in. I unplug my laptop. I’m going to shut myself in one of the meeting rooms so nobody disturbs me.

My secretary Rita is settling in as I leave my office. She’s only been here for a couple of months but she’s far better than my previous secretary, who always turned up late and would constantly forget to do the things I asked. She’s very warm and friendly. I don’t think she has children, based on our conversations, but she has that ‘mum’ look. She’s always in long, flowing dresses with floral or check patterns with a different coloured cardigan each day.

‘Rita, I’ll be in a meeting room for the next few hours. If anybody comes looking for me tell them I’m busy and can’t be disturbed.’

‘Sure thing, Cass. Did you hear, by the way? About Sara? Apparently the police found a note.’

Secretaries always know things before anyone else. They know things about some of the partners in this firm that even their own families don’t know. Rita was Sara’s secretary, as well as working for me and Nat. I squeeze her arm gently, ‘I hadn’t heard. Are you okay? Do you need a personal day?’

‘No, it’s fine. I just can’t imagine what her poor family are going through. Do you really think she jumped?’

‘I…I don’t know. I guess we will have to wait and see.’ It’s hard to know how to answer the question when it’s all I’ve been asking myself. I know Sara had been distant lately, but I still can’t believe she’d jump, especially not like that. Sara was an introvert for the most part, she would never do something so public.

I settle down in the meeting room with thoughts still spinning in my head. The doors have frosted glass, but there’s a tall window with a view of the city of London. I can’t help but wonder if this view was the last thing that Sara saw before she went over the edge.

But what made her do it?

Chapter Three

The reformer Pilates studio is painted completely white, with potted plants dotted around the room. Calming music plays from the speakers as the class settles into a deep lunge for an end of class stretch.

‘I wasn’t sure you’d make it this morning. You shut yourself away in that meeting room yesterday and I barely saw you,’ Nat says, as she rolls the reformer carriage into an even deeper stretch.

‘I did think about cancelling but I’m glad I didn’t. This has been good. It’s helped me take my mind off things.’

‘What’s wrong? I assume it’s about Sara?’

‘Okay, gently roll your carriage forward and switch legs,’ the instructor says, her voice soft and serene.

‘I just can’t believe she’s gone. She was always around when I needed somebody to talk to, especially when I was stressed about work, and I feel like I’ve failed her because she was clearly struggling and I did nothing to help her.’

‘Don’t say that. You can’t blame yourself. Everyone knows how good we all are at hiding our scars.’

‘Step off the reformer and gently fold over the body, letting the head fall heavy,’ the instructor continues, ‘Stay here for just a few moments, enjoying that hamstring stretch, and then slowly, vertebra by vertebra, roll yourself up to standing. Great class, everyone, see you all next time.’

I wipe down the reformer and grab my shoes from underneath the bench before leaving. It’s still dark outside; the dusky autumnal mornings have settled in.

‘Do you want to get a coffee or do you need to rush off?’ Nat asks.

‘I can get a quick coffee.’ Usually I’d rush to the office to make sure I’m dressed and ready for 8 a.m. but I really need to keep talking with Nat about Sara. With Sara gone, she’s the only one I have to confide in. She’s the only real friend I have at work. My only real friend in general these days.

We dip into the Starbucks and order. While we wait for our coffees Nat complains about how stiff her back has been getting and starts talking about whether she should ask the firm for a standing desk.

‘You’re awfully quiet. Everything ok?’

‘Can I ask you something, Nat? I’m sorry to change the topic, I don’t know if this is triggering, but do you remember that girl who overdosed when you were at university?’

‘Of course I remember Abbie. Why?’ I know Nat finds it difficult talking about this but she might be the only person who understands how I feel. Abbie died on the August bank holiday, so every year Nat does some kind of fundraising event to raise money for a charity set up for parents who have lost children to drug overdoses. This year she put on a trivia night for the firm to raise money.

‘Well, you blamed yourself for her death, didn’t you?’

‘Ah, I understand now. You want to know how I dealt with it because you are blaming yourself for Sara’s death.’

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, having been called out by Nat; I guess I wasn’t being as subtle as I thought. I hear our names being called from the counter and pick up the coffees. There’s an awkward silence as I return and wait for Nat to say something else. She grabs her drink from my hand and takes a sip before she speaks.

‘You know, I blamed myself for years. I think it’s partly why I don’t drink anymore and I definitely won’t touch drugs. It’s been so long now that it has gotten easier but I still think about her all the time. It’s silly things. Sometimes I wonder what type of job she would be doing now. She was doing a law degree too so maybe she’d be working with us…’ Her voice trails off. ‘Anyway, it gets easier. And our situations aren’t the same and you know that. You weren’t anywhere near Sara when she died.’

I know she’s right and that I’m being irrational. I know that I couldn’t have done anything differently but it doesn’t make me feel any better.

‘Anyway, shall we get going?’ Nat motions to leave and I worry I’ve hit a nerve until I check the time and see how late it is. I grab my stuff and head to the tube.

Work drags until lunch. Meetings and calls followed by reviewing documents and marking them up. I check my billing clock regularly to see if I’m on track to bill at least eight hours today. Seven is the bare minimum they expect from us, our ‘target’, but nobody ever made partner by doing the bare minimum. The last few months, I haven’t been leaving the office until I’ve done ten chargeable hours. That is, hours I’ve billed to various clients of the firm, based on my hourly rate. I’ve eaten dinner at my desk every day. The firm allows us to order free dinner from Deliveroo if we work past 8 p.m. It's a small silver lining. Most days I eat all my meals sat in this same spot, staring at the documents on my screen. My stomach rumbles.

‘I can squeeze in a quick twenty-minute lunch if you fancy it?’ I glance over at Nat.

‘Where do you want to go?’

‘The Pret on the corner? Can grab a salad. Something quick.’

It’s boring and lacks imagination, but it’s easy. She nods and we leave the office. We never have time to stray far for lunch, except on those rare occasions when we take clients out. That’s the only permitted reason to be away from your desk for more than a half hour. The road outside the office has reopened, the pavement cleaned up as if nothing happened. Only the roof terrace remains off-limits – not that I’d want to go up there, but some people have a weird fascination with these things. We had an email about it.

David Atkins <d.atkins@carrey&watson.com>

4th October 2023 08:21

Re: Sara O’Neil

All,

I’m sure, like me, you are all saddened by the news this week. Sara’s family have organised a Just Giving page in her memory with all proceeds going to MindWell, a mental-health charity in West London. Any donations to the page will be matched by the firm so please give generously. The family are organising her funeral to take place in her hometown of Worcester. Anybody from the firm who wishes to attend should email myself, and I will pass on the details.

I’m sure there will be lots of questions, but for now please be assured that the management team is co-operating with police inquiries. We have been made aware that journalists may be targeting some of our staff and we remind you that the firm’s policy is to answer ‘no comment’ to any questions and, if appropriate, refer them to myself or Jane Thomas, our communications officer.

Due to the ongoing investigation, the roof terrace remains out of bounds for all members of staff.

Kind regards,

David

Naming the charity is the closest the firm will get to acknowledging that Sara’s death was suicide. It seems to be universally acknowledged now that it wasn’t an accident. Rumours have been swirling and it’s all anybody can talk about. The London News is running a takedown article on the firm, for their failure to prevent burn-out and protect their employees’ mental health. The partners are in damage-control mode. Twice today they’ve asked me how I’m coping. Apparently, the firm is thinking of hiring an on-site therapist. Along with our on-site hairdresser and doctor, the firm has another reason for us never to leave the office.

I’ve been here ten years and none of the partners have ever asked me how I am. Not even when Stephen walked in on me in floods of tears at 2 a.m. over a mistake I’d found in a Share Purchase Agreement that was going to cost our client an extra £300,000. He’d told me to fix it and walked away. When the client yelled at me the next day for it, he told me I needed to ‘toughen up’ if I wanted to survive in this industry. I remember confiding in Sara and she made me feel better, telling me that everyone makes mistakes and anybody that says they don’t is lying. She told me she once sent an email containing information about a client’s case to the opposing party and had to fess up to the partner. She bought me some fancy chocolates from Harrods to cheer me up.

I should text Julia, Sara’s younger sister, and ask her about the funeral. I should’ve texted her on Monday when everything happened but I didn’t even think.

Nat picks up a falafel wrap and a yogurt pot. She gets the same thing almost every day; we both do. I grab a tuna salad. When you’re as busy and stressed as us, there’s no capacity in our brains to make decisions over what food to eat. Food isn’t a priority during the working day. If I ever get any free time outside of work, I make up for it by going to restaurants often featured on lists such as ‘Top 10 Places to Try Before You Die’. Sometimes Nat joins but she likes to cook fresh as she’s always training for a marathon or some other sporting event. I don’t understand how she has time for it, but she’s always been an early riser.

‘You seem distracted. Usually you can’t stop ranting at lunchtime but you’ve barely said a word,’ Nat says.

‘You’re probably sick of hearing me going on, but I can’t stop thinking about Sara. Do you really think she jumped? It just doesn’t seem real.’

‘What else could have happened? I mean, yeah, I didn’t think she was the type, but some people can’t handle the stress.’

‘I think that’s a bit harsh. We don’t know what she was going through.’ I place my salad on the till and pay.

‘I didn’t mean it to come out that harsh, but it is true. She had everything going for her. She was a young partner, she worked on the best deals.’ She pauses as she pays for her items. ‘You must have been thinking it, right? Who’s going to get to work on the Harrison deal now she’s gone?’

I don’t say anything, but Nat’s right. Harrison is one of our biggest clients and always provides the firm with a steady stream of work and a steady stream of cash. When David made managing partner he had to cut back on his client work to focus on the management of the firm, so he appointed Sara to be the lead client contact on their file. We were all shocked. There were more senior and experienced partners who would’ve been better suited.

A rumour started that she must’ve been sleeping with David or another partner. I dismissed them at the time, putting it down to jealousy, as Sara didn’t seem like the type. But now I keep wondering if I ever knew Sara at all. She was clearly keeping secrets from us all if she was struggling so much that she ended up killing herself. What else was she hiding?

We sit down at one of the tables inside and lower our voices. There’s a lot of City professionals about here so we need to be careful what we say. We don’t want one of them running off to the newspapers. I can see the headline now: RUTHLESS ASSOCIATES’ JOY OVER PARTNER’S DEATH.

‘It’s crossed my mind about Harrison. Obviously I’d love to work on the deal, but it’ll be a partner they’ll replace Sara with. Not some lowly senior associates like us.’

‘Yeah, you’re probably right. Besides, it’s not actually her clients that I’ve been thinking about. I’ve been thinking about the new opening at Inside. I want that space, Cass.’

I stop mid-chew, the salad leaves poking out of the corners of my mouth. There’s a lot to unpack in that sentence. Nat is coming across as a complete bitch, but that’s what this place does to you, it trains you to become a hunter. ‘Eat what you kill’ is the mantra of partners; that is, the more money you make for the firm, the more money you get to keep for yourself.

‘Inside?’

‘Yeah, you know about it, right?’

‘No…should I?’

Nat leans in closer, so close I can make out the pores on her nose.

‘It’s an exclusive female society for the best and brightest in the City. Lawyers, bankers, traders, entrepreneurs. Membership is super exclusive. They say being a member gets you access to all sorts of opportunities: networking, promotions, access to powerful people. Its members are the most successful in their field.’

‘You think Sara was one of them?’

‘Yeah, I found out that Sara was a member.’ Nat takes another bite of her falafel wrap. ‘Sara’s career had taken off in a way that wasn’t the norm. So there must have been something else behind her success. And that something was Inside.’

‘Maybe, but Sara was smart, she didn’t need some club.’

‘You don’t get it, it’s not just some club. You can’t just buy your way in. It’s really hard to be part of it. You have to apply and they cap their member numbers to avoid the quality being diluted. Or at least that’s what I heard on the grapevine.’

‘What grapevine?’

‘Just other lawyers, friends. I tried to ask Sara about Inside when I found out she was a member but she was always really hesitant to answer my questions. She did tell me one thing, though. She told me that the only time they open up a spot for a new member is if an existing member leaves or, you know, dies.’

The way she is talking, so callously, turns my stomach.

‘So Sara died and now there’s an open spot?’ I say.

‘Exactly. And I’m going to apply to become the newest member.’

‘But, why? You’re doing great as you are, you don’t need some cloak-and-dagger society to get a leg-up. Besides, I thought you hated elitist stuff like that. It sounds creepily like that Bullingdon dining club and we’ve all heard the stories. Can’t you just get a membership to the Ned or Soho House and be done with it?’

Nat and I bonded when we met on our Legal Practice Course, which is the one-year course every aspiring lawyer has to complete before starting to work at a law firm. I felt out of place during most of the course. The majority of the students had attended private school and then Oxbridge. Many of them went to great lengths to talk about their gap years, flex their signet rings and talk about their family chateau in France. I didn’t know how to relate. I felt like I wasn’t good enough because I went to the local comprehensive and had never been skiing. I’d never had a nanny, and I had a Windows laptop I got second-hand rather than the slim Apple MacBook that all my peers owned. Nat took me under her wing, even though she had a similar background to the others. She was down to earth and didn’t make me feel inferior just because I didn’t know what caviar tasted like. She showed me that it was okay not to be like everyone else.

I remember our first night out together. We had pre-drinks at one of the student’s flat in Holborn. Everybody was doing cocaine – it seemed like something so casual to them, whereas I’d never seen anybody do drugs, let alone do it myself. I worried I would be judged and seen as ‘uncool’ so I hid in one of the bedrooms until they were too high to notice I wasn’t joining in. Nat found me and told me she didn’t do drugs or even drink and that we’d stick together. It was only a few years later that I learned why.

‘You don’t get it; they take average people and turn them into the City’s elite. It’s giving us the privilege that men already have from their old boys’ dining societies and all that.’ Nat isn’t exactly lacking when it comes to privilege – she’s got more in common with the Etonians than she does with me – but now isn’t the right time to call her out.

‘So how do you become a member?’

‘Well, now Sara is gone, there will be an opening. And like I said, I want that spot.’ She takes out her phone and taps on the screen before sliding it over to me. ‘This is their website.’

I take the phone and look at the page. It’s completely black with ‘Inside’ written in large gold block capitals. The dot above the second ‘i’ is a snake, curled into itself, eating its own tail A perfect ‘O’. Underneath that is a text box for email addresses. There’s nothing else. No About page, no contact details. Nothing about the society’s history or its members.

‘What’s this for?’

‘Registering interest for the membership spot. I was refreshing the page all morning, waiting for it to go live. I’ve just registered. I’ve heard there’s a thorough application process, but obviously it’s all rumours, nothing concrete. Nobody really knows what happens. Spots rarely open. ’

I hand the phone back to Nat. I take out my own, trying to find the website on Google, but have no luck.

‘What do you type in to find the page?’

‘You need to have the link. You can’t search for it online.’

‘So how did you get it?’

Nat averts her eyes. ‘Don’t judge me, but I asked Rita to find out if Sara ever visited any webpages with the word “inside” in the website address. Told her it was for a client.’

‘Nat!’

‘I didn’t know what else to do. I tried asking a few other friends who know about Inside but they were just as clueless. They don’t make it easy. I’ve heard that people get invited to apply, but sadly I wasn’t one of the chosen ones. Haven’t you ever felt like you were on the outside looking in? Surely you of all people get that? You’re a woman and you went to some dingy state school.’

From the offhand way she says it I know Nat isn’t trying to be cruel – I know she doesn’t think that way, but many people in our industry do. I blush. She continues obliviously, ‘This society allows you to be part of the inside, the inner circle.’

It sounds too good to be true, but maybe I should be looking into it. Like Nat said, I’m always at a disadvantage. I’ve worked hard for everything I’ve got, working part-time jobs at university to top up my student loan. I’m surprised Sara never mentioned the society to me.

Becoming partner is all I’ve ever wanted, ever since I decided I wanted to be lawyer when I was sixteen years old. Of course I used to want to be a criminal lawyer, standing in court and arguing with a judge, but I quickly worked out that all the money was in corporate law and my focus changed. People at school used to tell me I didn’t have the right background to become a lawyer, let alone make partner at a prestigious firm. One teacher told me that only those from certain backgrounds could make partner. I still think about proving her wrong, every day. Making partner would mean all the sacrifices were worth it.

‘We’d better get back. I’ve got a ton of material to read through before my 2 p.m. call.’ I stand up, smoothing my white blouse and black pencil skirt.

‘Oh, shit, yeah, I’ve got an email from a client, too,’ Nat says, rolling her eyes.

We walk back to the office at the speed of a slow jog, leaving half of our lunch untouched.

Chapter Four

‘Welcome, students, to tonight’s mixer. You’ve been invited to attend because you are the best and brightest of your peers. Here at Carrey & Watson, we are looking for talented students who can go on to become the best lawyers in this city. At Carrey & Watson, our partners look after all our trainee solicitors and take a keen interest in their development. Each one of you has been judged as being capable of the high standards we are known for.’ David Atkins surveys the room like an eagle scanning the ground for food, hunting his prey.

The firm’s managing partner is dressed in a grey three-piece suit, which probably cost more than the average person makes in five years. He holds a glass of Dom Perignon in his left hand which he swings about wildly as he addresses the room of eager students, along with the associates who have been forced here to spot talent and nominate those who should get a head start in the application process for training contracts – the two-year ‘on the job’ training that all wannabe lawyers have to endure to qualify as a solicitor.

‘Treat tonight as your chance to learn more about our extraordinary firm and the work that we do. Our applications for training contracts open next month and we do hope you’ll apply.’

David raises his glass as he signals the end of his marketing spiel. Each person in the room raises their own. I roll my eyes. The students here may be intelligent but they aren’t the best; most of them are only here because they have the right connections. Classic nepotism at work. I don’t particularly want to be here but getting involved with recruitment looks good. I need to be an ambassador for the firm. My heels rub my feet as I stride across the conference room to use the toilet, desperate for a break before I am inundated with questions about what type of work I do and why I chose this firm.

As soon as I enter the bathroom I hear a familiar noise.

‘Shit, Cass, I worried it was a student,’ Alexa says as she tucks the rolled-up ten-pound note back into her bag and wipes away the remnants of the white powder from the counter.

‘Is that wise when there’s students around? If any of them reported you⁠—’

She rubs her nose. ‘I know, but I’ve got all these documents to review for Stephen tonight. I’m going to be in the office all night and I haven’t been home in two days.’

‘Why are you at this mixer, then?’

‘Same reason as you are. The partnership applications.’ She glances at the door. ‘I have some left over, you know, if you need a pick-me-up.’

I was planning to go home after the grad recruitment event. I’ve been at the office for thirteen hours already and a headache is forming behind my eyes, but if Alexa is staying then so should I. The firm only promotes one or two senior associates to the partnership each year and she’s my direct competition as we’re in the same department. There’s no chance they’d promote us both. Alexa qualified a year ahead of me, but I know I’m a better lawyer than she is.

She hands me the rolled-up note and bag of white powder before I can say anything.

‘Actually, I don’t think I need it tonight,’ I say, passing them back and wondering if dabbling occasionally might actually make my life easier.

‘Suit yourself. I keep a stash in my handbag at all times in case of work emergencies so if you’re ever in need…’

I head back out into the chaos, leaving Alexa alone in the toilets.

‘Cass, here you go.’ David ambushes me with a glass of champagne as I leave the bathroom. ‘Do drink around the students and look like you’re having fun. I want to dispel any rumours that we are all work and no play.’

Even though it’s the truth.

I take a big gulp – anything to impress David. After all, he holds the keys to the kingdom.

‘Oh, and even if you’re going back to work after this, don’t mention it to the students. It doesn’t look good for optics, especially with the whole Sara situation,’ he says. Incident, situation, whatever callous word they want to use to describe what happened.

He leaves before I can respond, heading over to talk to a group of young, beautiful girls. They’ve tried to dress smart, but their tight dresses make them look like they should be spilling out of a nightclub rather than at a networking event in London. One of them twirls her hair as she listens to David speak. It is hard to admit, but David is a good-looking man, he takes care of himself.

Last summer there were rumours that David was caught having sex after hours with a student on a work placement. Of course that student disappeared and the cleaner who supposedly caught them also vanished.

We all thought it was just secretaries gossiping about nothing but I can practically see his trousers tightening around his crotch. I’d be surprised if many of the senior lawyers here are faithful – the men or the women. When you spend more time at work than you do at home, it’s only natural for work relationships to become something more. Or for personal relationships to break down. I don’t want to think about how many ruined marriages and broken engagements there have been because of this place.

They like to say we can have it all, but we really can’t. That’s why I choose to stay single, it’s easier. Fewer distractions. Less heartache.

‘Hello, excuse me, do you work here?’

I spin my head and see a man in a suit has approached me. Definitely a student, but he has money. That suit has been tailored to suit his broad frame – by Daddy’s personal tailor, no doubt. I spot a signet ring on his pinkie finger and cufflinks with what I assume is his family crest.

‘Yes, I’m Cassandra Harlow. I’m a senior associate in our mergers and acquisitions team.’ I hold out my hand.

‘Oh, a senior associate? You look so young, I assumed you were a trainee.’

I scowl.

‘Er, sorry, I meant it as a compliment. You’re far too beautiful to be a senior associate.’

My mouth falls open with shock. The students get cheekier each year. They treat the male solicitors with the utmost respect, but we women are still subject to the misogyny they try to pass off as charm. They think we should be flattered at their objectification. The clients do it too. There have been so many times where I’ve taken a junior, male solicitor with me to a client meeting to take notes, and the clients have addressed their questions to him instead of me.

‘I’d best be going,’ I say, flashing a false smile. I can’t be seen as rude but I’d rather pluck my eyelashes out individually than continue this conversation.

‘Oh, don’t go.’ He grabs my arm. ‘I thought we could chat about the firm some more. You know, my dad’s company is one of your clients and so I’d love to hear more about your work.’

I stop. The power dynamic has suddenly changed. No wonder he thought he could speak to me the way he did. I have to put up with this now. The firm has to come before my sensitivities.

‘Oh, really? Is that how you know about the firm?’ I hate that I have to play nice now, but I can’t risk upsetting the son of a client, particularly if it turns out he pays the firm a lot of money in legal fees. Losing the firm a high-paying client is a guaranteed way to be fired.

‘Oh, yes, my dad and David are on very good terms. David and his family holidayed with us last year in Switzerland at our chalet.’ What is it with posh people and trying to make every noun a verb?

I stop myself from making gagging noises. I’m about to ask more questions about the student’s family when David bounds over like an excitable puppy, putting his arm around me and causing a shiver to run through my body. He’s a creep.

‘Cassandra, you’ve met Benedict, I see!’

‘Yes, we were just talking about⁠—’

‘Benedict’s father owns Russell Energy. A very valuable client of ours as I’m sure you know.’

I do know – I did countless all-nighters a few years ago when they decided to do a hostile takeover of another energy company.

‘I hope you’ve been telling him wonderful things about working here. Young Benedict has always expressed an interest in becoming a lawyer, and of course I told him there’s no better place to work than here, isn’t that right?’

‘Yes, well, it’s truly a⁠—’

‘And of course, Benedict is very bright. He’s in his second year at Oxford studying jurisprudence. Carrey & Watson is the perfect fit for him to start his career, don’t you think?’

‘I’m sure that⁠—’

‘Now, come, Benedict, let me give you a tour of the office. Usually we don’t let students wander around, but seeing as we’re practically family I think we can make an exception.’

Of course he’s getting special treatment. He will be a shoo-in for any job here. I’m sure he’s qualified, but there are thousands of qualified students that get rejected every day. All because they don’t have the magic code to open the door guarded by nepotists and snobs. I’ve sacrificed everything and I still had to claw my way up – with more than a few battle scars to show for it.

The mixer is still going strong and I can tell some of the students have already had too much to drink. One girl is struggling to walk in her heels and almost trips, so that her drink splashes on the floor. A boy in the corner is laughing way too loudly and swearing. The people around him try laugh it off but I can see from their faces that they are mortified. He won’t be back here again. My phone buzzes.

Stephen Mercer <s.mercer@carrey&watson.com>

4th October 2023 20:36

C,

Urgent client email came in. They want a call tomorrow. Need to prep. Left everything on your desk. Can you read material and brief me at 9 a.m. tomorrow.

Thnx,

Stephen

At least I got a thank you – well, a ‘thnx’ – often I don’t even get that. I’ve only had two drinks but I’ve been so busy today that I haven’t eaten enough and I can already feel the alcohol starting to take its toll. I’m going to have so much work to do. I plonk my glass down on a nearby table but my hand misses and it shatters as it hits the floor. Heads turn towards me and I feel the same level of embarrassment I felt moments earlier for the drunk girl. I turn away and stride towards the exit door, my head high. The key is to act like you don’t care. Sara taught me that one.

It’s almost 9 p.m. and the office has started to quieten. Secretaries, who work a nine-to-five shift, have long left. Some of the solicitors have left but there’s no doubt many of them will continue working once they get home. I head into my office. The junior that Nat and I share an office with, Henry DuVille, isn’t here and from the looks of his desk he’s been gone for a while. I’m grateful; I have a lot to do and I find him very distracting. He has a bad habit of tapping his foot on the floor when he’s stressed, which is nearly all the time. Nat’s also left. She didn’t go to the mixer; by her own admission she doesn’t do enough graduate recruitment events but she can’t stand them.

There aren’t many three-person offices in the firm. Mostly associates share with each other or a trainee, but our level has much bigger offices – the perk of being the most profitable department. Having Nat as my office buddy has got me through a lot. I was originally annoyed when I got told to supervise Henry and let him share the office, but having a trainee assigned to you is a mark of respect. It shows management trust you to shape future talent.

Alexa is sat at her desk in the office opposite, deep in concentration. The firm is designed to look modern and all our offices have floor-to-ceiling windows, and doors also made of glass. The partners have their own offices; they’re the only ones who don’t have to share. Their offices are made of glass but, unlike the rest of us, they have shutters installed for privacy. Apparently, it’s for confidentiality purposes. I can think of other reasons why they don’t want people spying on them, most of them unsavoury.

I knock on Alexa’s door and she almost leaps out of her seat.

‘Jesus, Cass, you scared me half to death.’

‘Sorry, I was just checking to see how you’re doing.’ A lie. I don’t really care how she’s doing but I want to know what she’s working on and how long she’ll be here. Most associates work with a number of partners, but Alexa is the only other senior associate working with Stephen. Another reason she’s competition. I hope he hasn’t given her the ‘better work’ – the bigger deal, the more money involved, the better-known client.

‘Yeah. Great. All great, thanks.’ Her eyes dart around the room. ‘What about you?’

‘Got given a ton of work by Stephen, might be a long night. What are you working on?’

‘ Just this and that. The usual. You?’

She’s onto me.

‘Same here, just the usual.’

‘Was there something you wanted?’ Her voice is hurried, frantic.

‘No, I should get back to work.’

Alexa turns back to her computer without saying anything. I can’t help but look at the window next to her. This is where it all started. Two days ago I stood on this very spot, not knowing what had happened. It seems so long ago.

I walk back to my desk and eye up the mountain of files that have been dumped on it. I take a seat and rifle through them. It’s going to take me hours to go through all of this and summarise for Stephen. I open the first binder and read the front document – board minutes from a shareholders’ meeting. The words blur on the page and my head throbs. I need coffee. I dash to the kitchen and make myself a double-shot espresso. I need something strong to override the alcohol in my system if I am going to get through this night. It’s easier for people like Alexa who have a little chemical helper. Some people use it almost every night. They say it’s purely for work reasons but part of me wonders if they’re addicted. I wonder if Sara used it. She probably did, given the hours she used to work. Maybe that’s what led to her jumping off the building – drugs never lead to anything good.

I down my coffee despite it being so hot it burns my tongue. I sit back in my chair and sigh. I won’t be leaving this office before 3 a.m. Maybe much later. I stare out of the window, wondering what other people are doing with their lives right now. I’m sure they are at dinner with their partners, at the pub with their friends or spending a night with their family. They’re surrounded by people who care about them and I’m surrounded by nothing but paper. I open up the Deliveroo app, order a Vegan Buddha bowl and a smoothie from a place called Gym Café that is still open and settle in for a long night.

One day all of this will be worth it.

Chapter Five

I sob as the sound of my alarm blares from the opposite side of the room, forcing me out of bed. I always get up early. Sometimes it’s for an early spin class or Pilates, so I can fit in some exercise before the workday – the only time I have to myself. Though recently even the mornings are no longer my own. My vision is blurry as I stand under the cold shower. I set the temperature as low as I can handle in an attempt to wake myself up. I didn’t get home until late last night and I’m not sure how much sleep I got as my brain was whirring. I couldn’t stop thinking about work, about Sara and about Inside.

I head downstairs to my kitchen. I’m lucky enough to own a house in London, rather than a flat. It’s not even that far from the office; it’s in St John’s Wood – near to Regent’s Park and London Zoo. Most of my friends who moved to London with me have left, driven out by the extortionate house prices. Our salary at Carrey & Watson is incredibly generous and the only reason I can afford to be a home owner.

I push a capsule into my Nespresso machine and grab some fruit and a yoghurt from the fridge. The fridge is a sad sight. I eat most of my meals in the office so I don’t tend to buy much food in the week. When the cleaner comes I always ask her to restock it with essentials but she was on holiday last week.

I turn on the news while I wait for the coffee machine to finish its magic. An image of Sara’s face flashes up on the screen. I can’t escape her; she’s still haunting my thoughts and now she’s in my living room. Sara’s suicide has sparked a debate about stressful workplaces. Or should I say: reignited the spark. I don’t think that conversation has ever gone away, despite companies claiming they are trying to make positive changes.

The presenters have invited a number of guests on to the programme to talk about stress in the workplace and the consequences of it. A psychologist is blabbering on about how bad stress is for our health and how it can reduce our life expectancy. I’ve heard it before but it doesn’t change anything. I know my lifestyle isn’t healthy, but it’s always been my dream to make partner. I can’t give up on it just because it’s tough. I remember how proud my parents were when I got my trainee role – I was the first in my family to go to university. My parents had no choice other than to work once they left school. Things weren’t always easy, and I know how hard they had to work, so now I try to reward them as much as I can – it seems like the least I can do. I grab my coffee and watch as an older woman replaces the person on the screen.

‘How old was your daughter when she died?’

‘Twenty-eight. She had so much life ahead of her. I knew that work was really difficult for her. She’d been given a promotion and I think the increased responsibility was tough.’

‘Were there any signs?’

‘Now that I look back, of course there were. She’d lost a lot of weight. She was so tiny and frail. She often had to miss family events because of her job and even when I did see her, she was worried about work, constantly on her phone responding to emails at ungodly hours.’

Sounds familiar. I think about the last time I saw my parents and feel a pang of guilt. At least I don’t have siblings so I don’t have to feel bad about not seeing them as well. I make a mental note to send my parents some John Lewis vouchers and a case of fancy wine to make up for being such an awful daughter.

‘Did she have a history of depression?’ the presenter asks.

‘Not that I knew about. But she really changed once she started working at that place. When––’ She stops speaking and I can hear the pain in her voice, ‘When she killed herself it was the worst thing to ever happen to me. Now I know I should’ve seen what was coming.’

I sit on the sofa to watch the conversation.

‘Dr Elizabeth Jones’ daughter, Hayley, committed suicide last year following a stressful period at work. Dr Jones set up the charity Hayley’s Helping Hand shortly after her daughter’s death to provide a confidential counselling service for anyone struggling with stress at work or their concerned relatives. Since the charity was set up last year they have been inundated with calls.’ The presenter turns to face Dr Jones. ‘Do you think more needs to be done to deal with stress at work?’

‘Absolutely. I think employers have a duty of care to their employees to avoid burdening them with excessive stress. More needs to be done to look after employee welfare.’

I pick up my phone and type ‘Hayley’s Helping Hand’ into the search engine. The charity’s website is the first result. I find a tab labelled ‘Hayley’s Story’. She was an investment banker – nothing too surprising there, their hours might be even worse than ours.

My phone buzzes: a text from Stephen.

Stephen [7:15]: New deal just come in. Going to be a late one tonight. Meet me at the office at 8 a.m. and I’ll tell you what we need to do. KR, S

Shit. I need to go. I shove my phone in my pocket. I rush around the flat, gathering everything I need for the day, turning off the TV and dumping my empty mug in the sink. I pull on my tights in a hurry, almost tripping over them as I hop on one leg to pull them up. I grab my laptop from the kitchen table and head out of the door, letting it slam behind me.

Chapter Six

It’s too noisy in the office today and I can’t concentrate – it sounds like we’re at the Pyramid stage at Glastonbury rather than in a workplace. All I can hear are the secretaries gossiping about something, their array of accents burning my ears. I’m attempting to tune it out but my attention is piqued when I hear Sara’s name. I try to focus on what they’re saying but I can’t make sense of anything, I can only hear odd words. It’s so loud yet impossible to decipher at the same time. Henry, the trainee solicitor, slams a heavy document on my desk.

‘Hey, so I’ve reviewed the Share Purchase Agreement and marked it up with my suggestions,’ he says, his voice tailing off at the end.

‘Thanks,’ I say, looking away from him and back to my screen. I toss the agreement onto the tower of documents on the floor.

‘Aren’t you going to review it? I thought you said it was urgent,’ he says. As his supervisor I’m supposed to help train him and help him develop his skills. Usually, I enjoy helping the trainees, and Sara always told me it would paint me in a positive light, but Henry is the sort of person I can’t stand. He went to Eton and then Oxford where he studied Philosophy, Politics and Economics, PPE. He hasn’t had to fight his way to the top. He already owns his own house at twenty-three. Well, I say ‘owns’ – his parents bought it for him as a twenty-first birthday present. It’s in Sloane Square – only one of the most expensive areas in London.

‘I’ll have a look when I get a second, I’m busy on something else right now. Can you review the board minutes that just came in? Let me have your comments on them by the end of the day.’

He smiles but I can feel his annoyance. For six months of his career I’m responsible for making sure he gets a good variety of work. I’m also the one to give him his performance review. The better the review, the more likely he is to get a full-time job at the firm once he finishes his training. Most of the trainees are eager to please, but not Henry. He’s never said anything to me but I always got the impression he doesn’t like the fact that I’m a female superior. His dad is the director of a successful tech company and this is Henry’s first job. He doesn’t speak about his mum much but I know she doesn’t work, so he’s probably not used to seeing females in positions of power. That was Sara’s theory, anyway, when I burst into her office ranting about his attitude one particularly difficult day.

The next few hours pass in a blur. I don’t leave my desk, only summoned out of my seat because I need to use the bathroom. I return to my office with a black coffee from Starbucks. I dread to think how much money I spend in there each week.

Back at my desk, my vision is cloudy again. I rub my eyes but it’s no use – the words on the screen are merging into each other. I should probably get my eyes tested but the last time I did that they told me I just needed less screen time – like that’s a viable option. Nat hurries into our office carrying a stack of folders that look like they’re about to fall out of her arms. She’s been out for most of the day at client meetings.

‘I figured out what everyone is talking about. Have you heard? Apparently the police are here asking people about Sara.’

‘What? Really?’

‘Yeah, apparently they’re interviewing people who worked with Sara. I saw Rita on the client floor – I think she’s being questioned.’

At Carrey & Watson, secretaries do more than just file emails and type letters. The firm wanted to find a way to keep its employees in the office even more than it already does, so the secretaries also act like personal assistants – booking hotel rooms, getting laundry cleaned, returning parcels and the like – so I guess it’s not surprising that the police have asked to speak to Rita. If anybody knows what was truly going on with Sara, then it would be Rita – she literally did Sara’s dirty laundry ever since she started here two months ago. Well, not quite literally but she organised someone to take care of it. They also have access to our calendars and emails. They answer our phones if we’re not at our desks. There is no keeping any secrets from them.

‘The partners aren’t going to be happy.’

‘I don’t get why they’re here,’ Nat says, ‘Sara jumped, so what are they even investigating?’

I shrug my shoulders. ‘We don’t know for sure she jumped…’ I say, unsure if I’m trying to convince Nat or myself.

‘It makes me feel on edge.’

‘Why?’

‘I just have this feeling. Something isn’t right.’ Nat stares at me, seemingly frustrated that I don’t share her concern. She walks out of the room, biting her nails as she leaves.

I roll my eyes. Nat is one of those people who believe in gut instinct and intuition, but more than the average person. Sometimes she does the most irrational things because she ‘has a feeling’ about them. Like when we booked to go to New York two years ago, first-class tickets, and she refused to board the plane because she had a bad feeling about the flight. We had to rebook. It cost a lot of money and of course the flight we were supposed to be on was fine. Nothing bad happened. It’s probably the thing about her that annoys me the most, but I let her get away with it because none of us are perfect. We all have bad habits.

The police wouldn’t be here if it was clearly suicide – surely? Their presence can only mean that they think something was going on. I’ve been doubtful that Sara jumped but maybe I didn’t know her as well as I thought I did, especially after Nat told me she was part of a clique she’d never mentioned. Maybe it really was an accident. There are rumours the contractors could be found negligent for not making sure the roof was completely safe during the construction. Maybe that’s what the police are doing here; if she fell because they didn’t make the roof secure then her death could be manslaughter. I don’t do criminal law but I remember enough from the module I did during my degree.

‘Aren’t you going to get that?’ Henry asks.

I’ve been so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t hear my desk phone ringing.

‘Yeah, sorry, thanks.’

It’s an internal call from reception. What do they want?

‘Hello?’

‘Cassandra Harlow?’ The tone is overly formal.

‘Speaking.’

‘The police would like to see you.’ There is silence on the other end of the phone. ‘Please make your way to the client floor where they are waiting for you.’

Reception hangs up.

‘I’ll be back in a few minutes. Henry, if anybody comes looking for me, tell them I’ve had to step away from my desk.’

I walk towards the lift with my head down. It feels like I’ve done something wrong, like I’m a naughty child being summoned to see the headmaster. I see Nat speaking to Rita. I beckon her over.

She rushes over, confused. I motion around the corner where there’s privacy.

‘They’ve asked to see me. The police.’

Her eyes widen. ‘Holy shit, Cass. Do you know why?’

‘It must be about Sara…I guess I was probably one of the people she was closest to here.’

‘I wonder what they want to know.’

I don’t know how to answer; too many thoughts swirl in my mind. ‘I’d better go. I’ll come find you after, though.’

I rush towards the lift. As the doors close I see Nat’s face and feel my chest tighten.

Chapter Seven

I reach reception on the client floor. Carrey & Watson has its own floor just for clients. We can’t have them in our actual offices because they are full of confidential work and messy stacks of paper. Down here it’s spotless. The floor is tiled in white marble and there are abstract paintings lining the walls, each one no doubt costing tens of thousands of pounds. There’s an area for clients to wait, with black velvet sofas and a large coffee table with copies of the Financial Times and The Economist fanned out across it. There’s a bowl of expensive-looking truffles and more types of herbal tea and coffee than anybody could ever need. Our offices are pretty nice, but the client floor is definitely more luxurious. If I didn’t know better, I’d believe this was the reception for a spa in a five-star hotel and not a law firm. Shame they can’t use the money they spend on these fancy chocolates to raise the salaries of the secretaries. I’ve heard they’ve not had a pay rise in three years.

‘They’re in meeting room eleven,’ the receptionist calls from behind the desk.

I don’t recognise her – she’s not our usual receptionist. This woman is young, likely just graduated from university. Her hair is box-dye black and secured in a high ponytail.

I take a left and head towards the meeting room. I wonder if it’s common practice for the police to question staff in their own workplace. How come the interviews aren’t being done at the police station? With all the media attention this has had, it wouldn’t surprise me if David struck a deal with the police to try and keep things under wraps – I suppose it wouldn’t look good for the firm’s employees to be marched into a police station.

I knock tentatively and wait for a response. There isn’t one so I slowly open the door. I see two men sitting at the table, surrounded by notes and mugs of coffee.

‘Cassandra Harlow?’ one asks.

‘Yes, that’s me,’ I say, entering the room and closing the door behind me. I take a seat opposite them.

‘I’m Detective Lewis and this is my colleague PC Amani.’ His colleague nods in acknowledgment. ‘We’re investigating the death of Sara O’Neil.’

‘I’m a little confused…I thought she jumped? Why are you here?’

‘We’re talking to people at the firm to try and get a better picture of what Sara was like. It seems she was a rather private person,’ he says, not really answering my question, and gestures to something on the table. ‘Do you mind if we record this? It’s not a formal interview but it saves Amani from dislocating his wrist trying to write down everything you say.’

‘No problem.’

PC Amani smiles.

‘How well did you know Sara?’ Detective Lewis says.

‘She was my mentor. We were colleagues. Friends. I mean, I didn’t see her much outside of work, but Sara was very committed to her job, so I don’t think anyone saw her outside of the office.’

‘Did you work together much?’

‘She was in my department – mergers and acquisitions. I did a bit of work with her when I was more junior. Since she made partner, I haven’t worked with her, but we still used to confide in each other.’

‘Would you say she was stressed? Anxious?’

‘Yes, Sara was always stressed – I think because she made partner so early.’

‘What do you mean by early?’

‘She got made partner unexpectedly. Usually to make partner you need a certain amount of experience, so Sara wouldn’t normally have been a candidate – it should have taken her at least another couple of years.’ I pause, remembering the whispers in the hallway after the announcement was made. ‘Management said they’d made an exception for Sara because she was a talented lawyer but…’

Both men wait for me to finish my sentence.

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘No, please continue.’

‘Sara was a decent lawyer, don’t get me wrong, but there was something not right with how it all happened. There were rumours at the time that she was sleeping with someone in management and that’s why she was chosen.’

‘Did you believe the rumours?’ PC Amani asks. I can tell this has interested them. It’s juicy, something to latch onto.

‘Never – it was just office gossip. It struck me as jealousy. Misogynistic bullshit. Sara wasn’t that sort of person. I think some of the seniors who were gunning for partnership were a bit put out by the whole thing and started the rumour to make themselves feel better.’

‘So, she wasn’t more stressed than usual when she died? Nothing was on her mind?’

‘Now I think about it, it did seem like there was something else going on. She wouldn’t talk to me about it, though, and she had cancelled our monthly meetings a couple of times.’

‘Do you think it was work related or something else?’

‘She didn’t say but I had a theory, although I never brought it up with her because it seemed insensitive.’

‘And what was your theory?’

‘This sort of work – this lifestyle – isn’t usually seen as well suited for a woman who wants a family. There’s too much stress. The job has to come before everything. A lot of the women I used to work with have left the industry for something more child friendly. Something with better hours. Sara was older than me and she’d been single ever since her fiancé ended their relationship. She didn’t have time to find a partner but I know how much she wanted kids. It sounds terrible but I think she was worried her time was running out.’

Detective Lewis nods. ‘Let’s move on. Was anything out of the ordinary on the day of Sara’s death? Did you see anything that day you think we should know about? Or did Sara say anything to you?’

It’s hard to see how this angle fits in with the contractor manslaughter theory but the police must know what they are doing. I think back to last week. I remember seeing Sara around the office. She wasn’t herself. Pale, her hair frizzy and untidy. I remember thinking she must have had a lot of late nights. But that wasn’t unusual. Sara was on the Harrison file, which was notoriously complex – it would have kept her busy.

‘No. It was a normal day, well, until…’

‘Did Sara ever mention a grudge with anyone?’

‘No.’ It seems an odd question.

‘You’re sure? We all have enemies.’

‘I’m sure. If she did, she never told me.’

My phone buzzes on the table. I grab it and flip it over instinctively to see it’s Stephen, setting me more unrealistic tasks.

‘Sorry, that’s my colleague.’ I push the button on the side of the phone to turn it onto silent mode.

‘I think we have everything we need for today, actually, so you’re free to go.’

I grab my phone and head towards the door. ‘Wait. I just have to ask before I go. Does this mean you don’t think Sara killed herself? I thought they found a note…?’ I ask. I remember Rita telling me they found a note although I never saw it myself. I don’t think I’d want to. I wonder if she left it on her desk – or, even worse, what if they found it on her?

‘Thank you for your time, Cassandra. If you think of anything else, please do call me.’ Detective Lewis hands me a card with his phone number.

Their response tells me everything I need to know. They aren’t treating Sara’s death as suicide – they think there’s something else going on here.

Chapter Eight

I spent yesterday in Worcester attending Sara’s funeral. It seemed so surreal to be saying goodbye to somebody so young. The only funerals I’ve been to so far are for people much older than me, grandparents or distant family. Nobody even remotely close to my age. Sara was only in her mid-thirties.

It was hard seeing her family. I’ve never met anyone other than Julia. Her parents are divorced and I noticed they spent the entire day staying as far away from each other as possible. Julia is devastated; Sara was her whole world. She sometimes took Sara’s kindness for granted but I know she looked up to her and was proud of her big sister.

Today the world has already returned to normality, almost as if yesterday never happened. It’s moments like this that make me forget Sara isn’t here anymore, make me think that everything is just as it was. That’s the thing with life, it just goes on.

Today couldn’t be more different to yesterday. I spent the morning in the office but now I’m out for a client lunch, a rare chance to get out of the office. I’m grateful for the timing as getting up for work today was a struggle. It felt so futile getting out of bed and carrying on as if nothing had changed.

‘Here’s to all your hard work on the deal. We couldn’t have done it without you.’ The suave man in the suit raises his glass of champagne and we all do the same. His medium-rare steak remains half-eaten on his plate and this is his third glass since we arrived at the rooftop restaurant an hour ago.

‘Cassandra.’ Sebastian turns his attention towards me. ‘Tell me, what’s it like working in this boys’ club? I hope Stephen doesn’t beast you too much.’ He laughs after he says it; an ugly laugh that makes his face contort.

I can’t stand Sebastian Thorne, but I have to pretend to like him because he’s Stephen’s client, and I’ve been working with Stephen. I have to impress him, if I want to prove to the partners that I can do the client relationship part of the business, the wining and dining. It’s not just billing – although that is a large part of it.

My dislike of Sebastian stems from one comment he made several months ago. We were working late as he had summoned us to his office in Liverpool Street for a midnight meeting about strategy for a board meeting the next day.

I didn’t mind working late until Sebastian started talking about how much he resented his wife because she wanted to go back to work now that their children were in school. I’ll never forget his words: ‘Women in the workplace with children are just kidding themselves. They are useless at work and become hopeless at home.’

Sebastian is one of the clients I’ve been working around the clock for lately. Last night, after I got to the office after the funeral, we signed a deal for the acquisition of a new business, winning a competitive auction process without paying a premium. It’s going to make Sebastian and his colleagues a lot of money. I can see their eyes light up as they think about the extravagant bonus, which will make them feel slightly better about sacrificing their entire life for the job.

Sebastian wanted to take us out to celebrate. Some clients like to do it when we complete a piece of business for them. He’d chosen one of the most expensive restaurants nearby, on the top floor of a skyscraper with panoramic views of London. It’s an over-the-top display of wealth and privilege. You can’t get a starter here for under fifty pounds and they have their very own pianist playing in the corner. Sebastian has brought along two others from his team who were involved in the transaction. I’m the only female here and feel slightly out of place. It’s not too bad at the moment, but experience tells me that the drunker they become, the more inappropriate the conversation will get. When I started as a lawyer and began getting invited to these sorts of lunches, one of the female senior associates told me in confidence that I needed to be careful. That they aren’t a safe place for women.

‘More champagne, madam?’ a smartly dressed waitress asks, appearing by my side with the bottle ready to pour, tilted at forty-five degrees.

‘Oh, I think I’m okay,’ I say. The memory of the warning echoes inside my head: You can’t get too drunk. It’s not the same as when the men get drunk. They’ll see you as sloppy. A mess.

‘Nonsense, fill her glass up. In fact, top up all our glasses and keep it coming,’ Sebastian says. I notice the lack of the word ‘please’.

The waitress shoots me a sympathetic look as she tops up my glass.

‘Well, don’t just stare at the glass, Cassandra. Drink up! Or are you not having a good time? Is this not a cause for celebration?’ Sebastian says. His voice is accusatory. I scan the table but everybody else is too busy laughing to notice. I don’t want to drink it, but I don’t think I’m going to have a choice. You can’t say no to people like Sebastian. Nobody has ever told him no. People like him are used to getting what they want, when they want.

I sip my champagne and feel myself getting tipsy already. I don’t want to get drunk and jeopardise everything I’ve worked for. But Sebastian is my client, and refusing to play along won’t put me in good stead.

The waitress takes away the plates of cold food even though most of the guests around the table have hardly touched their meal. They’ve ordered overpriced steaks and barely had more than a few mouthfuls each. I ate all of my pasta, a tactic to try and keep me sober.

‘Right, chaps, if you’ll excuse us for a second, we will be right back.’ Sebastian winks at me. His two colleagues trail behind him. ‘Are you coming, Stephen, or are you too old now?’

‘No such thing, Seb.’

I watch as they leave the table and saunter towards the men’s toilets. I know exactly what’s going on, but at least I’m not being made to participate in it. The one silver lining of being female: they can’t drag me into the toilets with them to snort lines off the sink. I use the chance to empty my glass into the plant pot next to the table and drink as much water as I can to counteract the alcohol.

I feel my phone vibrate in my jacket pocket.

Nat [14:20]: How is the lunch with Seb and co going? I take it you aren’t coming back to the office.

Cassandra [14:21]: It’s a heavy one already. But I’ll need to come back to finish off a couple of things.

Nat [14:21]: Shit…Just be careful.

I’m about to reply to Nat when I feel a hand on my back.

‘Cassandra, who are you texting? Is it your boyfriend? Worried you’re around so many dashing men?’ Sebastian chuckles and the others laugh along with him.

‘Oh, no, just a friend.’

‘I can’t believe that, Cassandra, you must have a man in your life. Pretty thing like you.’

I open my mouth in shock, expecting the other guests to react the same way, but they don’t even acknowledge the remark.

‘You know what would make this even more fun, fellas? Shots. Let’s do shots. Waitress! Waitress!’ Sebastian shouts, beckoning over the waitress nearby. ‘Can you get us a round of five shots of tequila?’

‘Just one each, Seb? You’ve gotten tame,’ his colleague Liam says with a laugh.

‘Yeah, are we at a funeral or are we fucking celebrating?’ Daniel, the other member of the party says.

I wince. Daniel doesn’t realise that Sara’s funeral was only yesterday and how his comment makes me feel.

‘Oi. Oi! All right, boys, your wish is my command. Fifteen shots of tequila for the table!’

Sebastian throws his Amex card on the table.

‘Sir, I can’t bring fifteen shots at once. Company policy. I’ll need to bring each round at a time.’

‘You can’t be serious? Go and get us all fifteen. I think we’re spending enough money today that you can make an exception. Or do I need to talk to someone in charge?’

The waitress blushes and scurries off. I see her speaking to someone in the corner and then it doesn’t take her long to return with all fifteen shots. She places them in the middle of the table. The smell of tequila is overpowering. She quickly makes her exit and I don’t blame her. I wish I could join her.

‘Right, one after another. No breaks. No stopping.’ He thumps on the table and grabs the first glass. ‘Cassandra, you too.’

I look in Stephen’s direction for help but he motions for me to take the shots. I swallow one as quickly as I can, the alcohol burning my throat on the way down. I have to fight the urge to gag, but there are two more shots left. I don’t know how I’ll do this.

Bang. Bang. Bang. One by one each man slams his empty shot glass on their table. They’ve downed all three before I’ve even had my second.

Sebastian gives me a look. ‘Well, we’re waiting, Cassandra.’

All eyes are on me. Liam and Daniel start chanting some stupid song to try and make me drink quicker – I haven’t felt this pressure to drink since I was at university. I’m sure I hear Stephen mutter something distasteful under his breath but I ignore it and take the shots. Almost as soon as I’ve finished the final tequila, I feel my stomach turn. I’m going to be sick. I need to get out of here before I redecorate the table with my vomit.

‘I’ll be right back.’ I excuse myself from the table, walking quickly towards the bathroom with my hand covering my mouth. I don’t want them knowing I can’t handle my alcohol. Not being able to handle alcohol when entertaining clients is unacceptable. Another thing that is unfair – I don’t have the same tolerance as the men.

As soon as I’m inside the sanctuary of the women’s bathroom I run to the stall and projectile vomit all over the porcelain toilet seat before I’ve even had chance to close the door. In the background I hear two women snickering at what a mess I am.

Hot tears stream down my face. An expensive meal to be throwing up. It isn’t even 3 p.m. yet. I hate that I’m already in this state but I can’t let on that I’ve been sick. I take a dozen sheets of toilet roll and use it to clean up the vomit. The smell is overpowering and there are clumps sticking to the tissue, but I hold my breath to get through it. I flush the toilet and head to the sinks.

I wish I’d remembered to bring my handbag with me so I have some make-up, but I was in too much of a rush. I wipe the mascara that has smudged around my lower lashes with my finger and make sure there’s nothing in my teeth. I’ve splashed sick on the collar of my work blouse. I take some damp paper towels and dab it, but I’m left with a huge wet patch. This blouse cost £1,500 – I got it from Dior last year. It’s white with delicate pearl buttons. I can’t go out looking like this, it’ll be obvious what happened. I’m going to have to dry it, but the bathroom doesn’t have a hand dryer. Instead they have individual towels. I dab at the stains but it’s difficult to do so from this angle.

I unbutton and remove my blouse to make it easier. It shouldn’t take long but I pray nobody comes into the bathroom while I’m stood here in my bra. The restaurant isn’t that busy anymore so hopefully I’ll be okay.

I’m nearly done when I hear footsteps. I rush to pull the blouse on but the door opens before I can button it up.

‘Wow, Cassandra. I came to check on you because you’ve been gone so long but I never expected to find you like this.’

It’s Sebastian. And he’s just seen me in my underwear. If I hadn’t already thrown up so much, I’m sure I would be sick again.

‘What are you doing in here? This is the ladies’ bathroom. You need to leave.’

I finish dressing as quickly as I can.

‘But how can I leave after that display? You’re fucking hot, you know that?’ he says, slurring his words. He moves towards me, his eyes like a child’s who’s unwrapped the present they wanted most for Christmas. ‘It was so hard keeping myself under control during all those late-night meetings. I could tell you felt the same way.’

‘Sebastian, please leave. I’ll be right out.’

He keeps walking and backs me up against the wall, towering over me, all six foot-plus of him. Sebastian spends the time he’s not at work in the gym and the sheer size of him is intimidating. I can smell the alcohol on his breath and the body odour he’s failed to cover up with an excessive amount of aftershave. He cups his hand against my face as I turn my head away, snaps it back towards him and leans in to kiss me. I push him off but it’s no use. He has me pinned against the wall and I can’t move. His other hand starts working its way down my body, over my breasts. I can’t let him do this – I’ll only go so far to try and impress him, and this is my limit. I bite down on his tongue as hard as I can, causing him to stumble backwards. I slap him across the face. He puts his hand to his cheek in shock and I take the opportunity to shove past him and out of the bathroom.

I have to go back to the table to get my handbag or I won’t have my house keys or purse. As I get to the table, Sebastian is right behind me.

‘What’s going on?’ asks Stephen.

‘I’m going home,’ I say, grabbing my coat and bag.

‘Seb?’ Stephen asks.

‘Your girl here just assaulted me. Slapped me across the face. What kind of circus are you running at Carrey & Watson?’

‘Cassandra, is this true?’

‘Yes, but⁠—’

‘But what?’ Stephen stands up.

‘He tried to force himself on me.’

‘Absolutely ridiculous, Stephen, you can’t believe that. I have a wife, for God’s sake,’ Sebastian says.

I look to Stephen and back at Sebastian. Stephen must know. He must know I’m telling the truth. I know he’s been with Sebastian to strip clubs, multiple times. He even expenses it – I’ve seen the receipts on his secretary’s desk.

‘If you want to keep my business, I don’t want this liar working on my matters anymore.’

‘Of course, Seb. She’ll no longer work on your matters and the appropriate disciplinary action will be taken internally,’ Stephen says.

‘I’ve got half a mind to call the police.’

‘I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Seb. Let’s order another bottle of champagne, paid for by the firm, of course. Cassandra is leaving now.’

‘You can’t be serious?’ I say, looking at Stephen, pleading for him to understand what’s he’s doing.

‘Go home, Cassandra. Now.’

There is nothing but anger in Stephen’s eyes. I grab my bag and head towards the lifts, wiping my tears. As the doors close, I watch as they laugh and toast their champagne flutes.

I can’t keep working this hard to have everything ruined by men like Sebastian who think they can act however they want and get away with it.

I won’t keep putting up with this shit just to make partner.

Chapter Nine

I felt sick all night and it wasn’t due to my alcohol intake. I already know how today’s meeting is going to play out. I wish I’d been able to talk to Sara about it; she’d know what I should do and would have the best advice.

My heart pounds in my chest as I enter the room.

‘Cassandra, take a seat,’ Stephen says.

As soon as I arrived in the office this morning I was summoned to a meeting with Stephen and HR. We’re in one of the internal meeting rooms, noticeably drab compared to the client floor. There’s tea and coffee but only a couple of options. There’s a plate of digestive biscuits in the middle of the table but they go untouched. My throat feels dry and scratchy, maybe from how much I threw up yesterday, and my eyes are sore from crying all night. I pick up a glass and pour myself some water. The room is silent except for the sound of the water hitting the glass.

‘So I assume you have an idea of why we called this meeting?’ Hannah, the head of human resources, says.

I nod.

‘Stephen tells me you assaulted a client yesterday. Would you care to tell us in your own words what happened?’

I knew this meeting would happen. Sadly these things always play out the same way. I spent so long rehearsing what I wanted to say, but now it’s disappeared. Out of reach. It’s so much harder to tell the truth when it feels like everyone has already made up their mind.

I take a long sip of water.

‘I was out for lunch yesterday with a client, Sebastian Thorne. Stephen was also there, along with a few of the client’s colleagues. We were celebrating the signing of a huge deal for them.’

‘I know all of this. Stephen filled me in. Can you skip to the part where you slapped the client?’

I take a deep breath. It’s not easy to say what I’m about to say, especially in front of a male superior, but it needs to be said. For far too long, clients and even people in this building have been getting away with sexually harassing staff. It’s ignored and people think it’s just a joke. It’s ‘banter’. It’s ‘harmless’. Nat had a male partner slap her on the bum at a Christmas party last year. She brushed it off but now he does it every time he sees her and she feels like it’s been going on too long for her to say anything. She doesn’t want to say anything and risk the negative consequences. The partner has more power in this firm than she does. And then there’s the university students that get wined and dined, end up drinking too much free wine and are taken advantage of by sleazy male solicitors. I’ve seen it happen countless times. I’ve watched and done nothing, knowing I don’t have the power to change anything. It isn’t even that no one would believe me – they just don’t see it as a problem and they’ll always look out for their own.

‘I was in the female toilets at the restaurant, when the client came in and touched me inappropriately. I was scared about what would happen and acted in self-defence.’

Hannah is about to speak when Stephen speaks over her.

‘Do you have any proof of this, Cassandra? I’ve known Seb for many years and nobody has ever accused him of acting inappropriately. According to him, he took a wrong turn and ended up in the female bathroom by mistake when you attacked him out of nowhere.’

I bite the inside of my cheek. ‘Why would I attack a client without good reason? That doesn’t make any sense. It was because of what he was doing. I think that’s a very normal response.’

‘But why would Seb inappropriately touch you? That doesn’t make sense to me, either,’ Stephen says, crossing his arms.

‘Okay, look, there’s no point in going back and forth about this,’ Hannah says. ‘Cassandra, the allegations against you are very serious⁠—’

‘Against me? What about my allegations against Seb?’

‘Like Stephen said, we don’t have any proof⁠—’

‘And what proof do you have that I attacked Sebastian?’

‘You’ve never denied slapping him. You admitted it earlier.’

I shut my mouth. She’s right, I have admitted it. And it’s more convenient to pretend they don’t believe that Sebastian assaulted me.

‘So, what we want is for you to sign this NDA and agree never to speak about the incident again. Not inside these walls, not to friends and not to family.’

‘I don’t understand – you don’t believe he did anything wrong.’

‘We don’t, but we can’t have you spreading lies and damaging our client’s reputation,’ Stephen says.

‘What if I don’t sign it?’

‘Then that’s your choice. We can’t make you sign it, but it’s in your best interests,’ Hannah says.

It’s a threat. I’m not sure what the consequences are but I can’t let them bully me over this. ‘Okay, great. Well, I’m not signing it. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have a lot of work to do.’

I stand up to leave.

‘Sit back down, Cassandra,’ Stephen says sternly.

I do as I’m told.

‘We’ve been in discussion with the other partners and we don’t think Carrey & Watson is the right firm for you after all,’ Hannah says. I can hear the guilt in her voice as she says it. She can’t make eye contact with me. ‘We think it’s best if you no longer work here.’

I’m not sure if they decided this beforehand or if this is because I won’t sign the NDA.

‘You can’t just fire me – I’m not an employment lawyer but I know you need a proper reason and I have a notice period.’

Stephen leans across the table.

‘Work your notice if you want. But I can promise it won’t be a good time for you.’

Somebody once asked me why there were never any employment claims made against law firms when their working practices are so questionable. It’s because they always win. I don’t have the resources to fight this and win.

‘I’m working my three-months’ notice.’ I grit my teeth; I need to work my notice period. I need the income while I search for another job. My mortgage is high and my spending habits overly indulgent.

Stephen and Hannah exchange a look.

‘I trust you’ll avoid spreading rumours in the meantime. We wouldn’t want you accused of slander, would we?’

‘Fine.’

My career at Carrey & Watson is over.

Chapter Ten

I take the lift back up to the tenth floor. As the doors open, the office looks different somehow. It feels as if everybody knows what has happened. Most of them won’t have a clue. The partners must know; they’ll have discussed it and decided on the best way to ‘deal with’ me. After all, they can’t have me losing the firm business because of an inconvenient thing like a sexual harassment lawsuit.

But the secretaries, the juniors, the IT staff – they won’t know. I take a seat at my desk and stare at the blank computer screen. I don’t even turn the computer on. I gaze into space thinking about everything that’s just happened. Yesterday, before lunch, I thought I had it all worked out, that I was going to become partner in the next round of promotions and finally see a pay-off for my hard work. I was mere weeks away from finding out whether my dreams would come true. So close, it felt like it was within my grasp.

Instead, I’ve lost it all, and the worst part of it is that it feels really fucking unfair. Even now, I can’t see what I could have done differently. Maybe I shouldn’t have slapped Sebastian, but if he wasn’t a client, nobody would’ve questioned my actions. And besides, he was the one who attacked me. But nobody cares about that because he is more important than I am.

‘Are you okay?’ Henry asks from the desk opposite.

I snap out of my trance. He looks genuinely concerned. I’m surprised he cares, although the cynic in me wonders if it is genuine.

‘Yes, I’m fine, just thinking about something.’

‘If you say so. I thought you were crying. My mistake.’ He turns back to his computer and starts typing. Maybe he’s messaging all the trainees about how emotional his supervisor is. I’m sure there will be a joke about how I’m probably on my period. I don’t care, it’s the least of my worries. I touch my cheek. lt’s wet. I didn’t even realise I’d been crying. I quickly wipe away the tears and try to compose myself. I turn my computer on. I need to act like everything is normal until I figure out my next move.

Nat comes back into the office from her meeting, papers and folders in hand. She slumps back in her chair and sighs.

‘Coffee?’ she asks.

‘Yes. I need it.’

I grab my coat and we head out. I’m glad to get some privacy away from Henry. I can’t speak to Nat openly with him there – trainees can be such gossips.

‘How did the meeting go?’ Nat asks when we are outside the office. I called her as soon as I left the restaurant yesterday. I’m not sure how much she could understand in between my sobs but I think she got the gist of things.

‘That bad?’ she says, interpreting my silence correctly.

‘Sebastian said I assaulted him.’

I’d already filled Nat in on what happened as soon as I got home, sending her lengthy voice notes about the entire lunch and Sebastian’s actions, and Stephen’s inaction. Nat had told me not to worry, that all would be okay and it would all blow over today once everybody was sober.

‘He said what? Did you tell them what he did to you?’

‘Of course, but they didn’t believe me. They completely took his side.’

‘What bastards. I can’t even say I’m surprised, though. They only care about their bottom line. I’m so angry on your behalf. They shouldn’t be treating you like this. What happens now? Please tell me you don’t have to apologise to that narcissist.’

I pause. I know I should tell Nat about being fired but I can’t bring myself to say it. I usually tell her everything but something is stopping me telling her this. I’m ashamed. I know Nat would understand but I need to digest what happened first; it’s all still so fresh and I don’t know how to feel. I’m still hoping that it isn’t real, that maybe they’ll change their minds and realise I’m too valuable to the firm. It’s a delusion but not one I’m ready to give up on just yet.

‘I don’t know yet. They said they’d let me know. Hopefully it’ll all just sort itself out.’

I smile and hope I’m convincing. We get to the coffee shop and I buy Nat’s coffee as a treat. We walk back towards the office, the warm cups heating our hands. The wind is particularly brutal today.

‘Do you remember the conversation we had about Inside?’ I say. Now that my plan to make partner has been shattered, I need a more unconventional method if I’m going to reach my goals.

‘Yes, why?’

‘It’s just been on my mind lately. Can you send me the website address?’

‘Yeah…sure. I’ll send it over when we get back to the office.’ I’m sure I can detect a note of guardedness in her voice. But – of course – if I apply that’s extra competition for her. It’s another reason I don’t want to tell her I’ve lost my job. Nat has always looked out for me, almost like a maternal figure, even though we are the same age. I know she wouldn’t apply if she knew it meant giving me better odds and I don’t want her to do that. She was the one who told me about Inside, and she told me how much she wanted it. I can’t let her throw that away out of loyalty to me.

Back in the office, lunch comes around quickly. I manage to distract myself with urgent client work and almost forget about what happened this morning. This busyness won’t last long, though. The silver lining of getting fired is that the partners will stop giving me work so I’ll have some spare time to look for something new. They won’t want to risk keeping me on their deal teams in case I talk badly about the firm to clients.

A Microsoft Teams notification pops up as I’m thinking about what to have for lunch.

It’s the link to Inside. I click on it and it loads the same web page that Nat showed me on her phone at lunch a few days ago. I enter my email to register interest.

‘Do you want to get lunch?’ Nat says.

‘Sure.’ I lock my computer and we head downstairs.

‘You know, I think I will apply to Inside actually. It sounds like a really good opportunity.’

‘Oh, really? That’s great, we can help each other out. I really don’t know what the application process will be like but if we are both going through it then it won’t be so intimidating.’ I think it’s a genuine sentiment. And sure, we can help each other out for now, but it won’t stay like that. There’s only one spot.

My phone buzzes as we get outside. I take it out of my pocket and see the preview of an email flash on my phone. The subject line: Termination of Employment. I swallow hard.

‘Everything okay, Cass?’

‘Yeah, everything is fine. I’ve just got a lot of work to do. Actually, I need to pick up a parcel from Waitrose so I’ll see you back at the office.’

I don’t wait for Nat to reply in case she volunteers to come with me. I walk off quickly, not turning back. I can feel my underarms start to moisten and my balance become unsteady in these heels.

How did it get to this?

Chapter Eleven

I’ve been thinking about Sara today. I checked my calendar this morning and noticed I still had a lunchtime meeting with her booked in – our monthly lunch and spa catch-up at the Ned. Her death affected me far more than I’d like to admit, and I had to go to the toilets to sob. I miss my friend. She would’ve known how to deal with the whole Sebastian situation. Nat may be my best friend but Sara was older and wiser. She would’ve had a different perspective, and besides, if she was part of Inside like Nat thought then maybe she could’ve helped me get a new job.

The police haven’t been back since that time they interviewed me on the client floor. I know they interviewed Rita. I asked her and it sounded almost identical to my experience, other than them asking a few questions about Sara’s schedule that only she would know. Nat wasn’t interviewed but then Nat and Sara didn’t interact much. Perhaps the lack of follow-up means they’ve decided Sara’s death doesn’t warrant police attention.

A new email arrives in my inbox. It’s from the firm’s automatic spam filter, telling me there’s a suspicious email that’s been sent to me and asking if I want to release it into my inbox. I always ignore these requests as it’s usually sales pitches but the subject of the email makes me sit up taller. One word. Sara. I don’t care about the firm’s IT security policy; I need to see what it says.

Once the email arrives it has one sentence with a video attachment. She was being watched. I plug my headphones in and click on the video. I don’t grasp what it is at first. It’s Sara. She’s on her laptop working, glass of wine at her side. She’s not in the office. The surroundings are familiar but I can’t quite place them. Somebody appears to be watching her work, typing furiously on her laptop. The clock behind her reads 1:10 a.m. As the video continues I recognise it as Sara’s house. I’ve only been there a handful of times but I remember the still-life painting on the wall. Somebody was watching Sara, but why? Does this have anything to do with why the police wanted to know if Sara had any enemies?

* * *

I didn’t want to leave the office so soon after the email arrived but I have a networking event that I’d signed up to weeks ago. I was tempted to skip it but Nat wanted me to come with her and I knew she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

I’m glad to have the hum of conversation in the bar to distract me. I can’t stop thinking about that video and the meaning behind it. I emailed the account back asking what it meant but of course I got no response. Who sent it and what are they trying to achieve? Either it’s the person who took it or somebody who knew Sara well enough that she’d have shared it with them. I check my email constantly to see if anything has come in.

A glass of Malbec sits in front of me. I swirl the red liquid around the glass and glance around the room. Nat was around here somewhere but she may have made a swift exit – she doesn’t love being around alcohol. She especially struggles being around people using drugs – because of what happened with Abbie – and an atmosphere like this is ripe for that sort of behaviour., I haven’t spoken to anybody since I got separated from Nat. I don’t have the energy to speak about my non-existent career and my mind is elsewhere so I’ll probably leave soon.

I check my work email on my phone again. Nothing new has come in – either from the anonymous email account or from the partners. I swipe down to refresh the page and see the little circle spin. Still nothing. It’s a strange feeling, going from everybody wanting me, choosing me to work with, asking me for help, to nobody wanting me. It’s a devastating feeling being unneeded, unnecessary, disposed of like used chewing gum on a dirty pavement.

News must travel fast. I just hope it doesn’t get leaked to the senior associates as then Nat will know I’ve lied to her. I don’t think the partners are allowed to tell anyone officially, but in reality that means nothing. I should have told her, I know I should’ve. But I just can’t admit it to her and have to answer her questions. I feel embarrassed that I didn’t fight my corner, that I was defeated so easily.

I’m knocked out of my self-pitying trance as a man barges into my shoulder.

‘Oh, my God, I am so sorry.’

I feel warm liquid seeping through my blouse. The stranger has spilt red wine all over my cream blouse, turning it into an ugly shade of pink.

I open my mouth to speak but I’m too mad to say anything so nothing comes out.

‘It’s completely my fault – I wasn’t looking where I was going. Let me get you some tissues or something.’

‘You’re not going to get red wine out of a silk blouse using tissues,’ I say through gritted teeth, rubbing the stain on my blouse with my fingers even though I know it’s ruined so there’s no point trying.

‘I’ll pay for dry-cleaning. And if that doesn’t get the stain out, I’ll buy you a new one. I really am sorry.’

I don’t know this man so how do I explain to him how expensive this blouse actually is?

‘If you give me your number I can arrange for it to be picked up tomorrow and you’ll have it back in no time.’ He holds his phone out towards me.

I take it, duly entering my details. I don’t usually give my number to strangers, but it’s only fair he pays for the dry-cleaning. When I hand back the phone and look up, I notice he’s quite handsome. He’s broad and I can tell he must work out, because he’s in good shape. His white shirt is slightly tight on him and I can see his tanned skin between the straining buttons. His chest is smooth. His dirty blond hair has been pushed back off his face. He has facial hair but it’s been trimmed recently. This is a guy that takes care of himself. Typical City boy.

‘Cassandra Harlow, that’s a nice name,’ he says, reading the contact details I put in his phone. ‘I’m George.’

‘I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you but…’ I gesture at the stain on my chest.

‘That’s fair enough. Can I buy you a drink?’

‘It’s a free bar.’

‘Okay, well, I can get you a drink anyway. Or we could go somewhere else and I can buy you a drink there to say sorry again for being so clumsy?’

Is George hitting on me? I haven’t flirted with someone in so long that it’s hard to remember what it feels like. My last boyfriend was over seven years ago. We dated throughout university and I really thought he was the one, that we’d end up married with children. A house in Surrey with a Jack Russell. We both moved to London after graduation – he had a job lined up in recruitment. Our relationship didn’t last our first year in London. My work schedule saw to that. He couldn’t deal with never seeing me, with me cancelling plans at the last minute because things came up. Eventually he’d had enough and broke up with me by text. A three-year relationship destroyed in a second. I haven’t dated since he broke my heart. It’s easier not to get involved.

Sara and I bonded over our shared failed relationships. Hers was worse though; she was engaged when her fiancé called things off. She always said the worst part was that she wasn’t surprised, because he’d told her that she needed to choose him over the job. They argued about it constantly. Sara wanted children but her fiancé refused to consider it with Sara working such late hours. I don’t think she ever truly got over him leaving her, but she couldn’t give up the career that she’d worked so hard for. Once he left, she had to stick it out or it all would’ve been for nothing.

I find myself agreeing to leave with George. This isn’t like me; I’m not a spontaneous person and I don’t usually have any interest in meeting men. But I’m feeling carefree tonight – it might be the two glasses of wine I’ve already drunk or because I’d like to be distracted from the current hurricane of thoughts in my mind.

George leads me to a bar a few minutes away. It’s slightly quieter than some of the other places nearby – there’s not a crowd of City professionals gathered around outside making stupid jokes and bigging themselves up.

Once we’re seated, George gets up and motions that he’s off to the bar. He asks me what I want and I ask for a glass of Malbec. He comes back with two glasses.

‘I don’t know how I feel sitting so close to you when you’ve got another glass of red wine,’ I say.

‘Well, that’s true, my last glass of red wine is currently residing on your shirt.’

I smirk. He’s charming and I’ve almost forgotten how mad I am at him for knocking into me.

‘So what do you do, Cassandra?’

It should be a simple question but there’s a lump in my throat. It would’ve been so easy to answer this question twenty-four hours ago, but now I feel like a fraud. ‘I’m a lawyer,’ I eventually say like it’s a dirty secret.

‘Oh wow, that must be interesting. What kind of law do you do?’

‘Corporate.’ I keep my answer short on purpose. I want to avoid talking about work as much as possible.

‘That’s super impressive. What sort of stuff does that entail then?’

‘Oh, it’s not impressive at all. It’s really boring actually. What about you? What do you do?’

My deflection seems to work. ‘I work for a tech start-up. I’m good with computers.’

I’m surprised he isn’t a typical City boy – a trader or investment banker – because he looks the part and he has the charm. ‘Do you enjoy it?’

‘Oh, it’s great. Hard work, obviously, but I’m sure you know all about working hard. I’m lucky to work with a really good group of lads, though. Although I’d say you’re better company,’ he says with a cheeky grin.

It’s clichéd, but his lines are working on me. He’s effortlessly charming, and each time he smiles I can’t help but smile back at him. I’d forgotten how nice it is to get to know somebody who excites me.

The bar is starting to become noisy. People who have been out drinking for hours are now drunk and rowdy. It’s becoming difficult to hear George. I’ve finished my glass of wine. George asks me if I’d like another but I shake my head. The lack of food before coming out is starting to hit me. I don’t think I’ve eaten since lunch. I rub my head with my hands.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, the wine has hit me a little and it’s quite loud in here. I think I need to find something to eat.’ I pick up a menu on the table but all they do is bar snacks. ‘They don’t do proper food here.’

‘You should’ve said. Do you want to get out of here? I know a great pizza place nearby that will still be serving. They do great wine, too. Don’t feel like you have to, though – I wouldn’t want to ruin your clothes and your evening.’

‘Actually, sure. Why not?’ Usually I’d say no because I have to be up early for work, or have work to finish at home, but I’m so tired of saying no to everything fun in life for a firm that has stabbed me in the back the first chance they’ve got.

He smiles and, for the first time in a while, it gives me butterflies in my stomach. He pays the bill, not listening to me when I ask to split it, although I suppose he did offer to buy me a drink to apologise. He tips generously, too. We leave the bar and head to the local pizza restaurant George mentioned. We order a pepperoni pizza to share. I have another glass of wine but don’t drink it until after my first slice of pizza. The wine here is just as delicious as at the other place but much cheaper. London has so many restaurants but sometimes the hidden gems are the best. We stay until it closes; they practically have to beg us to leave.

‘I don’t want this to come across wrongly, but I actually live not too far away in Bermondsey if you want to come back for a drink? I don’t want the night to end but…’ His voice trails off, leaving the decision up to me.

I’m feeling adventurous. And I don’t want to go back to an empty house, alone with my thoughts.

‘Sure, let’s go back to yours.’

The walk from the bar to George’s flat is nice, romantic. It feels reckless doing this on a work night, but the freedom to not care about work is empowering. Like I said, I’m not usually spontaneous, but I’m enjoying being someone else for the night. We hold hands as we walk and a warm feeling radiates in my chest.

* * *

I wake up with a mouth drier than the Nevada desert. My head feels like somebody is using it as a drum at a Coldplay concert and it takes a while to open my eyes. I open them gradually, the daylight too harsh. I don’t know where I am.. The worry immediately wakes me up and I sit bolt upright before regretting moving so quickly.

I’m in a bedroom but it’s not mine. It’s far too minimalist, whereas my style is more glamour and extravagance. Everything here is white or grey: no personal details. No photos, nothing to indicate who lives here. It’s much smaller than my place but also more modern. I take a step out of bed, planting my feet on the dark wooden floor. I’m still wearing yesterday’s clothes.

I walk towards the floor-to-ceiling windows, which look out over London. I step closer and admire the view. The drawback of owning a house rather than one of these new-build flats is that you don’t get the panoramic views. I peer over the edge and start to feel a little nauseous. We are several floors up and I can’t help thinking about Sara and about what she must’ve seen before she died.

I shuffle backwards from the window and almost stumble over a stool. It has my coat on top of it, along with my phone. I grab it and see it still has some battery left. My alarm hasn’t gone off and I’m going to be late for work. Not that it matters, but if I want to keep up appearances I can’t be sauntering into the office after ten-thirty.

I can smell men’s cologne on my shirt – along with the woody smell of red wine from the stain on my blouse. George. That must be whose flat this is. I have a vague recollection of him inviting me back, but I don’t remember arriving and I also don’t remember what happened afterwards. Did we sleep together?

I need to work out how to get to the office and change my clothes before anybody notices, especially considering my blouse looks like a watercolour painting. I open the bedroom door and head down the corridor. I find a door that looks like it leads outside, and I place my hands on the lock, ready to open it, when a voice stops me.

‘You’re awake. I didn’t want to disturb you. You looked so peaceful.’

It’s George, sitting topless in a kitchen eating breakfast. He stands up and walks towards me and I can’t help but notice his body.

‘Oh, yes, sorry, was I really drunk last night?’

‘You were fine, don’t worry about it.’

I smile and shift the weight between my feet nervously.

‘Did we share a bed? My memory is really hazy.’

‘Oh, no, definitely not.’

I must look offended because he quickly carries on. ‘I mean, not that I wouldn’t want …I mean…you came back for a drink and almost immediately said you were tired and fell asleep in a chair. I carried you to the bed and I slept on the sofa.’

I’m relieved. ‘Sorry for falling asleep. I didn’t mean to impose.’

‘Oh, it’s not a problem. It’s nice to have the company. Besides, you seemed like you needed it. You kept going on about how horrible your job has been lately.’

I clench my teeth wondering how much I told him.

‘Thank you. For being such a gentleman. I’m really sorry to just leave but I need to get to work so…’

‘Wait, can I see you again?’

‘Yeah, sure, I guess. Why not?’ I want to see him again. He’s a nice distraction.

‘Great, I’ll give you a text. Maybe later this week?’

‘That sounds nice.’

He opens the door for me, bending down to kiss both my cheeks.

‘See you soon, Cassandra.’

Chapter Twelve

After staying the night at George’s, I spent most of yesterday in a daze. I collapsed onto the sofa straight after work and wake up in the middle of the night, hungry, confused and with a pain in my neck from sleeping at a funny angle. I must’ve needed that sleep. Nat was out at a conference all day yesterday so I haven’t had a chance to talk to her about him yet, not that there is much to say, but I know she’ll be excited for me. Nat is one of those people who adores anything to do with romance – she must have watched every romcom with Joey King in it multiple times.

I should eat something even though it’s the middle of the night. I check the fridge for something quick. I pull out a punnet of strawberries to take upstairs to snack on. As I leave I notice the mess I’ve left on the dining-room table. It’s scattered with a random pile of junk spilling out of my handbag. I must’ve thrown it aside last night and everything tipped out.

I scoop the items back into the bag when something catches my eye that I don’t remember owning. A small key, gold. It isn’t one of my house keys because I can see them in their usual spot next to the front door. Where did I get this key from and who does it belong to?

I pick it up to examine it more closely. Sara gave me this. I completely forgot about it because it was a couple of months ago now and it seemed innocuous at the time. I remember Sara passed me the key and asked me to keep it safe for her. I thought it was weird but I trusted her and thought she must’ve had a reason. I wonder what it opens. Maybe if it I work that out, it’ll help me find out more about the life that I know so little about. I probably wouldn’t think anything of it usually, but after that video I’m starting to suspect Sara was involved in something she shouldn’t have been. Maybe I should send the video to the police if they’re still investigating.

* * *

The next day, I have one thing at the forefront of my mind. The key is all I can think about as I get to the office. It’s too small to be a house key. I’m mid-thought when Nat rushes in through the office, waving an envelope in her hand like a fan. She’s excitable, a puppy wanting to show its owner a new trick.

‘Have you checked your in-tray?’

‘What?’

‘Your in-tray. Have you checked it recently?’

Our in-trays hold all our post, internal and external, and we rarely receive anything exciting. But whatever Nat has doesn’t sound like an HR document. I don’t know why she would care if I’ve checked mine but I humour her.

‘Let me check.’

My in-tray is located on Rita’s desk right next to Nat’s. Rita’s desk isn’t far from our office; the secretaries all sit outside our offices in a huddle.

‘Anything in my in-tray, Rita?’ I ask.

She nods and hands me a black envelope which looks exactly like the one that Nat was holding.

‘Who put this here?’ I ask.

‘Not sure. Must have come in while I was in the bathroom.’

I resist the urge to open it until I’m in the office with Nat. I don’t want to spoil the surprise.

‘Is this what you were on about? What is it?’

‘Open it!’

I tear it open like a child opening a birthday card.

It’s not what I expected. There’s a piece of thick black card inside. The only thing written on it is a website address in gold cursive writing. Nothing else. No reference to who it’s from. I check the envelope but the only thing on the front is my name. There’s no address.

‘Am I supposed to know what this is?’

‘Don’t you get it? It’s Inside. Didn’t you notice the symbol on the bottom? The ouroboros?’

‘The what?’

‘The snake eating its own tail. How do you not know what that is?’

I shrug. ‘I’ve never heard of it.’

‘It was on their website.’

It rings a bell. ‘So, you’re sure it’s them?’

‘Who else would it be? Have you applied to any other swanky societies lately? I’m going to type the link in now.’

She sits down at her desk. I can hear the sound of her nails hitting the keyboard as she furiously types out the link. My curiosity can’t take it any longer and I join her in searching the web address. I don’t even know if the firm’s security protocol will allow us to get through – IT have blocked a ton of websites that they believe are unsafe. I can’t even get on Instagram at work.

Slowly the website loads. Another black page with gold lettering.

Thank you for registering to be part of Inside.

We are delighted you are interested in becoming part of our amazing collective.

Inside is an exclusive opportunity and we only accept the very best of London’s women. Please complete this form that will allow us to learn more about you.

Only responses received within the next 48 hours will be considered.

That’s it. There’s a button on the page. I click it and it takes me to what looks like an application form.

‘I can’t believe how long the form is! Where am I going to find the time to fill it in?’ Nat says. I look over and see she’s already started typing her answers.

It’s twenty-five pages long. I quickly scroll down, dragging the sidebar to the bottom of the screen. There’s some generic questions such as age and address, followed by long, detailed questions about work history. Questions asking me why I want to join and what I think I’d bring. Fairly standard stuff for a job interview but I’m not sure how standard they are for an exclusive members-only society. I suppose they can ask whatever they want.

Some of the questions are out of place. There’s a whole section headed ‘Mind’ and the questions feel more psychology-based. Some of them don’t even make sense to me, like ‘Would you tell a lie to advance at work?’ or ‘If your company had done something illegal and your boss asked you to keep it a secret, would you?’ I can’t decide if they are testing for loyalty or honesty.

There’s a section called ‘Ambition’. It’s all about what I want to achieve in life. A few days ago I’d have said making partner, but now, now I don’t know what I want to achieve. I think I’m going to have to get creative with my answers. Before everything happened with Sebastian, Inside was just a curiosity, but now it’s become a lifeline and I can’t help but wonder about the people who are part of this society. If I get into Inside then I won’t need this place. It won’t matter that I lost my job because Inside will help me find something new. Maybe in law, but maybe in something else.

There’s only one spot available, though. Nat was very clear when she said their membership policy is one person out, one person in. Sara is gone. It’s morbid how desperate Nat and I are to make the most of this opportunity – it almost feels wrong while Sara’s death is so fresh.

I don’t know where I’d be without Nat’s support over the years. Maybe I should let her have Inside. But the competitive part of me doesn’t want to let that happen. Sure I need it to find a new job, but if I’m honest that isn’t the only thing driving me – I want to be the best in life, I want to be at the top, and this seems like the only way to make it happen. I want to be one of these women – London’s elite. Plus Sara was part of the clique, and if this is a way to feel like I’m closer to her again, then I’ll do it.

‘Do you want to get lunch soon? All this stress over the application is making me hungry,’ Nat says.

This morning’s discovery of the key is still playing heavily on my mind but for now this application is proving too distracting.

‘Yes, lunch at one?’

‘Works for me.’

* * *

We walk further away from the office than we usually do. I don’t care about needing to rush my lunch and Nat has been in the office since 7 a.m. for a conference call with Australia so she’s in need of a break.

We head to a popular salad bar where you can create your own salad using the fancy tablets they have at the front of the store. I spend far too long deciding whether I want tuna or chicken and Nat has to hurry me up.

Once the salads are ready, we decide to eat at the tables inside.

‘By the way, please don’t take this the wrong way, Cass, but you look awful. Is everything okay? Are you still doing all-nighters?’ Nat says, picking at her salad. ‘I know how badly you want to make partner but even the partners occasionally get more than four hours of sleep.’

‘I’m fine,’ I say, searching for a way to change topic quickly, not wanting to dwell on making partner. ‘I had a date this week and I didn’t get much sleep as I ended up staying over.’

It feels weird calling it a date. It might have started as an apology drink, but it definitely felt like something more than that. I haven’t felt the way I did with George for a long time. Nat stops mid-chew and slams her fork on the table.

‘Cassandra! Staying over at a man’s house?’ she exclaims, her face lighting up, and I quickly calm her down because people are staring. ‘I’ve known you for how long and you’ve never mentioned a man. Whenever I’ve brought it up you said you didn’t have time – that work had to come first. Who are you and what have you done with Cass?’

She’s right, of course. I never used to have time for relationships. I made a pledge to myself that I wouldn’t let myself get distracted with romance until I made partner.

‘I met him at a networking event – the one where you ditched me. He’s handsome.’

‘Well, it must have gone well if you’ve already spent the night.’ Nat smirks.

‘It wasn’t like that. He slept in the living room. Apparently I passed out, so he let me sleep rather than waking me.’

‘That’s sweet, I guess. I’m not surprised, though. A decent night’s sleep is probably what you needed.’

I nod as I chew a mouthful of salad leaves which poke out from the corners of my mouth.

‘Are you going to see him again?’ Nat asks.

‘I think so. He said he’d drop me a message and I don’t see any reason to say no.’

‘Look at you. It’s good to see you like this, I’ve been worried about you lately, with all the stress you’ve been under. I know Sara’s death hit you hard, too.’

I shrug my shoulders. It’s too hard to lie to her so I’d rather say nothing. There’s not much more to say, though. I haven’t heard from George yet – I hope he hasn’t changed his mind. Maybe my accidental sleepover has put him off.

‘Anyway, the application form for Inside, did you read it all?’ Nat says.

‘Yeah, some of it seems standard enough but some of the questions were super personal. Why do they need to know about our relationship history and medical history?’

‘I’m not sure. This is the first time I’ve seen the application form and I don’t know anyone who’s applied before either.’

‘How did you first find out about it?’

‘It was around Sara’s promotion. I’d heard whispers of a female-only clique that some City professionals were part of. I heard people gossiping about Sara, and one of the associates mentioned it could be Inside. I asked around about it but most people only knew rumours, nothing substantial. But then, as if it was fate, after Sara died I got a messaged on LinkedIn from an anonymous account telling me that Inside applications were open.’

‘So how did you find out that Sara was part of Inside?’

‘Okay. Don’t judge me for this. I followed her once.’

‘You did what?’

‘No, no, that sounds way worse than it was. I was intrigued by the rumours and wanted to confirm it for myself. I wanted to know if such a society for women really existed. I didn’t intend to follow her but I saw her near Bank station in heels and a dress that looked like it was designed just for her and I had to see where she was going.’

I frowned. Nat’s obsession with Inside is borderline creepy.

‘And? Where did she go?’

‘Well, nowhere. She got in a car with tinted windows. But then I asked her the day after and she lied to me – said she was working in the office all night.’

‘I still can’t believe you followed Sara, though.’

‘What can I say, I like to know things. I’m a curious person.’

I take the last bite of my food, chewing as I think about what Nat has said. She uses the word curious but what she means is that she’s nosy. She has to know everything that’s going on. I can always rely on her for any firm gossip as she knows everyone’s secrets. I don’t get why anyone tells her anything, given she’s not very good at keeping things to herself.

‘She did say something else, though, when she fobbed me off. She told me that if somewhere like Inside existed, it was probably too good to be true. Or something like that. It didn’t make sense.’

‘That is weird. What do you think she meant?’ I say.

‘Who knows. I guess we’ll never know now. Anyway, whatever it is I’m sure it’s nonsense.’

We spend the rest of our lunch break going through the application form and discussing what we’re going to write.

Back at my desk, work is quiet. The conversations about Inside have managed to distract me from thinking about Sara and that video and that key.

I’ve seen Stephen around, in the hallway and the kitchen, and each time he’s averted his eyes and pretended I’m not there. Some of the other partners have acted the same way, which is even more awkward. I saw David after lunch near the lifts. He usually greets everyone in the firm but he looked at me like a mouldy piece of fruit. It was only a few days ago that he was talking to me at that mixer for the students. And now I’m invisible to him. Not that I mind, he’s never been a nice person, but it’s hard working somewhere when you’re clearly not wanted. Maybe I should’ve just left without working my notice, but then I think of my mortgage and know I’m doing the right thing.

With no work to do, I look at the application form for Inside again. I’ve filled in all the generic sections, but I’ve still got the questions on ambition and career goals. I’m going to complete it as if I’d had this form last week, obviously leaving out the part where my career bubble burst. I write about wanting to making partner before I’m thirty-five. I write about eventually wanting to be part of the executive committee and winning the award – Female M&A Lawyer of the Year – that I’ve always had my eye on.

When I’m happy, I click the submit button and the page refreshes.

Thank you for submitting the required information.

We’ll be in touch.

It feels like the start of something.

Chapter Thirteen

The email I’ve been waiting for finally lands. Another bombshell from the anonymous sender who shared the video of Sara being watched. It’s not a reply, though. Another one-sentence email. Another video. Inside wouldn’t let her leave.

It’s not of Sara this time – it’s her sister Julia being watched. I re-read the email. Inside wouldn’t let her leave. Was this video a threat? Why wouldn’t Inside let her leave? I thought Inside was a networking society.

What mess had Sara got herself into? Whatever it is, if this video was sent to Sara it must have been a threat. What other reason would someone have had to watch not only Sara but her sister?

But who would be threatening her and what were they trying to achieve? Maybe the police already have these and that why they asked me questions about how Sara was feeling and if anyone held a grudge against her. Does Sara’s death have something to do with Inside?

My phone vibrates, interrupting my thought process.

George [16:10]: Hey Cass. How’s your week looking for another drink? X

It’s not been long since we last saw each other and I’m so out of the dating scene that I’m not sure if I’m supposed to play it cool and take a while to text back.

I don’t have any plans. I’m free tonight. And tomorrow night. I’ve prioritised my career for so long that I’ve lost a lot of friends. I have no social life to make the most of, and my family live hours away in Yorkshire, so I barely see them these days. The only real friend I have is Nat, but obviously she’s still working crazy hours so she’s not available.

As well as the schoolfriends that eventually moved away from London, I had a group of friends from university, but they all went into similar jobs – lawyers, bankers and accountants. We all ended up in London and tried to keep in touch with each other, arranging regular drinks and dinners. But as our careers progressed we started spending more and more time in the office. We didn’t have time for each other. And then some of those friends got married and had children and moved away. So there’s nobody to go for dinner or drinks with after work and it was never a problem because I was always too busy to care, until now.

I can’t be bothered to play games. I like George and I want to see him again.

Cass [16:22]: How about tomorrow night?

George [16:23]: Great. I know this great little wine bar in London Bridge that does really good tapas too. I’ll send the details later. See you at 7.30 p.m.? X

Cass [16:24]: It’s a date.

I haven’t had a second date since I was at university and my heart beats quicker every time I think about it.

I twiddle Sara’s key between my fingers, staring at it, trying to unlock the mystery behind it. With the videos and this key, nothing adds up. Is this the literal key to unlocking the mystery that was Sara O’Neil? What was it that Sara said when she gave it to me? Something about keeping it safe for her. I remember it was a stupidly late time in her office – I think maybe 4 a.m. We were some of the only people left in the building and I’d come to her office for a break from work. We were both so exhausted that it had felt like we were high or drunk. I wish I could remember more about that night.

As much as my attention is on Sara, I can’t forget about my looming unemployment. I’ve spent the day on LinkedIn trying to get in contact with recruiters and thinking of a story to explain why I’m looking for a new job. Something about wanting a new challenge or wanting to broaden my horizons – I’ve been at Carrey & Watson for years. I can’t tell them the truth. If they know I’m being fired they won’t go near me.

There’s a knock on the door. It’s my secretary Rita.

‘Hey, Cass, this was in your in-tray. Another one of those weird black envelopes.’

She holds it out to me and I already know who it’s from.

‘Thanks, Rita.’ I take it from her, waiting until she leaves before opening.

Dear Cassandra,

We are pleased to inform you that we were sufficiently impressed by your application and would like to extend an application to our informal mixer taking place tomorrow night. Please report to the Trading House in Moorgate. Go to the bar and ask for an Espresso Martini with a double shot of espresso. 6.51 p.m. sharp.

Do not be late. Do not tell anyone where you are going.

I try to keep my composure but a smile spreads across my face like butter across toast. Henry gives me a weird look – I don’t think he’s ever seen me look happy. I wonder if Nat has one of these in her in-tray too but she’s not in the office so I can’t ask her yet. But then I think of the message. Inside wouldn’t let her leave. Is the magic potion to solve my career problems not all that it seems?

I don’t have to wonder much longer because Nat comes back in, clutching a black envelope in her hand, and wheels her desk chair up to mine.

‘Did you get one, too?’

I nod.

‘Did you open yours already?’

I nod again. ‘Did you?’

‘Yes. I’m so excited. What does yours say?’

We swap envelopes. It feels wrong. The instructions said not to tell anyone where we are going and I feel like I’m breaking some sort of rule. I wonder if there’s some way they might find out, but then realise that would be ridiculous.

Nat’s wording is almost identical to mine, except her arrival time is three minutes earlier and in a different location. They must be staggering people. I wonder why.

The mixer is tomorrow – that means I can’t see George. I’ve only just agreed to see him again and now I have to bail, but I can’t miss this event. I have to go. Maybe the message should put me off but if anything it’s made me more intrigued.

Cass [16:50]: So sorry – I’ve just remembered that I actually have a work call tomorrow night now. Some other time?

George [16:51]: Tonight? X

Cass [16:52]: Why not? Sure

* * *

I see George as soon as I walk into the bar. The place itself is small, the shelves on the walls filled with bottles of wine, most of them looking old. I had to go down a spiral staircase to get here and the bar is underground. There’re no windows so the only light is provided by candles on each of the tables and a few lights hanging from the ceiling which look like they’ve been deliberately dimmed. I have no phone signal either.

A short man with an Italian accent shows me to my seat and hands me a wine menu. He gives us time to look at it but lets us know he can recommend us something if we like. George is smartly dressed; he must have come straight from the office. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt and his suit jacket is slung over the back of his chair. His hair is slicked back but it looks like it’s been styled like that rather than being greasy. He twists a ring on his finger while he looks at the menu.

‘So how has work been?’ he asks.

‘Oh, yeah, fine. Busy at usual. Yours?’

‘The same, the same. I realised earlier that you never told me which firm you work at. I have a few friends who are lawyers. I was thinking what a small world it would be if you knew them.’

‘Oh, did I not? Ah, I don’t think you’ll have heard of it anyway.’

‘Try me. I know quite a bit about the legal sector. My ex-girlfriend was a lawyer.’

I try to ignore the fact he’s mentioned his ex-girlfriend on our second date. It seems he has a type though.

‘It’s called Carrey & Watson,’ I say, my head down, staring intensely at the wine menu even though I’m not actually reading it. I’d be surprised if he hasn’t heard of it.

‘Oh wow, impressive. Why wouldn’t you think I’d have heard of it? It’s a pretty big deal working there.’

I shrug.

‘Hey, wait. Wasn’t that the firm where the lawyer killed herself the other week?’

It hadn’t even crossed my mind that he’d have heard of our firm because of the press coverage of Sara’s death.

‘Yeah, it was.’

‘I remember reading about it. What was her name again?’

‘Sara.’ I look around for the waiter to appear and save me from this topic but he’s nowhere to be seen. I contemplate excusing myself to go to the bathroom.

‘Did you work with her? So sad what happened.’

‘Sorry, I’d rather not talk about it. Can we talk about something else, please?’ I say.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, how insensitive of me. Were you close? This must be hard for you.’ He places his hand over mine and gives it a squeeze. I withdraw my hand quickly, initially shocked by his touch. I see the hurt and confusion on his face and apologise. I don’t know why I did it. I liked it, but I’m not used to this sort of affection.

‘It’s been awful. Everyone else I work with has just moved on as if nothing happened but I still think about her every day. She wasn’t just a colleague; she was my friend. I keep passing her office and almost forgetting, about to walk in to gossip with her or rant about a client, before I stop myself and feel embarrassed for forgetting…’ I don’t go on about my suspicions about Sara’s death following the videos that were sent to me.

He nods. ‘I get it. Somebody close to me died quite recently and I’ve still not got over the fact that I can’t just ring them up. That my texts aren’t going to be replied to. I keep thinking they’ll come back.’

It’s dark, and his face is only illuminated by the flicker of the candle, but he looks like he’s on the verge of tears.

‘Yeah, that’s totally it. I think the worst part is those moments when everything feels like how it used to be and you feel happy again, and then reality sinks in and your whole world comes crashing down again.’

He places his hand over mine and the warmth comforts me. I don’t pull away this time. Tears are threatening to fall down my cheeks so I blink to avoid crying. I haven’t known George for long enough to start sobbing in a bar.

‘I just wish I had one more day. One more day to savour every interaction, every conversation, every argument.’

‘Me, too. I’m glad you understand. I’ve been talking to my friend Nat about it but she wasn’t very close with Sara so I don’t think she gets it. People expect me to be fine because they are.’

‘That’s exactly it.’

‘If you don’t mind me asking, who did you lose?’

‘A close friend. I’d known them since childhood so it feels especially weird.’

‘Gosh, that must be terrible. I knew Sara for a few years but I can’t imagine losing someone I’d known most of my life.’

‘Yeah. It sucks.’

‘How did it happen?’

‘Car accident. It was a shock.’

George wipes his face with his hands and I notice his eyes watering and I can feel my bottom lip quiver. One of us is about to cry and set the other off. Luckily the waiter comes over and provides a welcome emotional break. As nice as it has been to talk to George about losing Sara, things have become too intense too quickly. Dating is supposed to be fun but right now I want to run home and bury myself under my duvet, not that any of that is George’s fault. I’ve been enjoying his company.

George asks me if I prefer red or white, and then proceeds to order the waiter’s recommendation for a bottle of red wine. He doesn’t ask for the house wine or what the price is. Without being crass, I suppose price doesn’t matter for either of us, although I probably should be saving money. I’d better make the most of my Carrey & Watson salary while I can.

I know I should change the topic of conversation before things become more distressing but there is one thing I want to talk to George about. I need an outside opinion.

‘I think the thing I’m struggling the most with is that Sara killed herself. As morbid as it is, I think I would’ve dealt with it better if it was an illness or something.’

‘Oh?’

‘Just because I don’t understand why she did it. She seemed to have everything. I envied her. She was so successful and her career was going well. Sure, she worked long hours, but she knew what she was getting herself into. It just doesn’t make sense.’ Maybe the reason it doesn’t make sense is because the narrative is a lie.

‘So there were no signs?’

‘No, none.’

‘Sometimes there aren’t, I guess.’

‘Would you like to taste the wine?’ The waiter appears at my side with two glasses, each so big they look like they could hold an entire bottle of wine. I gesture at George to do the honours. The waiter pours a trickle of wine into one of the glasses, staining it crimson. George swirls the red liquid before sipping it, swilling it around his mouth and swallowing.

‘That’s great. Lovely.’

The waiter tops up George’s glass before pouring wine into my own and leaving the bottle on my table. I take a large sip and instantly feel my body warming.

‘Can I tell you something?’ I ask.

‘Sure.’

‘I…I’m not sure that Sara did kill herself.’

I put my hand to my mouth as I say it, almost like I’m trying to stop myself from saying anything else. I know I shouldn’t be talking about this, not really. I don’t have anything concrete to base my suspicions on, the videos aren’t exactly proof and I have no clue who is sending them. I’ve not heard anything else from the police so they have probably decided it was suicide after all. Any other explanation seems ridiculous. And yet…

‘What makes you think that?’

‘The police have been digging around at work, asking questions. And there’s ...’ I pause, giving myself a chance to back out of spilling this secret. ‘There’s other things. She gave me this a couple of months ago. I completely forgot about it. I can’t remember why but she said something about keeping it safe and I wonder if it’s connected to everything.’

I place the key on the table and watch George pick it up and inspect it.

‘What’s it for?’

‘No idea. I’ve been driving myself crazy trying to figure that out.’

‘Where were you when she gave it to you?’

‘In her office. Do you think that’s important?’

There’s a silence and I can see that George is trying to help me decipher this. He has a similar concentration face to Nat: the furrowed brow and subtle biting of the lips. I tip my head back and drain my glass of wine. Talking about my feelings and opening up like this is new for me, but it’s strangely electrifying. Every part of my body is tingling with adrenaline and anticipation. George tops up our glasses. We’ve already finished the bottle.

‘Do you think it could be a desk key?’

It’s like a cartoon where a light bulb flashes above the main character’s head. I bet it is a desk key. I have one that looks just like it but it’s permanently dangling from my desk drawer because I don’t keep anything valuable in the office. I’ll need to get into Sara’s office tomorrow to see if the key fits. If she really was hiding something, why would she keep it in the office? Why not at home?

‘You’re a genius. I think you might be right.’

‘Well, I hope it helps. It just reminded me of the desk keys we have in our office. What do you think you’ll find?’

‘I have no idea. I’ve only learned recently that Sara had this whole secret life none of us really knew anything about.’

‘A secret life?’ he says incredulously.

I cringe.

‘Sorry, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m just being nosy.’

‘I don’t know anything for sure, but I’ve heard she was in this super exclusive society which is some sort of networking space for ambitious women. It almost sounds like a modern-day cult.’ The wine has made my lips loose. ‘I’m actually applying to be part of it.’ I can’t help but laugh nervously after I say it.

‘Oh, really? You’re going to join a cult? Do I need to get you an intervention or something?’

‘Not just yet. I’ll let you know if I get in too deep.’

Chapter Fourteen

A bouquet of lilies greets me as I get to the office in the morning. Inside, a card.

Thank you for a lovely night, George xx

I smile like a schoolgirl with her first crush and I get that undeniable fluttering sensation in my stomach. I sit down and open my Outlook and notice an email from my recruiter, Jack Rogers from Law Talent Search. In the past few weeks I’ve applied for multiple jobs at various firms. Well, Jack has applied on my behalf. Each one so far has resulted in a rejection without an interview. I’m trying to remain optimistic but I’m struggling. I should be able to find a new job easily but it’s proving impossible. The email is a summary of all the firms he’s sent my CV to and their responses. Each one has either not replied or declined to interview me.

I start drafting a reply to Jack and can’t help but sob. At least nobody is around to see me upset. There’s a department meeting on right now that I’m supposed to be at. I doubt anybody will miss me, another reminder of how my value to the firm has plummeted. I’ve avoided going in order to give me the opportunity to snoop around Sara’s office without people watching and questioning what I’m doing. The floor is deserted and will be for another hour. If George is right and the key opens Sara’s desk, it should be easy to remove the contents without anybody noticing.

Speaking of George, he has been infiltrating my daily thoughts more than I’d like to admit to myself. Our date was much better than the first one, in that I didn’t end up passing out at his flat, late for work or severely hungover.

He walked me to London Bridge station afterwards. We had our first proper kiss and it felt like one of those magical moments that only happen in films. I didn’t want the kiss to end and, as cheesy as it sounds, for a second I forgot about everything, about Sara and about my job, and all I thought about was how happy I was. I got the impression he didn’t want the night to end, either, but I want to take things slow and I think he agrees.

I scout the hallway just in case. I scurry to Sara’s office, several doors down and on the opposite side of the hall; the quicker I get things done the quicker I can relax. I need to know what’s in that drawer.

There’s a ton of paperwork but it’s all work related. I can’t access her laptop without her password so it’s a dead end. I remove the key from my pocket and place it in the lock, bracing myself for disappointment. To my surprise and relief, it turns easily. The drawer is empty except for a memory stick. I grab it and head back to my office but not before swiping the laptop from the desk. I collapse in my desk chair as the adrenaline soars around my body.

I need to find out what’s saved on this memory stick. I wonder why Sara kept this at work and not at home. Sara lived alone, although Julia sometimes stayed on her sofa as she’s constantly getting fired from jobs. If she got those videos, though, she would have known somebody was watching her home and maybe she didn’t feel like her house was a safe place to keep things.

I insert the USB into my own laptop as the office door swings open, hitting the wall as Nat saunters in, ruining my chance of opening the files. I don’t know what’s on here but it could be private, something Sara didn’t want everyone seeing. I have an uneasy sense that it might be a suicide note. Rita mentioned one had been found. I pray that it isn’t, hoping Sara wouldn’t leave that for me to find, although at least then I could stop searching for answers. I know I can’t get into the laptop but the opportunity was too good not to take it. What if I can guess Sara’s password or find someone to help me unlock it?

‘What’s up with you?’ Nat says.

‘Hmm?’

‘You look as white as a sheet. Something happen?’

‘Oh, no, I’m fine. I’m probably just tired. I had another date last night.’

Nat pulls her chair over to mine.

‘Well?’

‘It went really well. I like him. I haven’t felt like this about a guy in so long.’

‘I’m glad. See, I told you all work and no play made you a dull girl. Are you going to see him again?’

‘I hope so. He sent me these,’ I say, gesturing to the flowers on my desk.

‘Seems like a keeper.’

Even after Nat leaves the office for the day, I don’t get an opportunity to look at the memory stick, because Henry is still here. I need to start getting ready for the mixer anyway. Nat took half a day of annual leave just to get ready; she didn’t want to risk being late by being given work by one of the partners at the last minute. I stash the USB in my purse and slip the laptop into my bag, planning to take a look at it later tonight when I get home. I also pick up the card on my desk. I received another envelope in my in-tray today, which had a QR Code inside and just two words written on it: ‘Bring Me’.

I open my wardrobe. We each have a small wardrobe space in our office. Usually it’s used to hang blazers or suit jackets, which are only ever worn when meeting clients. Most people I know tend to keep a spare change of clothes in case they pull an all-nighter in the office and want to get changed into something fresh.

I take my dress out of the dust bag that I used to carry it to work. It’s not new but I’ve never worn it. I bought it from Valentino last year after I received my five-figure bonus. I’ve never had a reason to wear it, but tonight seems like the perfect occasion. It’s black and mid-thigh length. Strapless. It’s fitted with a corset that pinches me in at the waist and flares out slightly. I have a black blazer to go over the top of it, in case I’m not dressed formally enough.

I’m going to wear my black Louboutins as it’s impossible to go wrong with them. Besides, they’re already moulded to my feet and will hurt much less than any other heels I could choose. There’s just something about the red soles that oozes class, and I’ll wear a red lipstick to match. I haven’t had a chance to get a blow-dry lately but I curled my hair this morning.

I grab my belongings and head down to the gym to use the showers and changing rooms there. The firm has a state-of-the-art gym in the basement. There’s everything you could want, including our own personal trainers. Reformer Pilates classes every hour – they are the most popular – not that many people have time to go to them, but they are used as a selling point.

My phone buzzes. Nat has WhatsApped me.

Nat [18:02]: Nearly ready, going to set off soon. Getting an Uber as these heels are hurting already. Hopefully I’ll see you later?

I message her back.

Cass [18:06]: Just getting dressed x

It’s odd that we’ve been asked to go to different venues. Are there multiple mixers across London? If so, we might not be seeing each other tonight. I step into the delicate dress and carefully slide it over my slender frame.

I take out my powder and dust the shiniest areas of my face. I pull a bold red lipstick from my bag and swipe it over my lips. It’s more daring than I’d usually go for on a week-night but there’s something about wearing it that gives me more confidence. The idea of Inside puts me on edge, not being in control and not knowing what to expect, but I won’t let them see any cracks in my armour.

I admire my reflection. After everything that’s happened lately, it’s nice to feel good about myself, to have a reason to make an effort. I’ve only had to get glammed up lately to see George, and even then I’ve been trying to keep it casual, not like this. I stuff my work clothes in a locker so I don’t have to carry them with me, and use my phone to order an Uber. Four minutes away. I head outside to wait.

‘Cassandra. You scrub up well, don’t you? Where are you off to?’

The hairs of the back of my neck stand up and I involuntarily hunch into myself and stare at the ground. It’s Stephen. He hasn’t spoken to me since he told me I was no longer welcome at Carrey & Watson. I smile awkwardly and turn away, checking the status of my Uber. Two minutes away.

‘Sometimes I think it’s a shame we had to let you go. You had so much…potential,’ he says.

He moves closer to me as he crushes his cigarette beneath his overpriced shoes.

‘You could’ve made partner, too, if you’d just played your part. I shouldn’t say this, but it would’ve been good for our diversity targets. Not enough women staying the course in M&A. We had Sara but, well, you know what happened there.’ He’s close enough for me to smell the smoke on his breath. Stephen’s six-foot three. He towers over me and it’s intimidating. I’m sure he knows that.

Before he can creep me out further, a car matching the registration on my phone pulls up and I leave before he has a chance to say anything else. I don’t say goodbye, but as I slam the car door I turn back to see him watching me and grinning. He waves.

With rush-hour traffic, it takes almost ten minutes to get to the bar even though it’s close to the office. Definitely quicker to walk, but these shoes weren’t made for walking anywhere. I’ve been here before; it’s notorious for being frequented by City professionals on a Thursday night. It’s busy already, people hanging outside smoking, drinks in their hands, their coats pulled around them. It’s too cold for bare legs. I head to the bar like the invitation told me to.

I have to wait, as it’s crowded, and a group of men try to push in front of me, using their elbows to thrust me further down the bar. I check the time on my phone, anxiously hoping I don’t miss my time slot to order the drink. Who knows what would happen then?

‘What can I get you?’

The bartender is clearly rushed off his feet; the crowd around the bar only seems to be getting bigger.

‘An espresso martini, double shot of espresso.’

The man next to me sniggers and I give him a cold stare.

‘We don’t do cocktails, I’m afraid. Can I get you something else?’

‘No, just the espresso martini with the double shot of espresso.’

‘Sorry, can’t help you. You’ll need to order something else. I’ve gotta serve the other customers. I’ll come back.’

I check the card in my bag. I didn’t say the order incorrectly. What did I do wrong? I wait, confused. Maybe I should text Nat and see if she’s having the same problem, or go to the bar she was told to go to and try there.

There’s a tap on my shoulder.

‘Is this what you asked for?’

A man appears alongside me, dressed in a black suit with a black polo instead of a shirt. He’s tall, large-framed. He looks like a nightclub bouncer and definitely out of place. He hands me what looks like an espresso martini and I take a sip because I don’t know what else to do. Probably a stupid idea. This definitely has extra coffee in it.

‘Follow me.’

He walks towards the other end of the bar, not waiting for me to answer.

I rush after him, spilling my drink. He must be with Inside. How else would he know about the drink? Either that, or this is the start of a very bad evening.

He heads through the staff exit, which leads us outside. There’s a side street, nobody else around. A car is parked and he opens the passenger door for me.

‘Wait, are you taking me to the event?’

I start to retreat to the bar, worried I may have made a terrible mistake.

‘Inside are expecting you, Cassandra Harlow. Please get in.’

I climb inside and notice the windows are all tinted.

There’s a blindfold on the passenger seat next to me.

‘Put that on before we go anywhere.’

I do as I’m told. The whole thing is starting to seem sketchy, but he knows my name and he knows about Inside. I can’t see my surroundings but I can feel that the car has started moving. I’m thrown upwards, I panic, and then it happens again.

‘Speed bumps.’

I can’t tell how long we’ve been travelling now. It’s impossible to keep track. The driver hasn’t spoken since telling me about the speed bumps. I don’t know if I’m supposed to be speaking to him. None of this is what I expected. I know Inside is an exclusive society, but these measures are extreme.

The car comes to a stop and his voice infiltrates my ears again. ‘Keep the blindfold on.’

I hear the door open and I feel an arm around my waist, guiding me out of the car.

I’m guided a few steps from the vehicle, and bright light dazzles my eyes as the blindfold is removed, causing me to squint at the room around me.

‘We have arrived at our final destination. Please go upstairs. Somebody will be there to meet you.’ He hands me my clutch bag and leaves, closing the door behind me.

There’s nothing down here – I examine the room and take it all in. The walls are painted completely black. There are no windows or any other rooms leading off this corridor. Only a pink neon sign on the right-hand wall with an arrow pointing upwards.

The spiral staircase leads me to an area which is cordoned off. There’s a black velvet curtain pulled across, obscuring what’s behind it. A woman stands in front of the curtain with her hands behind her back. She’s wearing a red body-con dress with shoes similar to my own. Her brunette hair is perfectly straight over her shoulders and she has thick black-rimmed glasses.

‘QR code?’

I hand her the piece of card and she scans it and gives it back to me. She doesn’t say anything else. I wonder if she’s part of Inside or if she’s simply been employed to act as the gatekeeper.

‘You can go in. There’s a cloakroom on the left. Name badges and obligatory masks are on the right. If at any time you remove your mask, you will be escorted from the property.’

She pulls back the curtain and I see the cloakroom and table. There’s a woman at the table who looks almost identical to her. The same outfit, hair styled the same way. I hand my coat and blazer to her and take my numbered tag in exchange. I’ve decided I don’t need the blazer if the women I’ve seen so far are any indication of the dress code.

‘Hi, I’m Ca⁠—’

‘No names. QR code please.’

I hand over the card. I wonder what the no-name policy is about. If the members are meant to be assessing us, how can they do that if they don’t know who we are?

‘This is your name tag and your mask. Please keep both on at all times or⁠—’

‘Or I’ll be escorted out. Got it.’

She nods and hands both to me. The name tag isn’t really a name tag.

It reads –

APPLICANT

LAWYER #14

Nothing else. Just my job title and my status – that’s what I’ve been reduced to. I suppose this way the members know who the potential members are. Lawyer number 14. Is it some sort of ranking system or is it done in alphabetical order? I’m not surprised there’s a lot of lawyers. Maybe they want to replace Sara with another lawyer to keep the balance? Or maybe lawyers are exactly the type of people attracted by exclusive societies with networking opportunities.

The mask is Venetian style. Black, beaded lace with ribbons to tie at the back of my head, and black feathers poking out of the top.

The radio on the table next to me goes static, before a voice comes through.

‘We have another guest approaching the building. ETA less than one minute. Is the waiting area clear?’

They make it sound like security at an airport.

‘No, not yet. Wait for confirmation. Don’t release yet.’

She turns to me. ‘Miss, I’m going to need you to put that mask on and head into the party, please.’

I secure the mask around my head, tying the ribbon into a tight bow. My vision is slightly obscured and it feels uncomfortable having something on my face. It doesn’t fit properly. They must not want guests to see each other unmasked. It strikes me as a lot of effort but they are certainly living up to their reputation as a secret society – it’s all very cloak-and-dagger.

I’m not sure what to expect when I enter the next room but it stops me still for a second. The venue has been decorated to look like an exotic garden. There are faux trees everywhere and statues of exotic animals. The waitresses are moving around the party carrying large gold platters of canapes. They’re dressed as birds of prey, with flamboyant headpieces. Hawks, eagles, falcons. The other guests appear to be wearing black masks like me, except for a few select people who are wearing white masks instead. My eye catches an extravagant champagne fountain in the corner of the room. The space is dimly lit, the lights turned down. I can just about see people, but from a distance the faces all blur into one.

I reach for my phone to text Nat to see if she’s here yet. As I pull it out, a passing waitress places her hand on my arm.

‘Sorry, there’s a no-phone policy here’, she says, holding her hand out. ‘It should’ve been taken off you before you were let in.’

She places my phone on the platter she is holding and hands me a champagne flute. It seems everybody wearing masks isn’t enough privacy for these people.

‘Enjoy the mixer. Talk to people, get to know them.’

The waitress walks away and I’m left alone again, the situation feeling like yet another work event. I’ve always found it awkward walking up to groups of people who are already engaged in conversation – I feel as though I’m intruding – but if I stand here on my own I’m going to feel even more out of place. I’ve done this countless times, but it’s harder when it’s not work related.

‘Hello.’

I spin around at the sound of the voice. The woman in front of me is one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen. Her tanned skin glimmers in the light and her black curls rest gently on her shoulders. Her mask is ivory white, in startling contrast to her dark eyes and thick lashes. From the little that I can see of her face, her bone structure is striking. She wouldn’t look out of place in a Dior perfume advert.

‘Hi, I’m⁠—’

‘No names here. Our applicants are meant to remain a secret as much as possible. After all, some of them won’t be invited back,’ she says. I glance at her name badge.

MEMBER

‘What do you think of our garden of Eden? One of our members has an interior design business so came up with the theme. We thought it was very feminist chic.’

So that’s what the theme is. Is feministic chic even a thing?

‘It’s incredible…but why all the theatrics? I was expecting something a bit more…serious?’ I know being so honest could be a risky strategy.

The woman laughs. ‘Our members love it. Just a bit of fun – it’s nice pretending to be somebody else, hiding behind a mask before finally revealing who you really are. If you’re chosen as our next member, maybe you’ll unmask me and discover the truth.’

‘Yeah, maybe … speaking of the open spot, I have to ask, did you know my friend Sara? I heard she was a member of Inside. She died recently and I just wondered if⁠—’

‘Sorry, I have to go but it was nice to chat. I’ll be addressing the room shortly. Please enjoy your evening.’

Maybe mentioning Sara’s name was a mistake. The woman is probably still upset about her death; with such a small number of members I’m sure they’re a close collective. It must have been hard to lose one of their own. I should’ve tried to do more research on the society and its members but when I looked online I couldn’t find anything. It’s as if Inside operate in the shadows, somehow leveraging their influence in the background to help their members without ever having to do anything publicly. That’s what the men have. The way the same people from the same universities and the same dining clubs seem to keep becoming prime minister, chancellor, all the highest positions. All those cogs working in the background, the secret handshakes, whispers in corridors, the shared looks because they all have one thing in common. One thing that’s just like Inside.

And if a secret society works like it should, nobody will ever know it exists.

Chapter Fifteen

‘Ladies, welcome to the first mixer in our current application process.’

The woman I spoke to earlier stands at the front of the room, towering over her adoring subjects, holding a microphone. The room goes eerily silent as she speaks – a captive audience hanging on every syllable.

‘Inside was co-founded by myself and another member a few years ago. We were sick and tired of constantly being on the outside just because we are women. Left behind and forgotten about. Here at Inside we call it the forgotten fifty per cent. Annoyed at having to work twice as hard for half the rewards. Our membership has always remained small, but we have developed the resources and tools to enable our members to rise to the top of their professions. We have contacts, networking opportunities and training to break down the barriers. We have methods that work better than anything you’ve already tried. We know the secrets to getting what you want and where you want.’

She seems well trained in public speaking and knows how to command the attention of a room.

‘There are those who criticise all-female societies and say we hate men. That has never been our intention. But they have their old boys’ clubs, they occupy the position of CEO and make up most of the directors on the FTSE 100. They run the banks and the law firms and they are our landlords. Inside isn’t about tearing these men down, it’s about building up women to be on the same level as them.’

She takes a sip of her drink.

‘Some of our members are CEOs, some sit on the board of directors of household names. Our members have achieved greatness. They were already good at what they did before they joined us, but the resources we offer have enabled them to reach their full potential.’

There are whispers around the room. The speech is impressive. Inside certainly lives up to the hype, although I wonder if it’s all smoke and mirrors. They’ve not said how they manage to have this influence over powerful and important people. If it is true, then the results would speak for themselves.

‘Due to unforeseen circumstances, we have a rare space for a new member. We wish to fill the space with a woman who has the same drive and ambition as the previous member did. This is a rare opportunity. We never exceed a hundred members. We don’t want to dilute our resources, and every member needs to bring something to our community. They have to be the right person, the right fit.’

I notice that the other women in white masks are now absent from the crowd. The lights become brighter and a curtain behind the speaker is pulled back to reveal an empty space behind her.

‘Each woman, each member, brings expertise, experience, contacts and opportunities.’

As she speaks, the members in the white masks start to line up behind her, forming rows of five, a sea of white masks.

‘One of you in this room will be our next member and we will do everything we can to ensure your career dreams come true. All those barriers you are having to constantly fight against, all those walls you are having to climb. We will provide the tools for you to knock that wall down instead of having to pull yourself over.’

I hear people clapping in the crowd. It’s like a TED talk but with more smoked salmon blinis.

‘You’ve been invited here because we see potential in all of you. But not all of you will make it through to the next round of the application process. You’ll be notified in the coming days if you have been successful. There’s no secret to making it through. Just be yourself. Speak to people. Let your personality shine through. Your career history and intelligence have already impressed us. Now show us who you really are.’

She puts the microphone down and joins the members behind her. It can’t be all of them. Their white headpieces make them look like a flock of swans, following their leader. Does that make us the ugly ducklings? The dramatics are definitely far too over the top for my taste, and I’m saying that as a corporate lawyer who likes the finer things in life.

The curtain that was there before is closed again by a waitress dressed as a hawk, and the swans are hidden from view. Once the members are gone, we stand still, unsure what to do. After a minute or so of awkward silence, people start to return to their conversations, top up their drinks or leave the hall.

I walk towards the champagne fountain to fill my flute and drink the contents in one to try and combat my nerves. I still feel like I don’t belong here. I need a bit of liquid courage. I’m intimidated by all the people here, despite not knowing who any of them are. But none of them are frauds like me, people whose careers are about to end in disgrace. If anyone finds out that I’m working my notice, that’ll be it. Game over.

‘Cass? Is that you?’ I hear somebody whisper to the right of me, and worry they’ve seen me down the entire glass of fizz.

The face looks familiar and so does the voice, but the mask makes me hesitate.

‘Nat?’ I say, also in a whisper. I’m not sure why we’re whispering, but I suppose we aren’t supposed to be using names.

Her dress is a long navy number, with a sheer silver fabric over the top covered in tiny stars. It’s sleeveless, with a black ribbon halter neck. It’s low cut, but Nat has an athletic body as a result of all the running she does, so she can get away with wearing low-cut dresses without people making inappropriate comments. Not that there’s ever a reason to be rude about someone’s body. I spot the silver Tiffany & Co necklace hanging just below her collarbone. She bought it when she qualified as a solicitor.

I look at the badge that has been pinned to her dress.

APPLICANT

Lawyer #2

‘I thought it was you, I just wasn’t sure, the masks make it so hard to tell. What do you think so far?’

‘It’s…impressive...maybe a bit too much. It’s not MI5, what’s with all the masks and no-names business?’ I say, glancing around at the extravagant decor.

‘I think it’s just their style. I quite like it though, it adds to the mystery. I thought Carrey & Watson had some incredible party planners, but they’ve never done anything like this. Can you imagine how much it must have cost?’

She’s right. One of the perks of working at a law firm that makes a lot of profit is the bi-annual parties they throw for their staff to try and convince them that sacrificing their life for work is worth it. They usually hire rooms in expensive hotels in London – last year it was Claridge’s, the year before that the Dorchester. They even hired the whole of Harvey Nichols once for an evening of private browsing just before Christmas. Each time, there’s a theme for the party, and they hire party planners to transform the room. We’ve had Las Vegas, which included show girls and poker tables, and a 1920s night with a cabaret performance and the entire venue was lit only by candlelight. Those evenings were impressive and a huge display of wealth, but even they don’t compare to what’s been done here.

‘Maybe a bit too much mystery. I don’t understand how being part of Inside is supposed to help my career.’

‘It just does.’

‘Yeah, but how do you know? If you don’t know who any of the members are.’

‘I’ve just heard things. Rumours.’

‘Rumours can be false.’

‘If they were so unsuccessful then how could they afford an event like this? Somebody I spoke to earlier says that there is no cost to being a member but Inside get a ten per cent cut of any pay rises the members receive as a result of the society. So the fact they can do this shows how much they must be helping their members. Stop being such a cynic. This event makes Carrey & Watson look like they are playing in the amateur leagues.’

I give up trying to argue with Nat. She can be incredibly stubborn when she wants to be. ‘Have you spoken to many people here?’ I ask.

‘A few other applicants, but everyone is being really cautious about revealing too much. Nobody really knows what we’re supposed to be doing here. I keep thinking maybe some of members are wearing black masks and have gone undercover to see what we’re really like.’

I think she’s right. The room looks fuller than it did previously, but there are no white masks anywhere. They probably know that everyone will be on their best behaviour if they know they are talking to a member.

‘I think you might be onto something there,’ I say. ‘I spoke to a member when I got here. The one that did the speech – a co-founder.’

‘What? Seriously? What was she like?’

‘She seemed nice. I asked her about Sara.’

‘You did what?’ Nat grabs my arm, pinching my skin, before abruptly letting go. ‘Sorry, I just don’t think that was a good idea.’

‘Why not? I just wanted to know if she really was a member. I thought it would be a good thing, having known a previous member. Having a connection. And I thought she could shed more light on how Sara was before she died.’

‘I’m not sure on that one, Cass. How did she react?’

‘It seemed like she didn’t want to talk about it…and then she left to go give her speech.’

‘Well, hopefully it didn’t do any damage.’ She takes a sip of her drink, some sort of mocktail. ‘Anyway, we aren’t going to impress anybody if we stay here gossiping in the corner. Let’s mingle.’

Nat walks off before waiting for me to respond and I follow like a loyal puppy. She saunters over to two women, hand outstretched.

‘Hello, nice to meet you. This is my colleague.’

‘Hi, I’m Cass,’ I say, instinctively holding out my hand.

The women pause before shaking it.

‘I thought names were banned here,’ one of them says, giggling after she says it. I don’t think there’s any malice behind it, but I blush as I realise my mistake.

‘Ah, you’re right. It’s such a hard habit to break. It feels rude not to introduce myself properly,’ I say.

‘It’s okay. To be honest, I’m not sure why there is so much secrecy. Just because you might know my name doesn’t mean you can work out who I am. I’m Alice.’

I look down at her name badge.

APPLICANT

Entrepreneur #4

‘And I’m Fallon. We met each other in the bathroom but we’ve decided to stick together. It’s hard to know how to act here.’

Fallon looks younger than all of us, from what I can tell with my hindered vision. Her jawline is sharp and her figure makes her look like she spends hours doing Pilates each week. Her voice is slightly high-pitched and she holds herself like somebody who isn’t secure in herself. Alice, on the other hand, comes across as confident. She’s taller than all of us even though she seems to be the only person not wearing heels. She’s also wearing a suit rather than a dress. The suit looks tailored and expensive. Grey, with a check pattern.

I look at Fallon’s badge.

APPLICANT

Scientist #5

‘You’re both lawyers, then? I’ve been scanning people’s badges out of curiosity and there’s a lot of you here,’ Alice says. I can’t tell if she means that in a negative way.

‘I’ve seen quite a few bankers and traders actually. I saw somebody near the bathroom who’s in real estate, too. And somebody in government. A real mix,’ Fallon says.

‘I suppose they want variety,’ Nat adds.

‘Do either of you know what’s supposed to happen tonight? I don’t know what I was expecting but I thought it would be more than being left to mingle,’ I ask.

‘No idea, but I’m just seeing it as an excuse to get out of the house and have a few drinks. I have young children at home so even if this is it for me, it’s still a good experience,’ Alice says. ‘How did you hear about Inside?’

I look at Nat to answer, given that I only know about Inside from her. I don’t even know how to answer without bringing Sara into it.

‘I heard about it from a colleague,’ Nat says.

‘I actually got a message on LinkedIn,’ Fallon says, and we all have the same reaction. Surprise.

‘Oh, telling you applications had opened? I got the same,’ Nat says.

‘No, more than that. Actually inviting me to apply and telling me that Inside considered me a good candidate for the vacancy. They gave me pointers for the application, too.’

‘Really?’ Nat and I chime in unison.

‘Yeah. Seemed to be from a newly created account. The name seemed fake and there was no profile photo. I thought it was a joke at first but decided to respond and ask some questions to work out if it was genuine, and it was.’

‘I had something similar,’ says Alice.

‘I wonder how they found you both,’ Nat says, and I think I can detect jealousy in her voice.

‘I did an interview in the Financial Times about a lack of young women in the science field. They mentioned it in their message,’ Fallon says.

‘And I was in Forbes’ “30 under 30” a few years ago. They mentioned it in my message,’ Alice adds.

I glance at Nat. Her mouth is closed but I can tell by her clenched jaw that she’s not pleased that these two seem to have been scouted out. If there’s only one place, then what hope do the rest of us have when we are competing with people they hand-picked to be here?

‘What made you apply then? It sounds like you’re successful anyway if you’re lawyers,’ Fallon asks. I think she senses the tension.

‘You know what law is like. Sure, some women make it to the top but they have to sacrifice so much and even then—’ Nat seems to avert her eyes and look off to the side. ‘Even then, it’s not enough.’

I nod. ‘Exactly. Eighty-five per cent of the partners at our firm are men. It doesn’t make any sense when at the junior level it’s very much equal. Obviously there’s something stopping women getting to the top.’ As I say it, I realise that it’s now more than eighty-five per cent. That figure included Sara.

‘It’s the same for me. I work for myself but I still have to deal with contacts all the time, selling my products. I work in construction so it’s very male-dominated. I can’t help thinking that things would be easier if I wasn’t, well, like this – if I was one of the boys,’ Alice says, looking down at herself.

We all nod in agreement; the shared experiences we’ve all faced have led us to this place. All we really want is a level playing field.

Chapter Sixteen

It has to be blackmail. That’s what I’ve decided since the mixer. I spent most of the night trying to work out how Inside could have so much power and influence, and the only thing that makes sense is if they are blackmailing people. Maybe they were blackmailing Sara and the videos were part of that. Does that mean Inside took the videos? But if they did, surely they wouldn’t send them to me? It has to be someone else who sent them. Someone whom Sara trusted enough to share them with.

Blackmail would explain why they want to keep their whole society a secret and the identity of their members, so that if anybody finds out anything, they can’t trace it back to them. It’s smart. I have no evidence, of course, but I wonder if trying to become part of Inside is such a good idea. There has to be something shady going on; people don’t just network with people and suddenly get promoted to the highest levels of a company. Those anonymous videos hinted at something untoward. I should stay away from them. I would warn Nat but she seems so enamoured I doubt I can change her mind until I find something concrete.

I need to find out what’s on this memory stick. I sent an email to work earlier to say that I would be working from home today. Part of it is so I have enough time to unlock the secrets of this USB, and the other reason is that it feels like somebody is playing the drums inside my head, and my throat feels like I’ve drunk a cocktail of sandpaper and glass. I don’t really plan on working, but nobody ever emails to say they are too sick to work unless they are actually in the hospital. In the past, I’d never have done this, but now I don’t care. As a trainee I’d once naively emailed in sick because I had a severe case of tonsillitis. The doctor signed me off work with a sick note but when I came back to the office I was called into a meeting with a partner who promptly told me that I was paid too much money to be sick and that I had to learn to power through it or I’d never be a lawyer. She’d see to it personally. Sometimes the female partners who managed to claw their way to the top liked to shut the door on anyone who tried to follow.

I think the bubbles from the champagne went to my head last night. I remember chatting to Fallon and Alice with Nat, and then we joined some other women who I think worked in politics. None of us knew what we were doing, and I think we had all drunk too much because of the insecurity and awkwardness. I’ve probably ruined my chance of getting through to the next round. The nagging voice in my head reminds me that I’ve just lost my job and that Inside may be the route to partnership, even with this blemish on my record. My moral compass is spinning wildly as I entertain the thought of ignoring my gut feeling about Inside. It’s not like I have evidence that they’re doing anything wrong; maybe they do just harness the power of connections and relationships. It sounds like something a holistic-yoga instructor would say.

I remember leaving the place because it was just as unconventional as the journey there. They made us line up to enter the cloakroom one by one; they removed our masks and gave us our phones back. We were then escorted downstairs separately and given another blindfold. I was put into a car and the next thing I knew I was told to remove the blindfold because I was home – I guess they knew my address from the form I filled out. I have no idea where in London we were last night. I wonder if that was their headquarters or just a staging area. Other than the toilets, we weren’t able to explore the building. All other doors were roped off and I assume they were locked, too, but I didn’t dare try. I wonder if the reason for the whole charade is that that’s what we hear the boys’ clubs do, not because it has any purpose.

I WhatsApp Nat.

Cass [08:20]: How are you feeling today? I feel so rough.

Nat [08:21]: I feel fine. But I wasn’t the one drinking.

It comes off as cold but she’s right. Nat hasn’t drunk alcohol since what happened to Abbie. Knowing her, she was probably up at 6 a.m. to do a casual 15km run. I check the time. She won’t be at work yet. I press the phone icon next to her name.

‘Cass?’

‘Hey, I thought it’d be easier to call.’

‘What are you calling for?’

‘Good morning to you, too. My head aches. Did you enjoy last night?’

‘Yeah, it was a good night. Honestly, the whole thing is so impressive. I wish I knew about the women in the society, they must be so inspiring. Maybe if we get through to the next round things will start to be revealed.’

‘I wonder what our chances are of being invited back.’

‘Well, I think mine are better than yours. Don’t you remember what you were saying towards the end?’

‘No? Should I?’ I think back to last night but there’s a void where my memories should be.

‘You went a bit conspiracy-theorist on everyone. You always get like it when you’re drunk but this time your conspiracy was about Inside. You said you reckoned it was too good to be true. Started joking about Inside being shady. It didn’t go down well, Cass.’

I know I had those thoughts but why did I tell everyone?

‘Oh, gosh, I don’t remember any of that.’

‘Look, it’s fine, don’t fret. Who knows if the members were even there to hear? The whole thing was bordering on strange. Impressive, but definitely odd. Who knows what they’re looking for?’

‘Maybe you’re right.’

‘Look, I’ve got to go; I’ve got to prep for this client meeting. I saw you’re at home today but let’s do a spin class tomorrow; 7 a.m. in Victoria?’

‘Yeah, sure. See you then.’

My phone buzzes. It’s George.

George [07:20]: Did you mean what you said last night?

Oh shit. What did I say last night? I hate memory blackout. Another person I’ve probably insulted. I check our message history but there’s nothing from last night. Except for a thirty-minute phone conversation just after midnight. What did I say?

Cass [07:21]: Which part?

I play dumb. I don’t want to admit I can’t remember any of it. I don’t want George to know how much I had to drink – we’re still at that stage where I need to present the best version of myself to him. I like him and I don’t want to ruin what we have – whatever it is. He doesn’t reply.

I switch my laptop on and pull the duvet up to my neck.

There are some general emails that have been sent to the whole firm. I click through but nothing catches my eye. There’s also one about the firm updating its bullying and harassment policy. I snort. Bullying is rife throughout the firm and nobody cares about it. HR doesn’t care – after all, the firm pays HR to protect its best interests. The partners don’t care, either. Why would they get rid of somebody for bullying when that person’s business makes the firm richer?

I grab Sara’s USB drive from my bag, insert it into my laptop and wait for the contents to fill the screen. I’m far too impatient, because the mere seconds it takes to load are agony. There’s only one folder on the drive and my eyes widen when I read what it says. One word. Two syllables. Inside.

I take a deep breath and click on the folder. Dozens of documents. I send them all to my printer in my home office, which is slower than the ones at work so it takes ages to finish. Once I hear the machine come to a stop, I push the duvet away from me, before hurrying to snatch up the documents.

There’s also a sub-folder on the USB, which asks me for a password. I try a few of the obvious words – her name, her sister’s name, her birthday. None work and I quickly run out of ideas. I’d already tried the same passwords on her laptop, so didn’t expect they’d work. I’ll need to figure out a way to access the folder because that must be where the real incriminating stuff lies, but for now there’s nothing else I can do so I turn my focus back to the other documents.

The first two look almost like CVs. Talia Sands and Miranda Hale. Each has an A4 page of bullet points with personal information, and they are both listed as co-founders. There are photographs, too. The woman with the black hair must be the person I spoke to last night, the one who gave the speech. That’s Talia. There’s detail on their jobs, too. I guess Sara must have compiled it because as a member she’d have access to them. But the real question is why Sara would have these.

The uneasy feeling about Inside returns as I flick through the rest of the papers. Some of the documents don’t make sense. Nonsensical numbers. They look a bit like company accounts but I can’t understand them without any context. There’s a scanned handwritten page with names written on it with question marks but I don’t know what it’s for. Maybe a list of potential members? It could be anything though.

One of the documents catches my eye. It’s short and sweet. One side of A4 with four lines.

Cass, you’re the only one I can trust with this.

I think they’re planning to get rid of me.

If they succeed, you need to take them down.

Trust no one.

I read the sentences over and over. Is this proof that Sara was murdered? And does this mean Inside had something to do with it? My first instinct is to call the police but the last sentence rings in my head. Trust no one. Does that include the police? Surely Sara can’t mean that? I look through the other documents again. This must be her trying to compile evidence against Inside. I can’t work out from what I have what Sara was trying to prove, why she was trying to bring them down. She clearly thought they were dangerous enough that her life was under threat. Those videos must be part of the threat.

My thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door. I must have lost track of time. I’ve been in my home office for hours, going over the documents in the file, re-reading them and hoping something new will jump out at me. I’m not expecting anybody so I assume it’s a delivery and ignore it. But then the person knocks again and I surrender and make my way through the hall.

The person at the door is tall and handsome but entirely unexpected.

‘George? What are you doing here?’

‘You invited me round yesterday.’

‘Did I?’ I don’t remember it, but then I don’t remember any of our conversation.

‘Yeah, when we were on the phone. How do you think I got your address?’

He’s right. He’s not been here before.

‘You said that I could cook for you, so I picked up some ingredients from Whole Foods on the way,’ he continues, while the cogs in my mind turn. ‘Is this a bad time? I can go. You don’t look like you were expecting company.’

‘No, no, you should stay. Come in,’ I say, stepping aside to let George into my flat. ‘I’m just going to freshen up – work has been hectic. Why don’t you go to the kitchen and check I have everything you need? It’s just through there.’ I point to the room at the end of the hallway.

I dart upstairs into my en suite bathroom, grabbing my make-up bag and some fresh clothing from my bedroom. I look truly awful. I didn’t have a shower this morning. I can’t even remember if I brushed my teeth. My throat is dry from my abysmal water intake and my stomach gurgles. I haven’t eaten since yesterday.

I jump into the shower, letting the water run down my face, rubbing my pink peppercorn Molton Brown shower gel into my armpits and quickly running a razor over my legs. I don’t let myself stay in the shower as long I’d like – I don’t want to keep George waiting. I rifle through my make-up bag for my tinted moisturiser. I rub it on my face and add some mascara, eyebrow gel and a bit of lip balm. I pull on a grey knitted dress and a pair of thick black tights. It’s not the best I’ve ever looked, but at least now I won’t be embarrassed by my lack of effort.

I head downstairs and the smell of home cooking overwhelms me. I can see George chopping vegetables and my stomach flutters. I’m not used having somebody cook me dinner, but I could certainly get used to it. I don’t cook a lot for myself, I’ve never really had the time, so this feels like a treat. Although as amazing as it is, a part of me wants him to leave so I can get back to decoding Sara’s cryptic message.

‘This smells amazing,’ I say as I walk into the kitchen.

‘I was hoping to have it all done before you finished getting ready, but it’s been a little trickier than I thought,’ George says as he scrapes the onions and peppers from the chopping board into the sizzling pan. It spits hot oil and he takes a step back to avoid getting hit.

‘Oh, don’t worry. I’m happy to wait,’ I say, even though my stomach is now screaming at me, as if it can sense the proximity of food.

‘I brought a bottle of red if you want to open it. But I also brought some non-alcoholic Prosecco if you’d prefer.’ I wonder if that’s a nod to how drunk I must have sounded last night.

I grab the corkscrew, open the bottle of wine and pour some into two of my nicest wine glasses. Maybe a glass is what I need to feel better. I take a sip of the wine. It’s delicious. George certainly has good taste.

‘I’ll set the table while you’re finishing up.’

I take far more care dressing the dining table than I would if I was eating alone. I use my best cutlery. The ones I got from Selfridges with my last bonus. The sales assistant told me they would last forever, that I could pass them on to my children one day – if I ever have any, that is. I choose the gold scalloped placemats and take out some tall candles and my brass candlestick holders. I can hear George starting to plate up.

I sit down at the table and George places his pasta creation in front of me. I wait for him to sit down before taking a bite.

‘Oh, wow, George, this is so good. I didn’t know you were such a good cook.’

‘I’m glad you like it.’

We eat in silence for a while, the food so good that talking doesn’t seem necessary. I twirl the fresh spaghetti around my fork, attempting to avoid staining my dress.

‘How are you feeling? Sorry if this is a bit out of line but you seemed a bit…merry… when you rang last night.’

‘I hope it wasn’t too late?’

‘It did wake me up, but it’s fine, you were being really sweet.’

‘Oh, God, what did I say?’ I moan inwardly and chastise myself for drinking so much.

‘That you like me and enjoy spending time with me.’

I put my head in my hands. ‘I mean, it’s not…I do like you…I just wish it hadn’t come out like that. I’m so embarrassed.’

‘Don’t worry. It’s not embarrassing. I like spending time with you, too.’ He pauses. ‘Look, we don’t need to talk about what you said. How was your night?’

‘Oh, it was good. I was at a weird initiation-slash-party for that society I mentioned my friend used to be part of.’

‘Did you get weird cult-vibes?’

‘I’m not sure. To be honest, something just didn’t seem right about it but I’m not really sure what.’

‘In what way?’

‘I think maybe there’s a dark side to it. That it’s too good to be true. They promise incredible career progression but are pretty vague about how they actually help you achieve it.’

‘Those things often are. There’s always a price to pay for success.’

I gulp down the final mouthful of pasta. Maybe Sara paid the ultimate price for success. Her life.

Chapter Seventeen

I’m becoming more convinced that Inside had something to do with Sara’s death. I was so close to opening up to George about it. I need to talk to somebody about my suspicions. I’d usually talk to Nat about it but this is so serious, I feel it would be best to talk to someone who doesn’t know Sara so they can be completely objective. Nat has already called me a conspiracy theorist so I don’t think she’d believe me. Besides, if my theory is true, I don’t want Nat to fall into this spider’s web. It’s better for her sake that she stays far away from this.

I need proof that Sara’s death wasn’t an accident. This note predicting something would happen isn’t enough. I need physical evidence. Maybe then I can go to the police. I know Sara said not to trust anyone but I assume she just meant Inside and I can’t take them down by myself.

My phone vibrates next to me on the bedside table. It must be early because it’s still not quite light outside. It’s Nat.

‘Nat? You okay?’

‘I don’t suppose you’ve been in the office yet this morning?’

‘No, it’s 9 a.m. on a Saturday. Why?’

‘Okay, well, I came in to get some work done. I just checked my in-tray and Inside have invited me to a one-on-one interview. Can you believe it?’

‘That’s amazing, I’m so happy for you.’ Part of me wants to warn her, tell her maybe Inside isn’t such a good idea, but she sounds so happy I can’t bear to ruin it. Not yet, at least.

‘Do you want me to check your in-tray for you?’

‘Would you mind? That would be great, as I’m not coming in over the weekend.’

‘Okay, I’ll call you back.’

I usually go in to work most Saturdays. Working at Carrey & Watson is not just a Monday–Friday job; the grind never stops. It’s a twenty-four-seven type of lifestyle, constantly at the end of the phone or email if needed. Just because it’s a weekend doesn’t mean it’s time to rest. I used to try and take at least some of Sunday off work but it was always easier said than done. I gave up making weekend plans a long time ago, but having someone around to have a lazy morning with makes me realise what I’ve been missing out on.

George is lying in bed next to me. He stayed over after he’d cooked last night. Nothing happened between us – I mean, we did kiss, but we stayed up most of the night talking. It’s not that I don’t want things to go further, it’s just that I want to do it right. Things are so overwhelming at the moment that I can’t bear things going badly between us. It feels nice to have company, though. I can’t help but trace his body with my fingertips. His skin is smooth. He stirs, having sensed my movement.

‘What time is it?’ he asks, yawning.

‘A little past 9 a.m.’

‘It feels much earlier. I’ll make breakfast. You stay here. I’ll bring it up to you.’

He stands up, grabs his crumpled T-shirt and pulls it over his head.

‘I think there are some eggs. Maybe some croissants somewhere. Not sure what else.’

‘Not to worry, I’m sure I’ll manage.’ He kisses me gently on the forehead as he leaves.

I unlock my phone to see that Nat has sent me a photo; it’s another black card with gold writing on.

We are delighted to invite you to a one-on-one interview with the two co-founders of Inside. You have been hand-picked because the members believe you have potential.

Your interview will be held at 7.30 p.m. on Tuesday 28th November. Please arrive at Cannon Street Station ten minutes before this, where somebody will meet you. The interview is a chance for us to get to know you and hear why you think you’d make a good fit for Inside.

Please do not post about the interview or Inside on social media.

Doing so will result in your invite being rescinded.

It strikes me as odd that they don’t mention what happens if you can’t make the interview time. I suppose they are so oversubscribed that if people can’t make it, they get cut. I don’t want to go. Inside seems dangerous. But then, I have no other leads, and if I ever want to find out what really happened to Sara, being part of this process is my best chance. There’s no other choice.

I text Nat back.

Cass [09:15]: When is your interview?

Nat [09:16]: Mine is Monday. Do you want to go for brunch tomorrow and prep for it together?

Cass [09:16]: Sure, good idea, shall we say 10 a.m. at Eggs ‘n’ bread?

Nat [09:17]: See you then! Xx

George brings in my breakfast. I can see the tray is loaded with poached eggs and avocado on toast, orange juice and a cup of tea. I didn’t even know I had avocado in. It shows how much I check the fridge.

My mind is busy with thoughts of Sara. How am I going to find more evidence about what she was involved in? I need to get up to the roof to see the scene of the crime myself. I can go tomorrow. The office will be open but barely anybody goes in on a Sunday. I can get up to the roof, try to scope it out to see if there’s anything the police may have overlooked, something small that they deemed insignificant. We aren’t supposed to be on the roof terrace at the moment so I don’t want it known I’m going to poke around. Maybe if I tell security that I left my pass at home then they’ll give me a temporary guest pass and it’ll be harder for them to track it back to me.

George takes a seat next to me with his cup of coffee. I eat my breakfast while I chat to him about my plans for the rest of the weekend. He’s leaving soon as he’s going to Brighton for the day with a friend. I can’t help but wish he could stay and I get the feeling he feels the same.

‘I really should go. I’m going to be very late to meet my friend but I had a really good time last night.’ He leans across the bed and kisses me on the lips. He breaks away, maintaining eye contact, and tucks my hair behind my ear. ‘Can I see you again soon?’

I nod and walk him to the door.

George leaves but not before kissing me again and promising to text soon.

Chapter Eighteen

The reception is quiet on a weekend, manned by one security guard who acts as a receptionist as well. He isn’t as overly pleasant as the receptionists are and he swears as he struggles to issue the guest pass and instead offers me one from the discard tray from the day before. I’ve never seen this man and he doesn’t appear to recognise me, so perhaps he’s just filling in. That explains why he can’t work the system.

I head to the lifts and turn back to the security guard, who is distracted by something on his phone. If I still cared about this firm, I’d consider telling the partners about the worrying lack of attention their security guard is paying, but I don’t care now, although it does indicate that it wouldn’t have been that hard for somebody to sneak into the office on the day of Sara’s death, even if the weekday team is much sharper.

The lift requires us to swipe our access cards before pressing the floor we want, to make sure we have the required security permissions. Luckily everyone at Carrey & Watson has security access to the roof terrace – I just hope they haven’t restricted our cards while it’s out of bounds for maintenance. How else would Sara have gotten up there, though? I feel nervous just pressing the button for the thirteenth floor, fretting that doing so will cause alarms to go off and the police to swarm in and arrest me, but nothing happens. The door shuts and the lift accelerates upwards.

The roof terrace might be locked. I should’ve thought about that earlier; no doubt they’d have sealed it after the accident and they might keep it shut at weekends anyway. Plus it’s also November and so not being used. I get to the top floor. The quietness unnerves me but I need to at least try the doors. I want to see where it happened, where Sara lost her life.

There’s blue and white police tape diagonally placed across the glass doors leading to the roof. I manoeuvre my hand into a gap and press the button to open the doors and to my shock they slide open. I carefully climb over the police tape to avoid disturbing anything and let the doors close behind me. I pull my coat tighter around me as the winds bite harder at this height. I’ve been here so many times but it seems different somehow, as if Sara’s death has tarnished it, left a permanent ugly mark.

I don’t even know which spot Sara fell from. I walk to the edge where the scaffolding has been erected. There’s a gap between where the two sections meet and I shimmy between them, almost getting stuck in the process. I take a deep breath as I can see the drop from here and my toes curl as I think about the fear Sara must have felt, seeing the ground hurtling towards her, knowing her fate was sealed.

I can’t see anything here, there is debris everywhere but that is probably from the construction workers rather than anything to do with Sara. I should’ve known that it would be a waste of time coming up here; it’s only served to turn my stomach. As I’m about to give up I notice something glinting on the ground. I squat down and pick it up to examine it, expecting it to be junk. Then I notice it’s a bracelet. It’s wedged in a crack on the tiled floor and I have to tug on it to make it come loose. It’s gold, I think – real gold rather than gold-plated. And it has an initial on it. A. Not S. It can’t have been Sara’s. What is it doing here and who does it belong to? Is it something to do with what happened to Sara or something else? It could’ve been lost but nobody has been up here since September, and there’s been no all-staff email about a missing bracelet. Maybe Sara ripped this off the wrist of whoever pushed her – her final act. But how come the police never found it? I put the bracelet in my coat pocket and swiftly leave. I should call the police rather than remove potential evidence, but Sara’s words echo in my mind. Trust no one.

I have one more stop to make before I meet Nat. Shoreditch, not far from the office. I texted Julia this morning asking if she’d be free for a coffee. Julia moves around a lot but she’s been living in Shoreditch for the last few months. I remember Sara saying she’d help her get the flat by signing as guarantor.

‘Hey, Cass, thanks for coming.’ Julia motions me in. It’s a nice flat in one of the gentrified parts of Shoreditch. Sara showed me the photographs from the estate agency’s listing, asking for my opinion. I’ve never been here before, though.

Julia shows me into the kitchen.

‘Is coffee okay?’

‘Coffee is fine, thanks. Black, please.’

‘Sara got me this Nespresso machine for my birthday, but I barely know how to work it. I think this one is an espresso?’ she says, fondling a capsule.

‘I’m sure it’ll be fine.’

‘Thanks for visiting. I haven’t heard much from any of Sara’s friends since it happened.’ She pauses. ‘I guess she didn’t have many as she was always at work.’

‘She was very committed to her career.’

‘The firm sent flowers. Took them long enough.’ She glances at the impressive bouquet in the centre of the table. ‘And a card. But it didn’t say much. Just that they were sorry for my loss.’

‘I wouldn’t expect anything more. Sadly, law firms can treat their employees a bit like robots rather than actual people.’

‘Yeah, I get that. It upsets me that Sara’s life was cut so short, that she never got to enjoy it properly. She was always in the office. I’m not sure she was ever truly happy.’

It’s a sombre thought.

‘Oh, before I forget. Sara left something here that she said she’d pick up, but obviously she never did.’ She leaves the room to go and collect it and returns with some documents bound with treasury tags ‘It looks like it might be work related so I figure I should give it back. Do you mind?’

I take the sheaf of paper from her. It looks like a Share Purchase Agreement for one of Sara’s clients. Nothing interesting. I was hoping it would be something relating to Inside but this looks like work. I’ll take it back to the office in case anyone is missing it. I notice the time and say goodbye to Julia, promising to keep in touch.

I’m running late to meet Nat for brunch. When I get to the café, I spot her in the window typing away on her laptop. It’s one of those trendy, brunch places that have appeared all over London in the last few years, offering eggs multiple ways, usually frequented almost entirely by young women clad in Lululemon.

‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ I say, taking a seat and throwing my coat over the back of the chair.

‘It’s fine, I got an email from the banking team about some documents so I had to review them urgently, anyway.’ She closes her laptop and puts it in her bag. ‘Apparently they want to sign some deal tomorrow so everything needs to be done by yesterday.’

‘They’re the worst. Thankfully I haven’t had one of those crazy deals in a while.’

The waitress comes over to take our order. I order a mocha and eggs Benedict. Nat orders the vegan full English breakfast and some sort of smoothie with kale in it.

‘Speaking of crazy deals, you don’t seem like you’re that busy lately anyway. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your chair is always empty after 7 p.m.’

‘Oh, yeah, it’s just been a bit of a quiet period for me.’

‘I thought you didn’t have quiet periods,’ she says with a curious look on her face. ‘You always told me that regularly leaving before 9 p.m. was a sure-fire way not to make partner. And that’s all you care about, right?’

She knows me too well. Or rather, she knew what I was like before I got fired. The person who was married to their job and wanted nothing more than to be at the top. I still want that, I still have that burning ambition to be the best, but I know I can’t achieve that where I am now.

‘Yeah, you’re right.’

‘Well, if I get into Inside I hope it means the end of late nights.’

‘Sara still worked late nights, though,’ I say .

‘That’s true. I guess the grind never stops but it would be nice for that hard work to pay off,’ Nat says. ‘What’s that?’

I follow her gaze and notice she’s looking at the documents Julia gave me, which are poking out of my bag. ‘Oh, I went to see Sara’s sister and she gave them to me. Do you recognise them?’ I take the documents from my bag and hand them over.

‘“Project Eden”,’ Nat says, reading the front page. ‘It’s not one I’ve heard of. Wait…what’s this?’ She leans over to pick up a piece of paper that’s fallen out. ‘Doesn’t look like this belongs.’

She hands the documents back to me along with the fallen sheet.

It’s a handwritten list of names.

Darius McBride

Josh Murray

Shane McBride

Roy Jones

Terry Easton

It means nothing to me. I tuck both documents back in my bag.

The waitress arrives with my coffee, the milk has been swirled on the top to look like a leaf, matching the scene I can see outside the window, Autumn slowly turning to winter, the last of the brown and red leaves littering the pavement.

‘Speaking of Inside, how are you feeling about the interview?’

‘I’m not sure. I have no idea what to expect. It’s not like normal job interviews where you can do your research beforehand. I’m completely in the dark. You?’ I ask.

‘The same. They clearly like their secrecy. ’

‘That much was clear from the mixer.’

‘Eggs Benedict?’

The waitress arrives with our food and the smell makes my mouth water. She places my plate in front of me and I use my knife to cut into the egg and watch the yolk spill out like lava.

‘I wonder how many people they invited to the interview stages,’ I say.

‘No idea. This is the most annoying thing, not knowing. Maybe they only invited ten of us, or maybe everyone from the mixer is going to be there. I really hope that Fallon isn’t through to the next stage.’

‘The scientist? Why?’

‘She was so smug about being hand-selected. I found her irritating. She’s too young to deserve to be part of Inside. I know that sounds bad, call me ageist or whatever, but I don’t get what she could possibly bring to the table.’

‘Ouch, Nat, put your claws away. Alice had a similar message on LinkedIn so it wasn’t just Fallon.’

‘I know, I know. I just really want this spot. I’m fed up being overlooked at work in favour of the men. Did you hear about Andrew?’

Andrew is in our department, though slightly less experienced than us both. He walks around with a constant air of superiority. He thinks he’s better than everyone because he wears a signet ring on his pinkie finger and is a member of an overpriced private members’ club in Bank. He drives a BMW and will tell everyone he meets how expensive his car is.

‘What about him?’

‘Apparently he’s been given a hint that he’s being made up to partner in the next promotion round. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone but you know what he’s like, he couldn’t help himself. Came into the office on Friday, grinning like a Cheshire cat. I wanted to slap that smug smile off his face.’

‘You’re kidding me, right? He’s got less experience than both of us. He’s been at the firm for less time too. Are you sure he wasn’t messing with you?’

‘I’m sure. Besides, he wouldn’t make something like this up because he would look like an idiot if the promotions list got announced and he wasn’t on it.’

I know I’m not exactly going to be promoted given that I’m currently serving my notice, but watching Andrew get promoted ahead of Nat, and even Alexa, is almost as bad. The firm never promotes two people from the same department, so if Andrew has got the nod, that means Nat has to wait at least another year. I can see now why getting into Inside means so much to her.

‘Life as a female lawyer is never fair, is it?’ I say, staring at my empty plate, which seems oddly representative of my current mental state.

Nat’s phone rings. ‘One sec, I need to answer this.’

She goes outside to take the phone call, then returns.

‘It’s work again. I’m sorry to cut our brunch short, but I’m going have to get home and log on. They want a thousand pieces of work from me in the next two hours.’ Nat rolls her eyes. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, though.’

She kisses me on the cheek and rushes off. I check my email, but there’s nothing new for me.

Unneeded. Unwanted. How the mighty have fallen.

Chapter Nineteen

I watch the clock on my computer screen until the digits read 18.00. As soon as they change, I spring out of my seat, grabbing my belongings, and tell Henry that I’m off for the day. I can tell he’s worked out that something is going on, what with all my sudden early finishes, but he doesn’t say anything.

George is coming over tonight. I left him a garbled voice note yesterday about Sara’s laptop. He offered to help me get into it, and came by last night to pick it up so he could look at it today at work; he said everything he needed was in the office, or something like that. I’d held off telling George the truth about what I’ve discovered about Sara, but I need someone else to help me with this: it’s too much to take on by myself. I told him everything. I also gave him the USB and asked if he could decrypt the password-protected folder.

There are delays on the Jubilee line, which is agonising. George hasn’t given me any indication whether he’s managed to access the laptop, and, as usual, I have no signal underground. The last text he sent me was that he’d meet me at mine. I tap my foot on the ground as I wait for the stops to pass by, until I get a dirty look from the woman next to me.

The doors open at St John’s Wood and I hop out, rushing past the other commuters to get to the escalator and sprinting up, hurrying through the ticket gates and towards my house. George is already waiting for me, sitting on the wall scrolling through his phone. He notices me and looks up with a puzzled expression.

‘Everything okay?’

‘Sorry I’m late, delays on the tube,’ I pant.

‘Did you run here?’

I nod and take my keys out to let him in. It’s only when I catch sight of myself in the mirror and see my bright red face and frazzled hair that I understand George’s confusion. It’s a far cry from my normal put-together image.

‘Okay, I can’t wait, did you crack the laptop and the folder?’ We aren’t even through the door.

He laughs. ‘You don’t waste any time.’ He takes off his bag, pulls out Sara’s laptop, places it on the kitchen island and opens it. ‘Have a look for yourself.’

The laptop powers on, but this time, instead of displaying the login screen, it goes straight to the desktop.

‘You did it! How?’

‘I had to call in a few favours,’ he says. ‘And…I’m not sure I want to know the answer to this, but please tell me this isn’t Sara’s work laptop?’

I remain silent which gives George his answer.

He puts his head in his hands. ‘Oh, God, okay. We’ve broken into a laptop belonging to a major law firm which will be full of confidential documents.’

‘I’m sorry. I should’ve told you but⁠—’

‘But you thought if you told me the truth I might not help you.’

I feel sick as it dawns on me that I could get George in a lot of trouble if anyone figures out what we did. Carrey & Watson take their client confidentiality seriously so if anybody caught us, I can only imagine how we would be crucified. I shouldn’t have asked George and implicated him in this, but I was so desperate to find out what was going on with Sara, and Inside, that I didn’t think rationally. It’s too late now.

‘I should never have asked you to do this. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to risk taking it to a stranger but it wasn’t fair to ask this of you.’

‘It’s fine. Look, the damage is done anyway. I have to be honest with you, I’ve had a quick look and I’m not sure there’s anything on here that might help you find out what happened to your friend. You’re welcome to look, though.’

He slides the laptop towards me. I try all the obvious places. I start with her work email but it’s very clear everything is from clients. It’s upsetting to see Sara is still being sent emails from clients, no doubt unaware of what happened to her. I search the computer files, her search history, and there is nothing unusual. It’s just work. This has been pointless.

‘I really thought all the answers would be on here.’

‘Wait, that isn’t everything. You asked me to look at this, too,’ George says, holding the USB stick in his hand. ‘I think you’ll find this is more enlightening.’ He inserts the drive into the laptop, navigates to the folder and opens it.

‘Did you have a look already?’

He nods. ‘Briefly,’ He moves out the way to give me a closer look.

There are more documents in this file but they seem to consist entirely of photographs. The women, who I recognise as the Inside co-founders from the other documents Sara had collated, are in these photographs – but they aren’t alone. In one there’s a clear exchange of cash. In another there’s the shaking of hands.

‘Do you recognise anyone here?’

‘The women are the co-founders of Inside. I don’t know who the men with them are, though.’

‘I do. They’re members of some of the most notorious crime families in the UK – those two are from the McBride family. I watched a documentary about this guy, Terry Easton––’ George points to one of the photographs on the screen ‘––about his crimes, but the police couldn’t directly link him to anything so he has never been prosecuted. He’s involved in pretty dark stuff – drugs, assault, murder.’

‘Murder?’

George nods.

‘Wait, what were those names you said again?’

‘The McBride family – that’s Shane and Darius. And Terry Easton.’

‘Hold on a second.’

I remember those names. I remember seeing those names written down. I find my work handbag and root through it, pulling out the handwritten note that was inside the pack of documents that Julia gave me. I never handed it into anyone at work because I forgot to ask if anyone knew what it was. Thankfully.

‘This was in a pack of documents that Sara’s sister had. Those three names are all on it.’

‘What are the others?’

‘Josh Murray and Roy Jones.’

George starts typing on his phone. ‘They’re also both involved in criminal activity. Josh was previously in prison for drug smuggling. Looks like Roy was in the same prison, but for human-trafficking offences.’

‘This is worse than I ever expected. Sara clearly knew that something wasn’t above board at Inside, she was clearly investigating them, so I presume she took these photos as evidence. Maybe she was working out who these people were so she could go to the police.’ I stare at the final photograph and notice Talia is looking directly at the camera.

‘If they caught her, they might’ve killed her, right? If Inside is as shady as they’re appearing and they found out Sara was collecting proof of their crimes, they wouldn’t have hesitated to remove the problem.’

‘That was my thought, too.’ George puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me towards him.

‘They killed her.’ My voice croaks as the tears fall down my cheeks. ‘She must have been so terrified.’

I’ve always known that Sara didn’t kill herself. Having seen the roof terrace and scaffolding myself, I know it would have been nearly impossible for her to have fallen by accident. It’s not definitive proof but this makes it pretty clear that Inside had something to do with her death.

I take the bracelet out of the drawer I’ve been keeping it in.

‘I found this on the roof, too, near where I assume Sara was pushed. Do you think it means anything?’

George shrugs. ‘It could belong to someone from Inside or it could be completely innocent and belong to someone at your firm. I don’t think we can do much with it, though, as you can’t prove where you got it from, or when, so the chain of evidence is screwed.’

‘What do you think we should do with rest of this then? Should I go to the police?’

Once again I think of Sara’s note. Trust no one.

George sighs. ‘The problem is, I don’t think there’s any way of linking the photographs and the people in them to Inside. We don’t know where these were taken. You said these women are part of Inside but because nobody really knows who belongs to Inside – or has even heard of it – it will be hard to make the connection. Plus it’ll be pretty difficult to explain where we got hold of all of this.’

He’s right. It’s enough to convince me but this isn’t enough to prove what happened to Sara. I may not be a criminal lawyer but I did study it as part of my degree and I know that we need legally obtained evidence rather than something we’ve illegally hacked into. The question is, how do I get any evidence when the society is so good at keeping themselves under wraps?

My phone pings with a WhatsApp.

Nat [19:13]: On my way to the interview. Terrified! Wish me luck x

‘I need to pick up where Sara left off. That’s why she left me the evidence; she wants me to take them down. I have an interview with them tomorrow. If I can charm my way into becoming the next member, I can finish what Sara started.’

‘Cass, that seems dangerous. We think these people killed Sara. You’d be putting your own life in danger.’

‘I know, but Sara was my friend. I can’t just let them get away with silencing her. It’s not right.’

‘Spoken like a true lawyer. I still don’t think this is a good idea, though.’

‘Look, I won’t do anything yet. I need to get further through the application process before I’m privy to anything that we could use. Let’s just see how tomorrow goes.’

I’m not sure if George is in agreement but he doesn’t argue with me.

‘I’m going to order us a takeaway. Do you fancy anything in particular?’

‘You choose.’

I find myself staring at Nat’s last message. I reply wishing her luck but it’s a complete lie. I hope Nat does terribly because if Inside is as bad as I think they are, I need to get her away from them as soon as possible.

Chapter Twenty

David Atkins <d.atkins@carrey&watson.com>

23rd November 2023 08:47

Re: Memorial Service for Sara O’Neil

All,

The firm is holding a memorial service for our much-missed colleague, Sara O’Neil, on Friday 1st December, 6 p.m. As you know, Sara tragically passed away last month and was a valued member of the firm. The service will be held in the large conference room.

Sara’s closest colleagues will be saying a few words about her. If you would like to speak, could you please email my secretary, Louise Ross, before close of business tomorrow?

We have invited friends and family of Sara to join us in honouring her memory.

All employees are asked to attend. Any absence must be excused by a partner.

David

I received the email last week. When I look back at it, it makes me mad. Sara didn’t ‘tragically pass away’. She was killed. I’m going to struggle to sit through the service, listening to them talk about her death as if it’s some sort of unfortunate occurrence when it was pre-meditated and her killers haven’t been found because nobody is even looking for them. But I have to go; it would raise a lot of questions if I didn’t, considering everyone knew that Sara and I were good friends.

It’s the first time the firm has ever done something like this for an employee who has died. Of course, people have died before. One of the senior associates died in a car accident last year. One of the partners had a sudden, fatal heart attack a couple of years before that. And there have been people who’ve had terminal illnesses. None of them got a memorial service. But also none of their deaths ever got the media attention that Sara’s did. I’m sure David is still trying to put out fires after the mental-health brigade came for the firm, claiming that the company was failing to look after the wellbeing of its staff. There are so many things I could tell the media if I wasn’t worried I’d be taken to court.

I smooth down the front of my dress. I shrug the blazer from my office wardrobe over my shoulders.

The conference room is a sea of black. At the front of the room is a giant screen with Sara’s face plastered on it. Flowers have been placed around the lectern. I take a seat next to Nat while we wait for David to begin the service.

‘Have you seen those people over there?’ Nat inclines her head.

‘Who are they? Do they work here?’

I don’t know everybody that works here, but they don’t look like they belong. As crass as it is to say, their clothes are too cheap-looking. The men’s suits don’t fit properly, clearly haven’t been tailored.

‘They’re journalists,’ she says, rolling her eyes. ‘I spoke to one of them earlier. He had a guest lanyard on so I thought he might be a friend or family of Sara’s. He’s from The Times.’

‘I wonder what they’re doing here.’

She snorts. ‘Isn’t it obvious? This whole thing is a publicity stunt. The partnership want to show they care about their employees. This memorial service has nothing to do with grieving for Sara and everything to do with the firm’s reputation and image.’

‘They told us we all had to attend…pretend we’re one big happy family.’

What a lie. Nat’s right. The firm doesn’t care about Sara, they just don’t want their image tarnished. The only thing they probably care about is that Sara is no longer making money for them. Bit hard to rack up the chargeable hours when you’re dead.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, please be seated as we are about to begin.’ A man I don’t recognise speaks at the lectern, halting my conversation with Nat. Once we are silent, David approaches to speak.

‘Thank you all for coming today to help us honour Sara’s memory. Sara was an incredibly valuable employee of ours, and we were all so grateful to have known her. I remember her bright, vibrant personality fondly, and the firm certainly feels colder without her here.’

David probably didn’t know Sara’s name before all of this happened. Or even if he did, he definitely didn’t know her on the personal level he’s describing, but the lies fall out of his mouth so freely.

‘Sara left a mark on everyone she met. She was an extraordinary woman and the whole firm are truly saddened by her loss. I’m going to hand over to some of my colleagues who have some words to say about their own experience with Sara. We will follow with a two-minute silence and then invite people to stay for drinks.’

David leaves the lectern and is replaced by somebody else who speaks about Sara, someone from the finance department that I know she couldn’t stand. The words are beautiful, but I know there’s nothing behind them. It sounds like they’ve been written by somebody else – probably some of the marketing and publicity team to make sure the journalists here eat it all up. Everybody that speaks puts on a good show.

I never even got asked to speak. Sara didn’t have many friends across the firm but there were people she knew. Some people she’d known for years. The fact that the only people allowed to say anything are incredibly senior says it all – this service isn’t about Sara.

After the speeches and the two-minute silence, most people leave. Nat promptly leaves for another meeting, but I decide to make the most of the free alcohol and food.

I grab a glass of white wine, and as I turn I accidentally collide with the woman next to me.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ I say. ‘Oh, wait, Julia, I didn’t see you there. How have you been?’

‘Cass, oh, hi. Well – as expected. Same as when I saw you before.’

‘What did you think of the service?’

She rolls her eyes and I can tell she’s not impressed.

Julia takes a sip of the red wine she’s holding. ‘I hated it. Everybody here is so fake. I know my sister wasn’t happy here. She didn’t have a nice word to say about anybody she worked with – well, except you. To be honest, I used to tell her to leave this place all the time. She never listened. Maybe if she had…’ Julia’s voice trails off as she stares into the distance.

I can’t find any words to comfort her.

‘Do you want to get out of here? I need another drink but I can’t stand spending another second in this place. All I can think about is that this is the last place Sara ever saw before she died. It makes me feel sick.’

‘Sure. There’s a bar around the corner.’

‘Great, let’s go,’ she says, tipping her glass and finishing the rest of her wine.

‘I just need to collect my things from upstairs. I’ll meet you downstairs in five minutes.’

* * *

The crimson liquid sloshes in Julia’s glass as she speaks. The bar is far noisier than the office.

‘Honestly, I have so many stories about Carrey & Watson. The things that go on in that place…’ I say.

‘Oh, tell me everything. I knew a big law firm like that must have all sorts of sordid activity going on. I always asked Sara to tell me but she wouldn’t. You know what she could be like, always so serious and sensible.’

‘Oh, there’s definitely some underhand things that happen. There’s so much stress and people seem to spend most of their life in the office so all sorts can happen.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like the time the cleaner walked in on an associate giving head to a partner in the conference room. Or the time a senior associate at the firm’s Christmas party did so much cocaine that he tried to literally swing from the chandelier in Claridge’s and ended up breaking his leg and arm.’

‘Wow.’

‘The firm parties are the worst. One time the firm held its summer party at the Tate Modern. And one of the partners got so drunk he pissed in one of the water features in an exhibition – it was a fish with a wide-open mouth. The firm had to pay an extortionate amount of money to get it professionally cleaned and to keep it out of the press.’

Julia laughs and I do the same.

‘I always thought those TV programmes about law firms were completely over the top but it sounds like they’re the opposite. It’s nice to laugh. I haven’t had much fun since Sara died.’

‘I have so many stories.’

‘I can’t imagine Sara working somewhere like that. She always seemed so level-headed. Definitely the more sensible sister.’

‘Sara didn’t get involved. She worked hard and she cared about her work, but she didn’t participate in the drinking culture or laddish behaviour.’

‘That sounds like her, she was always so dedicated to her work.’ She pauses. ‘Did she seem stressed to you?’

I shake my head. I know what Julia is getting at; she wants to know if there were any signs Sara was going to jump, because she doesn’t know what I know. ‘She worked hard but she was happy as far as I knew.’ It doesn’t seem like it could do any harm to make people doubt that Sara jumped.

‘Can I tell you something? I should’ve mentioned this when you visited but I’ve been trying to convince myself it’s all in my head. But I can’t let it go. You probably knew Sara better than me and maybe you’ll understand because you worked with her, so you saw her every day.’

‘Sure, go ahead.’

‘Before she died, Sara changed. And I don’t mean she was depressed or anything like that. But something was different.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She was scared. She became paranoid, kept leaving me messages saying she thought she was being followed. She paid to have CCTV cameras installed outside her house. I only know because I accidentally set them off once. She also told me to stop coming to her house to visit her, said it wasn’t safe and I needed to stay away.’

‘What! Why?’

‘I don’t know, but she thought somebody was out to get her. She said she didn’t feel safe anymore.’

‘Did she say who?’

‘No. She said she was in trouble. That she’d angered some powerful people. And when she died, I just…’

She wipes the tears that have fallen down her cheek, smearing her makeup. Everything Julia is saying matches up with what George and I found out about Inside. It’s still not enough but the dots are slowly starting to join up, a narrative being crafted.

‘I think whoever was after her finally caught up with her the day she died.’

‘So you think…’

‘I think someone killed my sister.’

Chapter Twenty-One

I feel like I’m getting closer to finding out the truth about what happened to Sara but at the same time it’s as if the answers are moving out of my reach. Julia is the first person I’ve spoken to who knew Sara well and doesn’t buy the theory about her death being suicide. Sara becoming paranoid and thinking somebody was following her lines up with my theory that she was digging into Inside – and it makes sense, given someone was clearly watching her house. Maybe somebody was onto her and they were waiting to make their move.

An email pings into my inbox. It’s another job rejection. It doesn’t make sense – my credentials are top-notch. I have great experience and I work at one of the best firms in the world. The recruiter is just as confused – he said he’s never seen somebody as experienced as me fail to get an interview at even one firm. People in this industry talk to each other, and somebody has been talking about me. It’s the only explanation.

My phone lights up with new messages from George.

George [13:41]: You need to check the news.

George [13:41]: There’s an article about Sara…

I google Sara’s name, hoping that the article in question will appear in the search. I see it straight away, posted six minutes ago.

PROMISING YOUNG LAWYER WAS PUSHED FROM CARREY & WATSONS’ ROOF TERRACE

A source inside the Met Police who wishes to remain anonymous has revealed that Sara O’Neil, the promising young lawyer who was in the news for jumping from the elite law firm’s roof terrace, did not commit suicide. New evidence has come to light suggesting that Sara was pushed. A murder inquiry is now underway as the police follow up leads relating to her death. A full statement from the police is expected imminently.

This is a breaking news story. Follow us on X for more updates as they happen.

It’s not the most reputable of newspapers that has reported the story but I notice that more than one news site has picked it up. It could just be gossip; after all, none of the big newspapers have reported it. Then again, Sara’s death probably isn’t newsworthy enough for them. I check X on my phone – it’s blocked on my work computer. Her name is trending. There are some outlandish conspiracy theorists claiming the company killed her because one of our clients is a drug lord. People love to make things up. Most are saying kind words – thinking of her family.

Julia. I wonder if she’s seen it. She must be broken – she was already struggling when I saw her yesterday, but having this confirmed might be more than she can deal with. I shoot her a text asking if she’s seen the news and if she’s okay. She doesn’t reply straightaway but I’m sure she has other things to think about.

There’s a small sense of relief as I realise that I’m no longer alone in thinking something suspicious happened to Sara. Now that this article is out, the police will be digging. I wonder how they came to this conclusion? Maybe they received the same videos I did. If somebody knew what was really going on with Sara, they could be working with the police to make sure she gets justice. Maybe Sara had some sort of contingency plan to send the police the same evidence she left me in the event of her death. Or maybe whoever pushed her didn’t cover their tracks very well. I should give the police what I have, to help their investigation, even the bracelet that George thinks will be no use as I took it from the roof. I need to work out a good answer to why I haven’t turned over everything already – I’m not sure Sara’s note will be a sufficient reason. The detective who interviewed me following her death gave me his card. I’ll have to try and find it.

‘Nat, have you seen this?’

She wheels her chair over to me, not bothering to stand up.

‘Scary, isn’t it?’ I say as she scans the article.

‘I don’t get why anyone would’ve wanted to hurt her.’

‘Me, neither.’

There’s a long pause and Nat doesn’t respond. She’s distracted.

‘Don’t you think it’s weird?’ I add.

‘I guess,’ she says, not looking at me. I notice she’s been picking her cuticles – her thumb is bleeding from where she’s pulled the skin off.

‘What’s going on?’

She sighs. ‘Sorry Cass, I’m just stressed. I’m worried my interview didn’t go well.’

I’d momentarily forgotten that Nat had her interview already.

‘They didn’t tell me when I’d hear. Who knows how many progress to the next stage?’ she continues.

‘What sort of questions did they ask?’ I say tentatively. She’s been tight-lipped about the details. I think she is wary of giving me an unfair advantage. After all, I am her direct competition.

‘Hmm…I don’t think I should talk about it. We’ve never really discussed the elephant in the room, have we? There’s only one opening, not two. And I’m sure they’ll decide they don’t need two lawyers from the same firm in the running. I really need this membership, Cass. You don’t, you’re set. I’m sure they’ll make you partner soon – but I’m not so sure about me. I’ve never been able to play the game like you can. I need help if I’m going to succeed.’

I want to tell Nat the truth, about my job, about how dangerous Inside is, I want to stop her from progressing with her application. But I worry that just knowing about Inside is enough to make someone a target. So instead I sit still with my mouth closed.

‘What’s meant to be, will be.’

‘Very Shakespearean of you.’

‘It felt right.’

‘Anyway, I’d best go. I’ve got a call with Spanish counsel. Text me after your interview, though?’

I nod and Nat leaves. I hope Inside doesn’t put a wedge between us but maybe it’s for the best if I keep Nat at arm’s length for her own safety if I’m putting myself in the crosshairs of powerful people. Now I understand why Sara never told me about Inside.

* * *

I get to Cannon Street Station and wait as I’ve been told to. I watch people go by, wondering if they’re the person I’m waiting for. I make eye contact and awkwardly smile at someone who looks like she’s about to approach me, but then she scowls and walks straight past.

I arrived early and I feel stupid, standing around, not knowing who I’m supposed to be meeting. It only serves to make me more nervous and put me on edge, but maybe that’s the point.

‘Cassandra Harlow?’

I spin on my heel in the direction of the voice. The woman in front of me looks younger than I imagined. She’s shorter than me, wearing thick-rimmed glasses, with her red hair in a tight bun.

‘That’s me.’

‘Do you want to follow me and I’ll take you to the interview?’

I obediently follow her like a dog. She leads me onto the main road but then takes a turn into a quiet side street. The streets are narrower here, not enough room for a car. Easily missed by unsuspecting passers-by.

‘So are you part of Inside?’ I ask.

‘No, I work on reception. I’m not a member.’

‘Oh, right.’ I don’t know how to respond. I can’t tell if that was a hint of disappointment in her voice. ‘Do you like working there?’

‘You ask more questions than people usually do.’ Her tone is blunt – it can’t be misinterpreted. ‘Just a word of advice – you won’t get very far if you ask too many.’

The woman stops in front of a narrow building at the end of the street. From the outside it looks like the other buildings nearby – although this is central London, so it’s still grand and imposing. Old architecture. The outside is white rather than brick. There are windows but they must have reflective coverings on them as you can’t see inside. There are also no signs on the outside to indicate what’s behind the front door. There’s a car outside and I notice it’s the same driver who took me to the mixer.

‘You know the drill,’ she says, opening the rear door. I climb inside, repeating the process of putting on the blindfold. I wait patiently until the car stops again and we get to our destination. I’m led into another building and the driver removes my blindfold. I don’t even know this man’s name and it’s not the first time I’ve been blindfolded in a car with him.

I open my eyes as the door slams behind me. In front of me is a hallway leading to an oval space with a double spiral staircase in the middle. Black and white chequered floor like a chessboard. There are numerous closed doors on both floors, all adorned with the ouroboros. A chandelier hangs in the middle, crystals dripping from its base like diamond tears.

The receptionist from earlier greets me. I’m not sure if she was in the car with us or followed behind.

‘You’ll be in Room Ten.’

She takes me up the stairs and opens a door to one of the rooms using a keycode.

‘Security is taken seriously here, isn’t it?’

‘Our members value their privacy. The keycodes change daily.’

‘Sounds like a nightmare.’

She shrugs. ‘Talia and Miranda will be along shortly. Take a seat.’

It’s the first time I’ve heard somebody openly admit that Talia and Miranda are part of Inside. Maybe now I’ve gotten past the first stage I’m allowed to know their identities. These will be the two women I saw in the photos that Sara took. The receptionist leaves me to it. The interior of the room isn’t what I was expecting. For one thing, the walls are painted dark green, and it looks more like somebody’s study than a networking space. There’s a blue velvet sofa in the corner, and a gold-plated side table next to it with an empty ice bucket and two champagne glasses. There’s a desk on the other side, which looks like it’s made of white marble, along with some filing cabinets. The whole room looks like somebody has bought an Oliver Bonas store and transported it here.

‘Cassandra Harlow?’

I turn and see Talia standing in front of me. Without her mask, she looks airbrushed, an air of sophistication surrounding her. Behind her, another woman enters. Her hair is long and blond, set in perfect waves. She’s wearing red lipstick that complements her pale complexion. She’s striking. She also looks like she could eat me alive.

‘I’m Miranda, co-founder of Inside.’ Miranda holds out her hand for me to shake but Talia does not. Instead her eyes explore me, looking me up and down. I’m not sure if she likes what she sees. I have a feeling they’re going to be playing good cop, bad cop. And it’s pretty clear who’s meant to be the bitch.

‘Do you want to pull that chair over and we’ll get started?’ Talia says, motioning towards the desk chair as she and Miranda settle onto the sofa. It seems an odd set-up to me. The desk chair is much higher than the sofa so I’m looking down at them, uncomfortably straining my neck. Maybe it’s an interview tactic.

‘Would you like a drink?’ asks Miranda.

‘Water would be great, thank you.’

‘Nothing stronger? We have a fully stocked bar here. I’m sure somebody can fetch you something. Our bartenders are very skilled.’

It sounds like she’s testing me. If I don’t get a drink, am I boring? But if I do get one, will they judge me as unprofessional? It’s hard to know the rules here.

‘It’s not a difficult question.’ Talia interjects.

‘Water is fine,’ I say, sheepishly.

Talia reaches into the mini fridge next to her feet and hands me a bottle of Voss water.

‘Okay, let’s get started, shall we? As you know, we’re looking for a new member to fill a place that recently became available.’ Talia exchanges looks with Miranda. ‘As you may imagine, we had a lot of interest. We always get in contact with people we are interested in targeting but word of mouth always works far better than we anticipate. We were overwhelmed with the response this year. We only invited maybe ten per cent of those who applied to the first mixer we hosted. From that mixer, we’ve invited about half to these interviews. You should know that you were one of the only people we hadn’t hand-picked before this process started who made it through,’ Talia says.

‘Inside is a special collective. We’re a team of like-minded women and our goal is to help women progress in their careers. We are incredibly selective about who we let into our world. We don’t want to become some sort of scandalised society and we aren’t somewhere for people who are fame-hungry. What we do only works if we operate on the edges of society. Think of us like an old boys’ network. People might hear rumours about us but nobody can pinpoint who actually belongs. If they could, then all credibility would vanish,’ Miranda says.

‘The point of this interview is for us to get to know each other. We’re a small group of women, so as well as needing you to add value to our current membership we also want to get to know you. So tell us, what should we know about Cassandra Harlow? Why should you be the next member of Inside?’ Talia asks.

I don’t know what I had expected them to ask, but it wasn’t anything as direct.

‘Well, I’m a senior associate at one of the top law firms in London. I’ve built up an impressive practice. My clients⁠—’

‘No, I don’t care about that. I know you’re impressive career-wise. What I want to know is what makes you different from everybody else we are interviewing? Everyone at this stage is impressive. What does Cassandra Harlow have that the rest of them don’t? What makes you tick? What gets you off?’ Talia says, a grin spreading across her face. She’s menacing and enjoying it. Miranda sits back, giving nothing away.

I stare blankly ahead. I used to pride myself on being good at interviews but I have no idea what they want.

‘What’s something nobody knows about you? Tell me a secret.’ Talia leans forward, her face inches from mine as if she’s about to kiss me.

‘I killed someone.’

Chapter Twenty-Two

I am the worst type of person. I panicked when they were asking me questions. I so badly needed to impress them, to be what they are looking for. I stole Nat’s story. I told them about Abbie, the one who died from an overdose. I used my friend’s pain and regret for my own advancement. I know I did it for a good reason – because I need to get into Inside so I can bring them down, not because I’m trying to get into Inside to make partner. This whole thing is bigger than just me but I still feel ashamed that I told a story that wasn’t mine to tell.

My phone rings.

‘Cassandra? It’s Jack from Law Talent.’

My recruiter. My notice period is up soon and I’ve not even so much as had an interview at another law firm. I’m quickly running out of time although my impending unemployment isn’t my biggest concern at the moment.

‘Any news?’ I ask, hoping the desperation isn’t obvious. Despite the dwindling importance of my job, I still need to keep up with my mortgage repayments.

‘Sort of. You remember the last time we spoke? I said how surprised I was that you weren’t even getting interviews? It didn’t make any sense to me, you’re well qualified, at a prestigious firm, usually people would be fighting over you but…’

‘But what?’

‘I think I’ve found out what’s going on. And I’m afraid it’s confirmed our suspicions. I sent your CV to Grant & Young. They aren’t quite the same level as Carrey & Watson but they still have a great reputation and I know that they’re recruiting for new M&A senior associates after a couple were poached by another firm. Anyway, I have a good friend in the M&A department there. We went to Harrow together.’ Of course you did. ‘I asked him why they didn’t interview you, explained that you were more than qualified for the job, and asked him to tell me as a friend.’

‘Did he tell you?’

‘It took a bit of coaxing and the promise I’d buy him an expensive bottle of whisky, but yes. Your name has been blacklisted.’

‘Hold on, what does that mean?’

‘It’s not common. I’ve only come across it once before. It happens when the partners ring around all their connections to let people know that somebody is a poisoned apple. Basically – they’ve told everyone not to hire you because you’re bad news. Word spreads quickly. Only happens when the person is leaving on bad terms. You told me you were leaving for a better opportunity, but was that the truth?’

Guilty as charged. ‘I was fired. It wasn’t my fault and there’s probably no point going into exactly what happened, but I’m on my notice period. That’s why I need to find a new job.’

He sighs. ‘I wish you’d have told me earlier, though, so I wasn’t on the back foot. Whatever they’ve said to people, it’s clearly worked. My friend said he would’ve hired you on the spot, but then somebody told him in no uncertain terms that he couldn’t interview you.’

‘This doesn’t sound legal to me.’

‘You’re the lawyer. But I doubt you’d be able to prove anything. These companies tend to defend each other.’

As I know all too well.

‘Well, thanks for letting me know.’

‘I’ll keep trying for you, but it might be a non-starter. You might want to consider a different industry. I won’t lie, this will be hard. Give it some thought. Or maybe take some time out. In a few months to a year people may have forgotten about it.’

We say goodbye and I hang up, feeling deflated. I’ve worked so long for this career. Three years studying law at university. A year afterwards doing the Legal Practice Course. Two years of training. Eight years of building up my practice. And one incident with a client – which was not my fault – and it’s all going to be destroyed.

As I contemplate my future, Nat storms into the office, slamming the door against the wall.

‘I need to talk to you.’ Her teeth are clenched, her jawline tight.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Not here. Follow me.’ She leads me to one of the meeting rooms and shuts the door.

‘How fucking dare you, Cassandra? I thought we were friends.’

‘Slow down. I don’t know what you’re on about.’

‘Oh, don’t play dumb. I just got sent this.’

She thrusts her phone into my hands. It’s unlocked and open on an email. It’s from a spam-seeming email address and has no subject. There are no words in the email, just one attachment. A video.

I click play and instantly know what this is. I stare back at myself wearing yesterday’s clothes in my interview with Talia and Miranda.

‘It happened when I was at university. I was at a festival during the summer. A group of us went and one of my friends brought his girlfriend. She was a couple of years younger than us and pretty naïve.’

I cringe as I listen to the words being played back to me and look at the fake emotion on my face.

‘Her name was Abbie. I found her irritating because I had a crush on her boyfriend and didn’t think he’d bring her – to be honest I thought their relationship was over. I wanted it to be the weekend where we finally got together after flirting for months. We were all into the party scene at the time and had brought party drugs into the festival. It was the first night and we were distributing the pills around the group and getting ready to drop them. Abbie was uneasy, said she didn’t want any part in it.’

‘So what happened?’ Talia can be heard asking.

‘I pressured her. Told her if she wanted to be part of the group she needed to join in. Her boyfriend tried to defend her but I could tell she didn’t want to feel left out. So she took the pills. I thought she might get really high and act stupid and it would be funny but…but that isn’t what happened.’

‘What happened?

‘The pills didn’t seem to be having much of an effect, or that’s what I thought in my altered mental state. I convinced her she needed to take more. Practically forced them down her throat. I pretended to do them with her but I secretly spat them out.’

‘How was Abbie after she took more pills?’

‘She was a mess. Then a couple of hours later she was gone. She’d overdosed. I didn’t even notice until one of my friends dragged me out of the crowd to tell me. It was all my fault. She didn’t want to take the pills but I forced her.’

I can’t watch anymore. I switch off the video and hand the phone back to Nat. I can’t meet her eyes, instead staring at the ground. Who took this video? And how did they know that it was Nat’s story? Unless she already told them in her interview. They must have been loving it if so, knowing what I was doing, the lies I was spinning.

‘I’m sorry, Nat. I panicked and I didn’t know what to say.’

‘You’re sorry? You told them about Abbie! You used a traumatic experience of mine and claimed it as your own, and for what, to get ahead in your career? I thought we were friends, Cass, real friends. I have always been there for you. I knew you were ambitious but how could you do this to me? It’s wrong on so many levels.’

It wouldn’t take much to work out that Abbie’s boyfriend was a student at Bristol University, just like Nat. Her death was in the news. They’d have uncovered my lie with ease.

‘Nat, I’m sorry. I really really am. But I had a good reason for it.’

‘What? Because you want to make partner so desperately? Newsflash, I want that, too, but it doesn’t mean I would stab people in the back to get there.’

I need to tell her the truth. ‘No, it’s not that. I found out some things about Inside. They’re bad people. I think they had something to do with Sara’s death and I was⁠—’

‘No, don’t even try with this. You’re just trying to cover your tracks by making up ludicrous stories. You’re upset you got found out. I’m guessing Inside sent this to me so they know that you lied and that’ll be it for you. Don’t try to ruin this for me. You’re just jealous because for once I’m the shining star.’

‘Nat, please.’ I grab her arm.

‘I’m going to request an office move. I can’t face being stuck with you.’

She leaves and I don’t go after her. I stand there trying to process what has just happened but it’s too much to take in. I’ve destroyed my friendship with Nat. It’s going to be hard to win her trust back but I need to make her understand why I did what I did, why I had to lie. But if Inside sent her the video, which seems the only logical explanation, then my chances of getting in are over and I will never get justice for Sara. I’ve fucked it all up.

Chapter Twenty-Three

If Nat requested a move, her request hasn’t been granted, because she’s been in the office with me all day. She hasn’t said a word to me but I can feel her rage by the way she stabs at the keys on her keyboard. She slams her coffee mug on the table each time she takes a sip.

I need to speak to her. I can’t let things fester or they’ll be impossible to fix. I’d built up the courage to approach her but she left, and she’s been gone for the past thirty minutes. I checked her Outlook calendar but she’s not in any meetings so I have no idea where she’s gone. When she comes back she gives me a dirty look and somehow seems even angrier than before. Henry disappears, telling me he has a training session. I use the chance to speak to Nat.

‘Nat, we need to talk. I can explain everything.’

‘Are you really going to keep lying to me?’

I narrow my eyes. ‘I’m not lying. You need to listen to me. I have proof about Inside. Just let me show you and it will all make sense.’

‘You’re unbelievable.’ She rubs her face with her hands. She’s trying to contain her anger because our offices are glass, and there’s a ready-made audience of secretaries the other side of the door.

‘Nat, I⁠—’

‘When the fuck were you going to tell me you lost your job?’

She knows. How does she know? I should’ve told her right away, at least then she would’ve been on my side, but now this is more evidence of how I’ve deceived her. The timing is terrible.

‘How did you find out?’

‘One of the partners. Made a snide comment about how I’d function without having you in the office. I almost didn’t believe him, but then he told me you lost your job. Right around the time the applications for Inside opened, funnily enough. And then I twigged, that’s why you’ve been so weird about this whole thing. And it explains why you pretended Abbie’s death was your darkest secret.’

‘I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, I couldn’t even admit it to myself at first, let alone tell anybody else what happened.’

‘And the worst part is that I almost started to feel sorry for you, and thought maybe I could understand why you did what you did. But then he told me the reason why.’

I’m surprised whoever it was told Nat why I was fired. It only makes the firm look bad, and I know Nat would never agree with them.

‘Why would you do that? What happened to the Cass that I know?’ Nat says.

‘What do you mean? Surely you understand? You’d have acted the same in my place surely?’

‘No, I bloody wouldn’t,’ Nat says slightly too loudly, before realising where we are.

The secretaries are staring. ‘Let’s go outside,’ she says.

We find a spot where we won’t be overheard.

‘So, you think the firm is in the right?’ I ask, shocked by her anger.

‘Of course I do. Honestly, Cass, you deserve to be fired. No, you deserve to be disqualified and possibly brought up on criminal charges.’

It stings. I’ve known Nat for so long and can’t believe she’s acting like this.

‘You can’t mean that, Nat.’

‘Stealing money from clients? How messed up can you be that you think that’s okay? I can’t believe how low you’ve sunk. I know you like the finer things in life, but I didn’t have you down as a thief. Don’t they pay us more than enough?’

Those liars. Those fucking liars. Of course they told Nat lies about why I’m being let go. It’s probably the same lie they spread around all the other firms. Stealing money from clients is unforgivable. And not just a sackable offence – it can get you permanently struck off the roll of solicitors by the Solicitors Regulation Authority. Another insurance policy to make sure I don’t talk. If I try to, if I go to the press or try to take them to court, they’ll tell everyone I swindled client money. It’s me against them, and they have far more power and resources than I do. I’ve never inappropriately used client money, but I’m sure they’d have no problem faking the evidence to make it look like I did.

‘They’re lying to you, Nat. I didn’t do that, you know I wouldn’t. They fired me because⁠—’

‘You’re the only person who has lied to me, Cass. What other secrets are you hiding from me?’

‘No, no. I did lie, but not about why I was fired. It was because of that client, you know, Sebastian? He got too hands-on with me at that lunch, touched me inappropriately. When I reported it, they fired me.’ I touch her arm, hoping to calm her down, but instead she moves away. ‘You remember, right, you remember I told you what he did and how upset I was?’

She must know it’s not true, what they’ve said. If I’d been found stealing client money there’s no way I’d be working my notice period. They’d have terminated my contract immediately.

‘Funny you mention Sebastian. Apparently that’s the client who discovered you were stealing from him, and he decided to do you a favour by letting the firm deal with it internally instead of taking it any further.’

Tears spill down my cheeks. I can’t believe the words spewing out of Nat’s mouth. I can’t believe that she thinks I’m capable of something so dishonest. They’ve managed to turn my own best friend against me but then I already loaded the gun for them; they just pulled the trigger.

‘I didn’t do it, Nat. You have to believe me.’

‘I don’t. I can never trust a word you say ever again.’

She walks away, leaving me standing in the alley, alone. I slide down the wall, collapsing into myself. What would I believe in Nat’s position? The worst part is that I think Nat knows I’m telling the truth, but she won’t go against Carrey & Watson. Because she knows that if they’d do it to me, they’d do it to her.

They’ve won.

Chapter Twenty-Four

This couldn’t get any worse. How am I going to come back from this? Things have turned so quickly. I had everything and now I have nothing. Well, almost nothing. At least I have George, somebody who understands me. I messaged him earlier asking him to stay over tonight because I need somebody to hug me whilst I sob about the fact my life has fallen apart in a matter of months.

I wish I had a way to prove to Nat what actually happened when I was fired, but it really is my word against theirs. I have no proof. I thought she knew me, and that she would know I’d never do what I’m being accused of. Part of me hopes that she knows the truth, but she’s too scared to admit it. And if I can’t persuade her to forgive me about lying to her about being fired, then I have no hope convincing her about Inside.

I try to think what I’d do in the same situation – well, what I would have done. Would I put my friendship with Nat over my career with the firm? Because even if Nat lets herself believe me, where does she go from there? It’s not like she’s going to quit her job to support me – and I’d never expect her to do that. Even if she told me she believes me, she will still have to continue to work for the people who lied to her face and slandered her friend. And I think that is too much for her to handle. I can’t blame her for choosing to remain blissfully ignorant.

It hits 6 p.m. I grab my bag and coat and head to the exit. George and I are going to a wine bar near Liverpool Street. I could use a drink after how today has gone. I haven’t been honest about my situation with George – he still doesn’t know about me being fired. We’ve shared so much since we met and I need to open up to him about this final secret. I’ve learned the hard way that hiding things only ends badly. In a couple of weeks, I’ll no longer have a job, no longer be a lawyer. It’s almost laughable. The elites of this country can have affairs, can commit crime, and yet somehow their jobs are never ripped from them like mine was from me. It’s a cruel joke.

I take out my phone to text George when I collide with someone.

‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t look where I was going,’ I say, looking up and realising that the person I’ve bumped into is Nat. She’s dressed up. She’s wearing black heels with a figure-hugging emerald-green dress. Bare legs. Gone is her work bag, replaced with a YSL clutch.

She doesn’t answer, instead walking away from me towards the lifts. I follow her. She can’t avoid me if we’re in a lift together, and I know she won’t take the stairs in heels – we’re too many floors up. Nat presses the button for the lift and taps her foot impatiently, refusing to make eye contact with me. When the lift arrives we both get in.

‘You look good. Where are you going?’ I say.

She doesn’t answer.

‘Are you really going to just ignore me? Nat, we’ve been friends for years. You know me. You know I didn’t do what they said.’

She sighs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I don’t have time to deal with this right now.’

‘Well, maybe tomorrow we can go for lunch or something? Or a drink? I need to explain everything to you.’

She doesn’t respond. She stares blankly ahead and it feels as if I’m in the lift with a stranger rather than my best friend.

The lift stops as we reach the ground floor and the door opens. Nat walks out ahead of me but turns back. ‘I just need some space at the moment.’

Our eyes meet and I can tell she’s trying to hold back the tears. Nat has never been very good at hiding her emotions, especially from me.

‘Nat, come on, you need to hear me out.’

‘You know what, I was going to try and be the bigger person in all this, but screw it. You want to know where I’m going? I’m off to Inside. I got through to the next round and I’m guessing by your outfit you didn’t. Your lies didn’t pay off, did they?’

Her words are the final nail in the metaphorical coffin that I feel trapped inside. She’s confirmed that it really was for nothing because Inside don’t want me. The rejection stings but the truth of where that leaves me hurts even more. I let Nat go, not chasing her or trying to convince her of my innocence anymore. Trying to talk to her now would do more harm than good. I want to stop her, worried about the danger she’s in by associating with Inside, but she won’t listen to me. Nat can be stubborn, and given how much she hates me right now, me telling her not to go will have no effect.

‘Trouble in paradise?’

I glance in the direction of the voice and see Stephen’s smug face. I have to use all my energy to restrain myself from hitting him with the mood I’m in. It’s what he wants. He deserves it, of course, because he’s the cause of all of this, but if I go there, there will be indisputable proof that I’m not fit to be a lawyer. And I won’t give him the satisfaction of the final wound to my career.

I walk away, not wanting to show him I care.

‘Maybe if you weren’t so insistent on making things up, Cassandra, things would’ve been different. You had so much promise. If only you’d learned your place.’

I inhale deeply. I tell myself to keep walking but I can hear Stephen’s footsteps behind me.

‘It’s not too late, you know,’ he calls.

I stop. I hate myself but I’m curious. I have to know what he means. I know he’s not going to hire me and restore my name, not without some sort of catch. At the moment, though, things feel so hopeless that I’m willing to consider whatever he has to say.

‘You wouldn’t have to leave. And I could tell your best friend that the reports of you stealing from clients were a mistake. It would be like nothing ever happened.’

‘What’s the catch?’ I say.

Stephen motions me to follow him outside. He must be concerned somebody might see us or overhear whatever scandalous thing he is about to say.

‘The partners have been discussing your situation, and it seems perhaps you have a certain talent that the rest of us lack. One that perhaps we could utilise.’

I cross my arms. ‘Stop speaking in code. What do you want?’

‘Sebastian was angry about the situation at first, but he’s told me he’d be willing to forgive you if you admitted that it was just a misunderstanding.’

I grit my teeth. ‘You want me to admit to Sebastian I was wrong about him sexually assaulting me? I do that and I can come back?’

I hate myself for considering it; it goes against everything I stand for, my morals, my ethics, but I have to admit it sounds like a small price to pay for making it all go away. For restoring my life. It might be my only option to save my career, my house, my lifestyle. All it would mean is setting feminism back a few decades.

‘Not quite.’

Of course. It wouldn’t be that easy. I brace myself for what he’s about to say.

‘Sebastian and I talked it over, and he said there could be some use in sending you on secondment to his new company, Medius Ltd.’

Secondment. I would still be employed by Carrey & Watson but I wouldn’t be working here. I’d be working for Sebastian at his offices.

‘For how long?’

‘Well, the standard six months at first.’ Secondments were usually only six months. Six months of working for that vile man and then I could come back to the firm. Maybe I could stomach it.

‘Would I be working with Sebastian?’

There’s surely other people at the company. If I wouldn’t be working with him, maybe I could do it.

‘Oh, I’d say you’d be working directly under Sebastian.’ He grins. ‘A very close relationship would be needed. Sebastian tells me he wants a personal relationship with you.’

My lip starts to quiver.

‘Think about it, Cassandra. It’s either that or, well, you know the other option. Are you ready to give all this up? What’s this worth to you?’ he says motioning towards our plush glass office.

‘Oh, and Cassandra,’ he says, leaning in close. I can smell garlic on his breath and it turns my stomach. ‘If you do decide to go through with this, next time Sebastian wants something, fucking give it to him, okay?’

George is calling. I said I was leaving fifteen minutes ago. He must be wondering where I am. I take out my phone, hands shaking, and type a barely comprehensible message to George telling him I got held up at work and won’t be long. I can’t call him right now; I won’t be able to disguise the hurt in my voice.

I compose myself, but my eyes sting from the tears I refuse to let out, and my stomach aches as I think about Stephen’s offer. He’s offering me my job back if I whore myself out for the firm. I can’t believe he even had the audacity to say it. The worst part is how easy it was for him. It makes me think it isn’t the first time he’s made the same offer. How many other female lawyers at Carrey & Watson have been offered promotions and coveted roles for ‘one little favour’?

I get to the wine bar and follow the winding stairs down to the cellar. It’s dimly lit, except for neon signs with quotes like ‘It’s wine o’clock’ and ‘Why whine when you can wine’. I see George in the corner. He’s already got me a glass of red.

‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ I say, flinging my bag to the floor and swinging my legs over the stool.

‘Not to worry.’

‘Busy day?’

‘Yeah, work never stops.’

I take a sip of wine and feel my body relax. I’m still on edge but being in George’s company makes me feel better. Safer. There’s something about his smile; it makes me feel like I’m in primary school, having my first schoolgirl crush on a boy in my class. I haven’t felt this way about anyone for years. It’s only now that I’m allowing myself to feel this way about someone, after years of keeping my guard up.

‘Cass, what’s wrong?’

I’m trying so hard not to cry while we’re in public but I can’t hold back the tears. Any moment now I’m going to start crying.

‘Let’s get out of here. I’ll get us an Uber back to my flat.’

I’m grateful for George sweeping in and stopping me making a scene. He hands me a tissue from his pocket and I manage to sob quietly into his shoulder during the journey home. Once we get into the safety of his flat I throw myself onto his sofa and let the emotion out.

He hugs me close.

‘What happened?’

‘Everything. Everything has gone wrong.’ My words are barely comprehensible through my cries.

‘Start from the beginning.’

So I tell him everything, even though I’m worried I’m going to lose him. I tell him about how I lost my job and how I lied about it, how Nat found out but somebody twisted the truth. How I’m not going to get into Inside to get justice for Sara because I was caught in a web of deceit. As I finish my story I prepare for him to walk away, to tell me that he doesn’t want to be with me anymore because I’m a fraud.

‘What can I do to make it better?’

‘You’re not mad at me?’ I say, looking up at him, his face comforting as he smiles.

‘I could never be mad at you, Cass. What you did wasn’t the wisest thing but you’re not to blame. Your boss sounds like a complete prick and as for that client, he’s scum. You shouldn’t feel bad about what happened. And as for lying to Nat, I get it. Those places are toxic and intimidating, you never know what they’ll do to you if they find out you’re besmirching their name. I’m not surprised you hid it from everyone.’

He kisses me on the forehead.

‘And as for Inside, Nat might not understand but you lied for a reason. You were trying to get further in the process to help find out the truth for Sara. That’s an admirable thing. You were so willing to put yourself in danger to find out what happened to her. Other people would’ve run once they found out what kind of society it is.’

‘But what do we do now? I’ve lost my job and my friendship with Nat, and Sara is still gone.’

He doesn’t respond but instead he leans in to kiss me. My skin is electrified, a current shooting through my nerve endings.

He pulls back, leaving me wanting more. I grab his face with my both hands and pull him closer towards me, lying back onto the sofa.

* * *

The last few hours have blurred into one. My emotions are disjointed – I’ve been so happy about the last few hours I’ve spent with George, but I’m still upset about everything that happened. George sleeps soundly beside me. I can see his chest rising and falling slowly with each breath. I can’t sleep, there are too many things running through my mind. It’s reached the point where it’s useless trying so I give up. I may as well do something productive and avoid waking George with my restless energy.

I sneak out of bed and tiptoe into the kitchen to where I discarded my bag and coat in a heap. I search inside for my phone. I didn’t even check it after we left the bar, I was too wrapped up in George. I pull it out. Something’s wrong.

Twelve missed calls.

From Nat. The last missed call was over an hour ago. It’s 2 a.m. I’m not sure whether calling her right now is a good idea in case she’s asleep. I hesitate, but something must be up for her to call that many times, especially after she told me she wanted space.

‘You have reached the EE voicemail…’

Straight to voicemail; it doesn’t even ring. I try it again, even though I know the result will be the same.

I check WhatsApp. She’s left me a voice note. I close the door behind me so I don’t wake George. I turn the volume up to maximum and press play.

‘Cass, please ring me back when you get this. I’ve just heard something I shouldn’t have. You were right. I don’t know what to do. I think⁠—’

The audio ends abruptly. Her voice is high-pitched, fast. This was sent after the last missed call. I replay it again, pressing my ear against the speaker to see if there’s something I missed. I replay it several times. There’s some sort of noise as the audio cuts off, but I can’t tell what it is. Some sort of thud. I message Nat.

Cass [02:12]: Nat, you okay? Just got this. Call me if you need. Phone on loud. Xx

Only one tick appears, showing that the message hasn’t been delivered. Her phone must be turned off or she’s got no internet.

I bite my nails as I wait to see if Nat calls, but the message stays undelivered. Within minutes my nails are a bloody mess, painful and raw. Nat should have messaged back by now. She’s a lawyer; she always has her phone on loud even when she’s asleep. And after our argument she wouldn’t have called me unless she was desperate. Unless she had no other choice.

Something has happened.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I still can’t get through to Nat. I run into the bedroom and shake George awake, accidentally bashing his skull against the headboard.

‘George, wake up!’

‘Ouch, Jesus, Cass, what’s going on?’ he says, rubbing the back of his head, squinting as he looks up at me.

‘Something has happened to Nat.’

‘What happened? When?’

‘I got a weird voice message from her. And now her phone is off. I know something is wrong, I can feel it.’

‘Okay, give me a second.’

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, rubs his eyes and slowly stands up.

‘I’m going to need coffee,’ he says, walking towards the kitchen. He puts a capsule in the coffee machine. I notice he’s chosen the strongest blend. ‘What is going on?’

‘I couldn’t sleep. I came into the kitchen to avoid disturbing you and checked my phone. Nat had left me a voice note and called me a bunch of times which I thought was weird because of how we left things. I listened to the voice note and it worried me so I tried to call her back …and…and…I can’t get hold of her.’ My fingernail snaps between my teeth as I tear it.

‘Play it for me.’

I’ve listened to it so many times I can practically recite it off by heart, a horrific song I know all the lyrics to. I wish she’d finished her sentence. I can only think that the reason she didn’t was because somebody stopped her.

‘Play it again.’

I do so and watch as his brow furrows.

‘I can see why you’re worried but let’s not panic yet. Where was she when she left the message? Maybe she’s asleep? It is still early.’ George nods towards the dark sky through the kitchen windows.

‘She was at some event for Inside. Remember I said that’s how I knew I hadn’t gotten any further? She didn’t tell me where it was so I have no idea.’

George takes a seat at the breakfast bar. I can’t sit, all I can do is pace.

‘Okay, so it could be a drunken message. Maybe she thought she saw something and overreacted, you know how everything seems like a bigger deal when you’re drunk. Maybe her phone died and she’s just sleeping.’

‘Given what we know about Inside though…’ I’m not convinced by George’s words – he’s just trying to make me feel better. I’m not sure he’s convinced either. We’ve seen the evidence Sara gathered – how she was taking photos and working out who Inside were dealing with. and those threats to her and her family; we know Inside isn’t an innocent networking society. There’s something sinister to it.

‘If we are thinking worst-case scenario here, then perhaps she did stumble onto something. And perhaps somebody stopped her from telling you…in which case she could be in danger. She could have been threatened just like Sara was.’

‘Or worse. She could be dead.’

‘Let’s not think like that.’

‘What about Sara? They killed her.’

He doesn’t say anything because he knows there is nothing to say. We know what we think happened to Sara. We know what that probably means for Nat.

The tears arrive dramatically. I scrunch up my face as the sobs overwhelm me and there are tears and snot covering my face. I should’ve stopped Nat going, not cared about whether she believed me or not. I should’ve done everything in my power to stop her. She might not have believed me but I let her go to Inside none the wiser, like a lamb to the slaughter. It’s all my fault.

George puts his arms around me and I can feel his T-shirt dampen as I bury my head in his chest.

‘I need to go to the police. I know we didn’t with the evidence from Sara but we have to about this.’

George nods.

I ring the emergency number asking for the police. I’m put through to the call centre and a young man with a strong Geordie accent answers.

‘How old did you say your friend is?’

’Thirty-two.’

‘And is she vulnerable?’

‘Vulnerable?’

‘As in, is she unable to care for herself? Does she usually have carers or some sort of care plan in place?

‘Oh, no, nothing like that.’

‘And you’re worried about her because she left a worrying message and won’t answer the phone.’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m afraid this isn’t what we’d consider an emergency. If she’s not a minor and she’s not vulnerable we can’t class it as an emergency because she’s not answering her phone at 2 a.m.’

I don’t like his tone.

‘You don’t understand. There’s other reasons why I’m so worried but it’s hard to explain over the phone.’

‘I’m sorry but it’s not classed as an emergency. If you are worried you can go to your local police station or call the non-emergency number for assistance. Thank you for your call.’

The line goes dead.

‘He cut me off! Can the emergency services even do that?’ I launch the phone at the floor.

George shrugs. ‘I suppose they can as I’m sure they get people wasting their time.’ I shoot him a look. ‘Not that you were wasting their time. I didn’t mean that.’

‘What do I do now?’

‘Is there anyone else you can call?’

‘Not that I can think of.’

‘I hate to say this, but it might be a case of waiting to see if she comes into work tomorrow. Hopefully she does and this thing will be a big misunderstanding. If she doesn’t that would be grounds that she’s missing and then maybe the police will take it seriously.’

I don’t seem to have any other option.

* * *

My alarm goes off. I must have fallen asleep on the sofa. George went back to bed but I wanted to stay downstairs in case Nat turned up. I feel like I’ve got a rotten hangover, but it’s just the lack of sleep and stress. I scamper to the bathroom and take a cold shower to wake myself up. I wash my face and apply concealer to cover up the dark circles under my eyes. At least if I go into the office I’ll be able to see if Nat is in. If she is, then I’ll know that she’s okay and I can ask her what’s going on. If she’s not in, well, then I can decide whether to call the police. They have to take me seriously then.

I nip into Starbucks on the way to work to grab another coffee. I have no idea if there’s a limit on how much caffeine you are supposed to drink in twenty-four hours but my mind is too scrambled to even work out how much I’ve had.

I get to my desk. Nat isn’t in. But it’s still early, it doesn’t mean anything. I hang around near the printer, pretending to staple documents so I can keep an eye on the entrance. I can’t see it from where I sit. Somebody comes over to use the printer and I leave – I can’t stay here forever. As I arrive back at my desk, Henry is there packing up his belongings.

‘What are you doing?’

‘HR told me I’m no longer your assigned trainee,’ he says, with a note of what sounds like glee. ‘I’m going to be sharing an office with Andrew instead.’

I grit my teeth. Andrew, who is said to be made partner over people like Nat and Alexa. Andrew who also happens to the nephew of the man who was Stephen’s best man, who went to Stowe with him and was co-captain of the same rugby team. It seems an odd detail for me to know, except that Andrew has brought it up multiple times – as if being born into a certain family and having certain connections is a bragging right.

‘Well, thanks for your help,’ Henry says. ‘I’ve got my laptop but maintenance says they’ll deal with moving the rest of the stuff over.’

‘I’m sure you’ll learn a lot from Andrew.’ My tone is riddled with sarcasm.

‘Oh, I’m sure. I’m excited to work with someone good enough to make partner.’

He leaves before I can respond. I wonder if he meant those words the way they sounded to me. He probably did – people like Henry never worry about the consequences of what they say and do, because they never seem to apply to them.

I would work, as a distraction, but I have nothing to do. My inbox isn’t particularly exciting. HR did in fact send me an email telling me that Henry would be moving offices ‘as part of a reorganisation’. There’s an email from one of the secretaries asking if anybody has seen a misplaced deed, and details of a training session on what the rise in inflation means for business.

It gets to 10.30 a.m. I message George.

Cass [10:32]: Nat isn’t in yet…

George [10:39]: Maybe she had a breakfast meeting or doctor’s appointment?

I check Nat’s calendar to see if there’s a reason why she wouldn’t be here. Nothing. My messages to her still aren’t delivering.

There’s a knock at the door. My heart falls when I realise it isn’t Nat but Andrew standing in the doorway. He’s so tall he almost has to duck to enter. He’s wearing his suit jacket and tie, even though most men don’t wear a jacket unless they are in client meetings. I don’t know why, but his wearing it irritates me; it’s as if he likes to prove he’s better than us by dressing less casually. He shoves his hands in his pockets.

‘You got a second?’

‘Take a seat. Henry’s is free.’

The irony of what I’ve just said is lost on him. He shuts the door and sits down, leaning back on the chair so far I’m concerned it will topple over. Although, maybe not that concerned.

‘I assume you’ve been told about Henry being reassigned to me.’

‘I’m aware. I’m sure you two will get along just fine. You have a lot in common.’ I don’t specify that I mean a narcissistic personality.

‘HR told me that if I’m going to take the next step in my career, then I need some experience supervising trainees. I hope there’s no hard feelings. I know you’re more senior than I am, but sometimes it’s not just about experience, it’s about the full package.’

‘And what exactly do you have that makes you the full package, Andrew?’ I glare at him, leaning across the desk. ‘That is, other than the obvious package you have that I don’t.’

‘You’re funny, Cass. You never take any shit, I’ve always liked that about you.’

‘Is there an actual reason you are here? Because if not, I do have stuff to be getting on with.’

‘Yeah, I have a question for you.’

‘Go on.’

‘What going on with you? I’ve heard some things…’

‘Saying what?’

‘That you were let go. I haven’t heard anything specific, but hints have been dropped that you won’t be around much longer. I must say, I was surprised you’re not making partner, so I thought maybe that was why.’

I suck the inside of my cheeks. ‘The rumours are just that, rumours. I wouldn’t read too much into them. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’

I turn back to my computer, pretending to work. Andrew takes the hint and leaves.

* * *

I jump out of my seat when I see Nat hurrying down the corridor. I don’t want to ambush her but I need to know what the calls were about, even if at least I know she’s okay now. I message George; he’s been as worried as I have so I know he’ll appreciate the update.

Nat’s appearance takes me aback. She usually looks immaculate. The classic brands – she loves Reiss and Whistles. A timeless white blouse is her staple. She has the ultimate ‘clean girl’ aesthetic that’s so popular these days. Today she’s wearing a dress that I’m pretty sure she’s got on backwards. Her hair is tangled and matted. And there’s a bruise under her eye. Not quite a black eye, but I think she’s tried to cover it up and has done a bad job of it – the concealer is caking and doesn’t quite match her skin tone.

‘Nat, you look…’

‘I can’t talk right now. I’m busy.’

‘No, no. We’re not doing that. I don’t care if you’re still pissed at me from yesterday, you have to tell me why you left me that voice note in the middle of the night. And all the missed calls.’

‘I was drunk. No big deal.’

‘You don’t drink.’

‘Well I did yesterday, okay?’

‘No. You can’t brush me off. What happened? Did…did you find something at Inside?’

She remains silent.

‘I told you, they’re bad news. They are into some really dodgy stuff. I think they’re associated with criminal gangs. I don’t know the ins and outs of it but I think Sara was investigating them and then they killed her to shut her up. We can go to the police together. I’ll come with you.’

‘You sound crazy. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Honestly, I don’t even remember calling you.’

‘So, you didn’t see something that scared you? No one hurt you?’

‘No. I’m fine, like I said, just drunk.’

‘Then why didn’t you pick up when I called you? Why didn’t you answer my messages?’

‘Lost my phone.’

‘I don’t believe anything you’ve said. What happened to your eye?’

‘Walked into a lamppost.’

‘You expect me to believe that? How stupid do you think I am?’

She shrugs. ‘I don’t really care if you believe me or not.’

She’s lying. I know her too well and she knows she can’t fool me, but I also know that I won’t get any more out of her like this, I need to try a different tactic. It’s then I notice she hasn’t stopped pressing her nails into her palms during our conversation. I can see the blood start to trickle down her wrist where she’s pierced the skin.

She’s terrified.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Nat left and hasn’t come back. I’ve been messaging George constantly, asking him what I should do, if I should go looking for her, if I need to call the police again. He said there won’t be much they can do if Nat says nothing happened.

There’s another knock on my office door. It’s Alexa. She’s the only lawyer I know who wears her waist-length blonde hair in a high ponytail, more Ariana Grande than lawyer. She gets away with it, though, because she’s good at her job. That and the fact she doesn’t take any nonsense. It makes her a good advocate on behalf of her clients, but she’s horrible to work with. Thankfully, our paths don’t cross often.

‘Alexa. Haven’t seen you in a while.’ Alexa tends to be around during the night, working into the early hours to impress the partners. My new-found freedom has meant I’ve been less nocturnal than I once was.

‘Yes. You used to burn the midnight oil as much as me but recently you’ve been slacking.’ She takes a seat in Henry’s recently vacated chair. ‘Don’t think I’ve not noticed you swanning out of here early every night. Not the way to impress people, but I’m sure you know that.’

‘You know what it’s like, Alexa, even busy lawyers like us get down periods. I just closed two big deals so I’m making the most of it before it picks up again.’

‘Funny, didn’t see anything announced,’ Alexa says, playing with her ponytail.

The firm usually sends around a monthly email of all the deals that have closed that month, with some information about the value and also who worked on them.

‘Super confidential. I’m sure they’ll be announced soon.’

‘Anyway, I didn’t come in to talk about you.’

‘Oh?’ I say, surprised.

‘It’s about Nat. Is something going on with her?’

Alexa doesn’t particularly know Nat. She has even less to do with her than she does with me. So if she’s noticed something going on, that just proves I’m right.

‘What do you mean?’ I feign ignorance.

‘I just saw her in the ladies’ toilets. She wasn’t like herself. She was reserved. Wouldn’t look me in the eye. And she has this massive bruise on her face. And when she washed her hands, she rolled up her sleeves and I noticed more bruises on her arm. Bad ones.’

I don’t know how much to reveal about Nat, but if she really is in trouble, it doesn’t hurt to have other people at the firm looking out for her.

‘I noticed that, too. I’m not really sure. She’s been distant lately.’

‘She said something else, too.’

‘What?’

‘I started talking to her about Andrew, about how he’s going to be made partner for having a dick and how unfair it is. I thought she’d be in agreement but she shrugged it off. And then she said that she’d be leaving this place soon so it wasn’t her problem.’

‘Leaving?’

‘I was surprised but she said I should be grateful there’s less competition and then she left… So this is news to you, too?’

I nod. ‘Nat never mentioned anything about leaving. Are you sure that’s what she meant?’

‘Crystal clear. Have you not noticed she’s taken all her personal stuff from this office? I saw her carrying it out when you weren’t at your desk.’

Now I look around I spot Nat’s favourite coffee mug is missing, and the several cardigans she keeps on the back on her chair, because she’s always too cold, have vanished. The assortment of heels under her desk that she keeps for client meetings have also disappeared. I check the wardrobe next to her desk; all her dresses and blazers have been taken.

‘You really didn’t know? Aren’t you best friends? Seems like something she would’ve told you.’

Yes it does. How could Nat just leave without telling me? Why would she leave in such a hurry? The only explanation is that she had to get away.

‘Nat’s single, isn’t she?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘Of course, married to the job. Just wondered if maybe she wants to leave because she wanted to start a family or something, that’s the usual reason. Must be something else.’ Alexa turns away and stares into the distance.

‘What is it?’ I ask. She’s clearly thinking about something.

‘Nothing, nothing. She just reminds me of Sara.’

It’s not what I expected her to say.

‘I had a similar interaction with her just before she died. Not that it means anything. It’s not like Nat and Sara had anything in common. They’re such different people.’

Except Alexa doesn’t know that Nat and Sara do have one very big thing in common.

‘What do you mean about Sara?’

‘She was like Nat is, withdrawn, didn’t want to make any conversation with me.’

‘When was this?’

‘The morning she died. I went into her office to ask for her advice on something and she slammed the door in my face and said she couldn’t talk.’

‘You never mentioned it.’

She shrugs. ‘I told the police but at that point everyone thought she’d jumped and I just put it down to her being depressed. But now I think about it, I’d noticed bruises on Sara before, too.’

‘What kind of bruises?’

‘On her wrists. I remember thinking it looked like she’d been tied up and I guessed she’d been seeing someone new. I never figured her for the kinky type so I tried to pry and she told me to mind my own business…Wait, you don’t think that…the news said she was murdered. You don’t think the bruises were linked to her death, right? Do you think I should’ve told the police?’

‘I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,’ I say, but neither of us believe it.

* * *

‘How did Nat seem?’ They’re the first words out of George’s mouth when I open the door. Nat never came back to the office today.

‘Odd. She said she only left the message because she was drunk, and not to read into it.’

‘Did you believe her?’ George takes his shoes off and hangs his coat up. He follows me into the kitchen and sits down.

‘Not at all. Nat doesn’t drink. She was acting weird, too. And her face was bruised. I feel like she got into some trouble last night, but for some reason she doesn’t want to tell me. She also seems to have left the firm out of the blue, taken all her stuff with her. Did it while I was out. Didn’t even tell me.’

‘Do you think they threatened her?’

‘I don’t know. Do you?’

‘It’s a possibility. If she saw or heard something she wasn’t supposed to.’

‘This woman at work said something interesting today: she saw bruises on Sara’s wrists not long before she died. I just wish I could get Nat to talk to me. If she did see something, I could help her. She could fill in some of the blanks in Sara’s evidence.’

‘Maybe she’s protecting you. Maybe she’s scared. If only you were still a contender for the membership spot, it’d be easier to find out what’s going on,’ George says, leaning back in his chair and exhaling.

If only.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Nat hasn’t been in the office for five days. I’ve texted her but she’s not responded; my messages are delivered but left unread. She’s disappeared.

‘Hey, Rita, do you know what’s up with Nat?’ I ask as I pass her desk.

She knows Nat’s schedule better than anyone. She’ll know if something has happened, even if it’s not in her work calendar. She can also see if there’s anything in there marked ‘private’ and for Nat’s eyes only. The secretaries know everything that goes on here. There could be an explanation – an unexpected bereavement or a sudden illness. Something she’d normally tell me about but hasn’t because we’re still fighting – although at this point I don’t know where I stand.

Rita swivels her head from side to side.

‘I need to talk to you. Come with me,’ she says, her voice almost a whisper.

She takes my arm and leads me to an empty meeting room and shuts the door.

‘I was going to come by and ask you. Have you not heard from her?’ Rita asks.

‘No, she’s not been replying to me,’ I say.

‘She doesn’t have any leave scheduled. And if it was an emergency, HR would still tell me so I know to update clients. But HR haven’t heard from her. They’ve already asked me to try and find out where she is. I’ve tried getting in contact with her but no luck. I’m starting to worry.’

‘Wait, why are HR worried? Didn’t she hand in her notice?’

‘I don’t think she did. When I spoke to them they didn’t seem to know why she hadn’t been working.’

‘But she took all her things with her, cleared out her office.’

‘Well, if she did that, then she did so without informing HR.’

‘Are HR doing anything about it? It’s not like Nat to just not come to work. Something isn’t right; she wouldn’t just quit without telling anyone.’ Nat is one of the most punctual people I know. She never misses a day. Always arrives early for everything.

‘They’re trying to sweep it under the rug. They don’t know what’s going on but they are still doing damage control after Sara…They don’t want to admit one of their employees might have absconded.’ I notice Rita’s eyes turn to the window where Alexa saw Sara jump. I thought Alexa would have asked to change office after what happened but she was adamant she was okay staying – said she didn’t want the hassle of moving. I think she was worried it would make her look weak if she couldn’t handle it.

‘Always looking out for themselves.’

‘You know HR.’

‘I need to go check on her – I’ll go see if she’s at her flat. Can you cover for me?’

She nods. ‘Of course. It’s really not like Nat, so I just hope she’s okay. Can you let me know if you find her?’

I thank Rita and leave the meeting room. Something is seriously wrong, I can tell. Nat is serious about her career. She wouldn’t just leave. Not without telling me. I know I didn’t tell her about being fired, but this is different. I didn’t just disappear.

I grab my coat and make my way out. In the past, I’d never have left in the middle of the day, but I don’t care anymore.

Nat lives close by. She likes to be able to walk in instead of cramming herself onto a crowded tube – although most days she tends to run in and shower in the office gym. I flag down a taxi anyway. I want to get there quickly. I need to find out what’s going on.

I get to Nat’s building. It’s a modest two-bedroom flat in a new-build complex. She could afford something more expensive, but she said she wanted to get something cheaper so she could afford to save most of her salary. Nat always likes to be prepared. I’ve been to her flat multiple times before so I head straight past concierge to the lifts and press the button for the fifth floor.

I walk down the corridor to Nat’s flat – number 502. I gently knock.

‘Nat, are you in there? It’s me, Cass.’

I wait for her to respond but there’s nothing. I press my ear to the door but I can’t hear anything.

I knock again, slightly louder, but not too loud. I don’t want to cause a commotion and disturb her neighbours.

Neighbours. I wonder if they’ve seen her. I stride to the flat next to Nat’s. I know it’s a young family that live here – Nat used to say that sometimes she could hear the baby crying in the middle of the night. Hopefully that means somebody will be at home. I knock and hear footsteps straight away.

‘Hello?’ A woman answers the door. Her hair is in a messy bun on the top of her head and she has food stains on her blue sweatshirt. Grey bags under her eyes.

‘Hi, I’m friends with your neighbour. No one’s been able to get in contact with her for the past few days. We’re getting worried. Have you seen her around?’

‘You mean, Nat?’

I nod.

‘Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her in a while. I don’t see a lot of her generally, but usually our paths cross in the hallway or I hear her coming home or just moving about. But not lately. Sorry, that’s probably not much help.’

‘Thanks, anyway. She didn’t answer when I knocked, but I’ll try again.’

‘Wait, wait. I have a spare set of keys somewhere. I got locked out my flat once, so we decided to do a key swap, just to be sure it didn’t happen to either of us again. Let me find where I put them.’

She lets the door swing shut but I prevent it from closing by sticking my foot in the gap. I don’t want to invite myself into her home so I stand there awkwardly until she returns.

‘I’ve found them.’

We walk towards flat 502. It’s only now that I see that the woman is wearing slippers shaped like dinosaurs. We must look odd together, me in business dress and her in what look like night clothes.

She fumbles with the key in the lock. I hope Nat is home so I can speak to her about everything, but I don’t get why she wouldn’t be answering the door. Maybe she has noise-cancelling headphones on? Maybe she’s asleep? If she’s not there, I’m not sure where I’ll look next. There’s every chance she’s gone away – especially if something did happen at Inside. She could be taking a mental health break. I wouldn’t blame her.

When the door finally opens, my breath is taken away. Of all the possibilities I prepared myself for, nothing comes close.

Nat’s lying on the floor. Surrounded by empty alcohol bottles and there’s a suspicious white powder on the coffee table next to her, neatly moulded into lines. Her skin is grey, her eyes open but unfocused, glazed over.

She’s dead.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I’m shivering. Although I’m in a warm, well-heated flat and wrapped in a blanket, the hairs on my arms stand up and my teeth are chattering. I can’t get the image of Nat out of my head. That empty, soulless look is going to haunt me for some time. It takes everything not to throw up again. My pulse races so hard it feels as if it’s about to explode out of my chest. I dig my nails into my palms, using the pain to try and distract me from the emotional suffering. I can’t help thinking that I could have prevented this. I knew something wasn’t right with Nat, knew something was going on with Inside. If I hadn’t lied to her, she would have confided in me. This is all my fault.

‘Miss Harlow, could I ask how you came to find the victim? I understand that you don’t live nearby.’

‘Nat, her name was Natalie.’

Detective Lewis scratches his notebook with his pen, ready to make notes on everything I say. It’s the same detective who interviewed me at Carrey & Watson about Sara’s death, and now he’s here interviewing me about Nat’s death. He showed up sometime after the rest of his team arrived, ushering me into the neighbour’s flat so we could talk privately. I never imagined that I’d see him again and certainly not in this scenario. He gave me his number when he interviewed me at the firm and I called him as soon as I had composed myself. I should’ve called him earlier, but it wasn’t until now that I realised he would’ve been the perfect person to tell about Inside and Sara. He was investigating her death so he was already suspicious, probably the first person to believe that Sara’s death wasn’t an accident.

I want the same detective on the case so he can put together the same dots as I did. So they can connect Nat’s death to Sara’s. They need to know this isn’t an isolated death, they need to know Inside is behind it all.

Nat’s neighbour, who I now know is called Phoebe, has kindly let us use her flat. I grip the mug of chamomile tea that’s she’s made for me, letting the steam rise through my nostrils.

‘Of course. What led to you being in Natalie’s flat?’

‘She hadn’t shown up to work in a while and nobody knew why. She’d taken all her personal possessions home but not informed HR that she’d quit. It was very unlike her. I couldn’t get hold of her and it wasn’t like her to just not respond. So I came here to try and find out what was going on, and, well, you know the rest.’

‘Her neighbour let you in, correct?’

‘Yes, she had a spare key. I did knock first but obviously I got no answer,’ I say, trying not to let my emotions overcome me. I take a sip of my herbal tea and close my eyes, trying to prevent the tears – I think the only reason I’m not crying anymore is because my body is numb.

‘Did you touch anything inside the flat?’

I shoot him a puzzled look.

‘I’m trying to work out if the scene was disturbed before we got here,’ he says.

‘No, I didn’t touch anything. I couldn’t go in, I could barely look at her.’

He jots something in his notepad.

‘Wait, that’s a lie. I did go in. I was sick so I ran to her bathroom. I didn’t want to vomit all over the floor and the potential…crime scene.’ I feel nauseous just saying that word. ‘Sorry if that wasn’t the right thing to do. It was just the shock.’

He nods. ‘Don’t worry. I get it. When you’ve been in this industry as long as I have you sometimes forget how distressing it can be to see a dead body. Were you and the vic–– I mean, Natalie, close?’

‘We were best friends. We’ve drifted apart lately but I still cared a lot about her,’ I say. ‘She was my only friend, really.’ Since Sara died, but I don’t add that part.

It’s strange admitting how my friendship with Nat changed in the last few days. It all happened so fast.

‘And knowing her as you did, would you say she was depressed?’

‘What? No, definitely not.’

Detective Lewis writes something in his notebook.

‘I know it looked like an overdose, I saw the pills and things, but Nat wasn’t like that. She was fine. She wasn’t depressed. And she didn’t do drugs.’ Not anymore, anyway.

‘But you did say that you had drifted apart. Losing contact with friends can be a sign that something is going on. And she quit her job, did you say? Sometimes when people are depressed and have resigned themselves to suicide they put their affairs in order. Did Nat work at Carrey & Watson with you?’

‘Yes, but⁠—’

‘It’s a high-pressure job. I’ve seen multiple cases of people with stressful jobs resorting to suicide. Those with high-powered careers are often very talented at hiding their true emotions.’

‘Yeah, but that wasn’t the case here. Nat wouldn’t have overdosed. I know she wouldn’t have.’ Especially because of how Abbie died.

The tears I was holding back start to flood my eyes, spilling out at the corners and running down my cheeks. My friend is dead, and the idea that I missed the signs is too much for me to handle. Not the signs that Detective Lewis is talking about, but the signs that she was in danger. I was too much of a coward to make Nat listen to me.

‘Let’s end it there for the day. It must have been a shock for you to see your friend like that.’ He holds out his hand to place it on my shoulder, before thinking better of it and producing a pack of tissues from his pocket instead.

‘Wait. Detective, do you think this is linked to what happened with Sara?’

‘Sara O’Neil? Why would it be linked?’

‘Two women in the same department at the same firm, seems odd to me.’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand your point. Other than working together, it doesn’t seem Sara and Nat had anything in common.’

I pause before I answer. If I tell the detective about Inside there will be no going back. But I need to do this for Nat. And for Sara.

‘Actually, Nat and Sara did have something in common: they were both involved with a members’ club known as Inside. Something happened there a couple of nights ago. Nat sent me a message during a dinner there that had me worried sick.’

A weight feels lifted as the words escape from my mouth.

‘Can you share it with me?’

I fish my phone out of my bag, turn the volume on my phone to loud and play the message.

‘May I?’ Detective Lewis holds out his hands for my phone. I hand it over. ‘I’ve just forwarded it to my work phone. When I get back to the office I’ll send it to our voice analysis team to see what they make of it. But first we will need to run bloodwork and our scene of crime investigators will run all sorts of tests, which can take a while to come back. It can be hard to prove an overdose isn’t suicide.’

‘I have other evidence, too, that Inside works with criminal gangs. I can send it all to you and then you’ll see that something is up.’

‘And you’re saying they were both members of this club?’

‘Yes – well, no, Nat was in the application process but Sara was a member.’

‘Interesting. If you forward everything you have to my email address –’ he hands me his card ‘– then I’ll be sure to have a look to see if there is any connection to either Sara or Nat’s death, although I do need to let you know that unless I find evidence to the contrary, Nat’s death overwhelmingly looks like suicide.’

‘I’ll send everything as soon as I get home. You’ll see – it’ll all make sense.’

‘If there’s anything else that comes up then someone will be in touch.’

I grab my coat from the back of the chair and walk towards the door, thanking Phoebe for letting us use her living room. As I leave Phoebe’s flat, I see the door to Nat’s wide open. Forensics traipse in and out, dissecting parts of her life. I hope they’ve removed her body now. Thinking about it makes bile rise in the back of my throat.

I take the lift down to the ground floor. I finally feel like I can breathe again when I get outside. The longer I stayed in that building, the more it felt like it was suffocating me, its walls caving in on me. All I can think about is how Inside must be responsible for Nat’s death. She sent me that strange message saying she’d heard something she shouldn’t, then she came into work with bruises and cuts, acting weirdly. She quit her job, almost as if she was planning to leave London quickly. Now she’s dead.

First it was Sara, a member, being pushed from the firm’s roof terrace. Made to look like a suicide; and it had the police fooled at first, until the media broke the story it was murder. And now Nat, who was in the application process to be part of Inside, has died in what looks like suicide. But I know better. I know Nat didn’t kill herself.

I need to get into Nat’s flat after the police leave. If she did find something incriminating on Inside, maybe she kept the evidence in her flat. Nat was excellent at hiding things she didn’t want found and nobody knows her like I do. Besides, I need to make sure Detective Lewis is taking my claims seriously before I decide if I can trust him. This is too important to risk taking a chance on a stranger. I slide my hand into my pocket and clasp the small metal object inside, letting my fingers run along the grooves. It’s the key to Nat’s flat. I never gave it back to Phoebe, and luckily for me she forgot to ask for it. I plan to use it to find some answers.

And hopefully I’ll discover something that proves Nat didn’t kill herself.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

My eyes are raw from crying; it feels like nails have been dragged across them. I couldn’t sleep, and spent the night tossing and turning, unable to get Nat’s ghostly face out of my mind. I came straight home from Nat’s, collapsed into a heap on the sofa and called George, begging him to come over – not that I even had ask twice as he was out of the door as soon as I told him. George held me while I cried into his shoulder, leaving ugly black mascara marks on his shirt. I’ve already told work I can’t come in. I told Rita about Nat’s death yesterday because I needed someone to talk to about what had happened and she asked me to keep her informed. She asked me how I was but I didn’t have the energy to reply to her.

I manage to drag myself downstairs, led by my stomach. I notice a black envelope lying on the floor of my hall; it must have been pushed through the letterbox. I open it up and see the familiar gold writing.

We would like to invite you to attend a cocktail-making masterclass

tonight at our headquarters. Please arrive at Cannon Street Station

at 7 p.m. and somebody will show you the way.

Dress to impress.

I want nothing to do with Inside after what happened to Nat, but questions swirl in my head. Is this a chance to get the evidence I need? I’ve sent Detective Lewis all the material I have on Inside – the videos of Sara and her sister, the photos, the dirt on Inside, the handwritten note of gang members’ names – but I’ve heard nothing so far and my impatience is growing.

Did they stagger the next stage of the application process, and it was never the case that I failed to progress like I originally thought? Or maybe it’s because they now have a spot free, given that Nat is no longer in the running? The thought makes my stomach turn. How did this get sent to my house? There’s no address. No stamp. It’s like somebody knew I wasn’t going to be in the office so made sure it got sent here instead.

I have to go to this. If I back out, then I’ll never have the chance to find out the truth about what happened to Nat and Sara. It’s definitely not safe to go, considering we think this organisation may be responsible for the deaths of Sara and Nat. But, as George said the other day, if I’m on the inside, I might be able to work out what scared Nat.

And it’s even better that the event is at their headquarters. Maybe I’ll be able to find something I can use to get justice for Nat and Sara. There has to be some sort of link.

I’m still planning to check Nat’s flat, but I don’t want to go until I’m confident that the police have gone. If they find me going through her belongings, I could end up in court, or worse.

Cass [10:58]: I just heard from Inside. They’ve invited me to a cocktail masterclass tonight. I’m going to go. I need to start digging.

George [11:02]: Please be careful, Cass. I don’t trust them.

Cass [11:03]: I will be.

I jump in the shower, letting the water run over my face. I rub cleanser into my skin, hoping to wash away all my worries. The heat of the water stings my eyes but I don’t care. I crouch down, hugging my knees into my chest. All I can think about is how much things have changed. My career was at its peak, I was proud of my accomplishments. Now, my career is over unless I sell my soul to Stephen and Sebastian. Sara and Nat are dead. The only good thing to come out of all of this is George.

I mooch around the house all day, willing the time away until I can go to Inside – it’s the only thing that I can think about. I start getting ready far earlier than I need to. It takes time to try and hide my puffy eyes and blotchy skin. The last thing I want to be doing is putting on make-up and wearing an expensive dress, but I know I need to look the part. Even in an all-female world, appearance is still everything. When I’m finished, I look almost like myself again.

I get a text from George just before I leave. He asks me to add him on Find My Friends so that he can track my location. He tells me it’ll give us the address of the headquarters even if they blindfold me again and it’ll mean he can track my location if he starts to get worried. He wants regular updates and says if he doesn’t hear from me for over an hour then he’ll call the police.

I order an Uber and arrive five minutes early at Cannon Street. A woman appears by my side.

‘Follow me, Cassandra.’

She knows who I am without needing to ask.

She takes me into a side street and thrusts an iPad in my face.

‘I need you to read these documents and sign before I can take you any further.’

‘What are they?’

‘Non-Disclosure Agreement. Saying you won’t reveal the location we are about to take you to and that you won’t reveal the identities of anybody you see on the premises. If you do, Inside can, and will, bring legal action against you.’

I’m a lawyer, I get how it works but I don’t want to sound smug.

I start reading the document and notice the sidebar at the right of the page. It’s a long document.

‘Do you want me to read all of this now?’

‘If you want. I’ll wait.’

I read it as quickly as I can, not sure how much I’m taking in. It’s very similar to the NDAs I’ve drafted myself. I don’t have a choice but to sign it; if I don’t, then they won’t let me proceed any further. I have to do this for Sara and Nat, and for whoever else may be in danger of Inside’s web of corruption.

‘Are you taking me to the headquarters?’

‘Once you’ve signed.’

I scribble my name and hand the iPad back to her.

‘And the others,’ she says immediately, shoving it back into my hands.

I sign them all. My patience is wearing thin so I don’t read them. I’d always tell my clients never to sign something without reading it but this is a different situation.

‘Let’s go.’

We arrive. The headquarters isn’t far from the station. It’s down a narrow alleyway that’s for pedestrians only. The buildings along this road are all made of white marble and look stately. I notice the windows have all been tinted so that you can’t see inside. The woman deposits me at the steps leading up to one of the building and walks away – perhaps she’s gone to fetch the other applicants.

I text George to let him know I’m here. I don’t see any street names or numbers on any of the buildings nearby. I try the door but it’s locked. I press the buzzer on the intercom.

‘Name?’

‘Cassandra Harlow.’

A short pause. A buzz and the sound of the lock opening. ‘Come in.’

The door opens upon a grand foyer, black-and-white checkered tiles, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Velvet sofas are set out in a circle. Beyond the sofas I can see a long hallway that leads to a double spiral staircase. It’s the building I had the interview in. They never revealed it as the headquarters, and I was blindfolded before I got there, so I never knew.

There are other people waiting in the foyer. Other women, all dressed like me. Expensive cocktail dresses with kitten heels. Some more daring, some tighter, some showing more skin. I’m wearing a cobalt-blue dress with a halter neck. It’s fitted, skimming my mid-thigh. It feels ridiculous dressing up considering what’s happened but I suppose red lipstick and designer labels are my uniform for tonight so that I blend in. I can’t let them suspect I have an ulterior motive, I need to be just another applicant.

None of the other women are speaking to each other, all avoiding eye contact by pretending to be on their phones or gazing off into the distance. I didn’t speak to any of them at the first mixer I went to.

Another woman walks towards us. Fallon, the scientist who got a special invitation to apply, the one I spoke to at the masked ball. I recognise her without her mask because of her distinctive flame-red hair. I remember Nat saying how smug she thought she was. I smile at Fallon and she nods in recognition, coming to stand beside me.

‘I didn’t realise you’d made it to the next round, I didn’t see you at the last event.’

‘Was that the one last week?’ I ask.

‘Yeah, your friend was there. I can’t remember her name, the tall blonde woman?’ Her eyes scan the crowd in front of her, ‘Is she not here tonight?’

‘No, Nat isn’t going to be part of this process anymore…something came up.’ I break eye contact. I wasn’t prepared to lie about Nat’s death but I also don’t want to talk about it. It feels wrong to admit it right now, like telling people would be betraying her somehow. Nat’s death hasn’t made the news. I’m not sure if that’s because it’s less public, so less of a news story than Sara.

‘Oh, right, you must be here as her replacement then.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Well, you weren’t at the last stage. There were twenty of us at the dinner last week and we were told that number was being cut down to ten for today’s event, and then the final five applicants will get invited to a membership ceremony next week. So they must have subbed you in when your friend dropped out.’

Her language is blunt, hurtful even, but it isn’t her fault, she doesn’t know that Nat is dead. Fallon doesn’t know how triggering her words are for me, but it confirms what I suspected. My last-minute invitation to tonight’s event was because Nat died.

Another woman approaches. She’s noticeably tall; even without the heels she looks like she’d tower over us. She has a runner’s body, lean. Straight brunette locks frame her face.

‘Cass, this is Ella. I met her at the dinner event that you missed.’

‘Nice to meet you. Are you another applicant? I don’t remember seeing you at the dinner,’ Ella says.

‘She’s Nat’s replacement,’ Fallon says, before I can answer. ‘They work together.’

‘Well, count yourself lucky you got Nat’s spot. Although it must hurt knowing you’re second choice?’ She smirks as she says it. Her words were meant to be brutal but she has no idea just how mean that comment really was. ‘I’m going to run to the bathroom quickly. Nice to meet you, Cassie.’

‘It’s Cass,’ I shout after her but she’s already walked away.

I notice Alice, the entrepreneur from the first mixer, arriving and nod in acknowledgement. At least I know another person here. If everyone else is like Ella, they’ll eat me alive.

Eventually a woman appears and motions for us to follow her. We have to go through a full-body scanner – like the ones at airports. We are all patted down and searched by security guards, the contents of our bags emptied out.

We are led through a door and down a winding staircase, which takes us underground to an open-plan bar area. The large bar is of black granite, and there are colourful velvet chairs and stools dotted around the room. On the bar is a host of spirits and mixers, gold-plated glassware and cocktail shakers. Behind the bar are five bartenders, all men, in black tie, with their hands behind their back. All silent. At the end of the bar stands two women. Talia and Miranda.

‘Ladies, welcome and congratulations on making it to this stage in the process. Tonight, we wanted to show you a part of Inside that we are particularly fond of. You are looking at some of the best bartenders this city has to offer. Not only can they make you whatever drink you want, but you’ll never have to queue,’ Talia says proudly.

‘Tonight, we are offering you the chance to make our signature cocktail with expert guidance from our bartenders. Once your cocktail-making class is over, we will be having drinks with some of our other members. It’s your final chance to impress us before we whittle you down to the final five for our membership ceremony next week,’ Miranda adds.

‘If you could kindly take a place at the bar, our bartenders will get you started. We’ll see you later,’ Talia says. They both walk away, heels clacking against the floor. I haven’t spent long in this building, but I already know it’s a maze. There’re so many different doors. I have no idea how I’m going to work out where to look for something incriminating even if I manage to get away. There are so many eyes on me. I can’t see any CCTV – which would make sense, because I can’t imagine they would want that footage to end up in the wrong hands. But then how did they get that recording of me talking about Abbie? Maybe a hidden camera was set up. It’s an unnerving thought.

I take my place at the bar and Fallon joins me. I notice everybody has paired off already.

‘Good evening, ladies. My name is James and I’m going to be your bartender for the evening. I’m going to show you how to make the house cocktail, which is Eve’s Surprise. It’s gin-based, but we are also going to add egg whites, apple juice, lavender bitters and our homemade top-secret syrup that gives it an extra special flavour.’

‘What’s in the syrup?’ Fallon asks.

‘I’m sworn to secrecy, I’m afraid. This is a cocktail you won’t find anywhere else, though.’

He hands both of us a small bottle. The liquid in it is colourless.

‘That’s the special syrup. I guarantee that this will be one of the most unique-tasting cocktails you’ve ever tried.’

He guides us through the process of making the cocktail, letting us try it for ourselves. I can’t help but think about why I’m really here. I’m not here to enjoy myself, or actually try and impress anybody, I’m here to find out answers about what happened to Nat. I need to find an excuse to get away and explore.

I take a sip of my finished cocktail. It tastes sweet at first, but there’s a bitter after-taste which I’m not sure I enjoy. I take a look at the other women and notice they’ve all finished making their drinks, too. Talia and Miranda will be back soon. I need to separate myself from the group. I could ask to use the toilet but there are some next to the bar so I can’t use that as an excuse.

I take another sip of my drink and drop the glass on the floor, letting it shatter into tiny pieces across the marble tiles. Everyone’s attention is on me.

‘I’m sorry, I’m so clumsy sometimes.’

I bend down to pick up the pieces, despite the bartender’s protests that he will clean it up. I grab one of the larger shards of glass and in one quick motion use it to rip into the centre of my palm. I wince in pain as the hot liquid seeps out.

‘What happened?’ James says, holding a dustpan and brush.

‘I cut myself when I was picking up the glass.’

I stand up, letting the blood trail down my arm and drip onto the floor.

‘You need to bandage that up,’ a woman at the other end of the bar calls.

James has turned pale and looks flustered – clearly not a fan of blood.

‘Is there a first-aid kit?’ I ask.

‘Upstairs with reception. I’ll go get it for you.’

‘Wait,’ I say, ‘I’ll go. I think I need some fresh air anyway; I’m starting to feel a little nauseous.’ James hesitates but I can see his lips quivering at the sight of the blood; he doesn’t want to go anywhere with me.

‘I shouldn’t really let you go but I suppose this is an emergency.’ I see him glance at the other bartenders for help but they seem just as clueless.

‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Fallon asks.

‘No, I’ll be fine. You enjoy the drinks. I’ll be back once they fix me up,’ I say, forcing myself to laugh afterwards to sell the act.

I walk out of the bar and up the staircase, clutching my hand. It’s partly an act but also I think I cut myself deeper than I intended to because it’s feels like I’ve rubbed my hand against a dozen stinging nettles. I reach the top of the stairs and close the door behind me.

Alone at last.

Chapter Thirty

There are so many doors in front of me that I don’t know which one to choose. If I open the wrong one, I could end up in trouble, my investigation over before it has even begun. But if I choose correctly, maybe I can work out what secrets are being hidden here. I can’t let anybody see me. I squeeze the palm of my hand, the blood still dripping. It’s going to leave a trail, a bloody mess of breadcrumbs leading to yours truly. I didn’t bring my bag with me as that might have raised suspicion so I don’t have anything to try and stem the bleeding. I apply more pressure, hoping it’ll help.

I can hear voices, the sound of heels on the marble floor. Somebody is coming but I can’t tell where from. They are getting closer. I don’t have time to think. I open the closest door and duck inside, leaving it slightly ajar so I can see through the gap. Luckily this one wasn’t locked. Given the security measures, it must have been a mistake to leave it open. The room I’ve chosen seems to be some sort of meeting room. It has two sofas and a large armchair, all in green. There are two bookcases with beautifully bound books.

The women are close enough to see now. It’s Talia and Miranda, and they seem to be arguing about something, judging from the hand gestures, but they aren’t quite close enough for me to hear. They’re still walking towards me. I just hope they don’t need this room. They both stop walking and pause. I move my head away from the crack in the door so they don’t see me, but it may be too late.

‘It was a mistake bringing her here,’ Talia says.

‘It’s easier to keep an eye on her if she’s here, see what she knows,’ Miranda replies.

‘She asks a lot of questions. They won’t like it. What if she stumbles onto something she shouldn’t?’

‘It’s fine. She won’t connect the dots.’

‘And what if she finds out about Hayley? Then what? It’s too close for comfort.’

‘Then you know what we have to do.’

The voices stop. Maybe they’re too quiet now; maybe they’ve stopped their conversation. I don’t dare look. I stay still until I’m sure they’ve gone, peeking out of the door to make sure there’s nobody around. I try to move silently, but my heels still make a noise on the floor. I wish I was wearing quieter shoes but I don’t think I would’ve been allowed through the door in trainers, even if they were Gucci. Inside doesn’t do casual wear.

Who is Hayley? Something about the name feels familiar but I can’t work out why. I’m positive the person they are talking about is me, unless another member happens to have an insight into Inside. But how would they know that I’m onto them? Or is just because they know I was friends with Nat and Sara?

‘What are you doing here?’

I was too busy trying to work out where to go next that I didn’t notice Talia return. She folds her arms and looks down at me. She must be at least five or six inches taller than me.

‘Sorry,’ I say, holding up my bloody hand, ‘I cut my hand on some glass and they sent me up here for first aid but I got a bit lost.’

It’s not a complete lie. At least she’s found me out here in the hallway rather than sneaking around the other rooms.

‘I can see, you’re getting blood everywhere.’

I follow her eyes downwards; droplets of my blood litter the floor. I hope I didn’t leave any in the office.

‘Sorry, which way should I go?’

‘I’ll take you to reception. Freya is first-aid trained and can fix you up. It’s almost time for the drinks with the other members, and you don’t want to miss that.’

I can’t read her tone. She sounds so cold and calculated, but there must be another side to her.

I follow Talia. I don’t know whether I should be making conversation, but the air between us is stilted and unnatural. What would I be saying if I was genuinely still interested in being part of Inside?

‘So how did you come up with the idea for Inside?’

I instantly regret the words that come out of my mouth. They make me sound like an eager Year 7 on my first day of secondary school.

‘You heard my speech. We were tired of feeling like we were always on the outside looking in.’

‘It’s impressive what you’ve managed to achieve. What do you think makes you so successful?’

She doesn’t answer me. Talia leads me back towards the front door but then takes a left. There’s a desk at the other end. Behind it is the woman who met me at Cannon Street Station.

‘Freya, can you take care of Cassandra’s injury please? When you’re done, please personally escort her to the drinks reception downstairs.’ Talia turns on her heel. ‘See you shortly.’

I don’t miss the part about me being personally escorted down to the drinks; she obviously doesn’t trust me being left to wander around unattended. Maybe I’m in over my head already. These people are dangerous and I’m putting up a big sign that I’m a threat to whatever criminal enterprise they’re involved in.

Freya grabs the first-aid box from under the desk, rifles through it and takes out the bandages and tape. She cleans my wound with an antiseptic wipe before wrapping the bandage around.

‘Do you have to do this a lot?’ I ask.

‘More than you’d think. People here are clumsy. Always falling over and getting themselves hurt.’

‘How long have you worked here?’

‘Since Inside was founded. I used to be Miranda’s secretary.’

‘Did you ever meet a member named Hayley?’

I know it’s risky to ask, but if anybody will know, it will be Freya. If she’s anything like the secretaries at Carrey & Wilson, she will know everything about everyone. And she will enjoy a gossip.

‘Hayley Jones?’

‘Yeah.’ I have no idea if that’s the right person. There could be more than one Hayley in their ranks.

‘What about her?’ She furrows her brow.

‘I used to know her. Is she still a member here?’

‘You’re friends with Hayley?’ She tapes the edges of the bandage and puts the first-aid kit back under the desk.

‘Well, more like professional acquaintances. Our paths crossed a few times at work.’

‘Right,’ Freya says, walking away from the desk and back towards the spiral staircases and in the direction of the bar. ‘Well, if you knew her then I’m surprised you didn’t hear about what happened.’

‘What do you mean?’

She opens the door to the staircase that leads to the bar, gesturing for me to go through.

‘She died.’

Chapter Thirty-One

What is it that they say on those TV crime shows? Two is a coincidence, three is a pattern? That’s three young women connected to Inside who have all ended up dead. I don’t know anything about Hayley Jones – maybe her death has nothing to do with Inside, maybe it was an accident or natural causes – but the sinking feeling in my stomach tells me it wasn’t.

The door closes behind me with a thud. I walk down the stairs back to the bar, careful not to trip over in my heels. Talia and Miranda are waiting at the bar with the rest of the ladies, Talia leaning over as I enter, she’s talking to James at the bar, who enjoys whatever she’s saying.

‘Here she is, all bandaged up,’ Miranda says. ‘All sorted now? We’ve been waiting for you.’

I raise my arm to reveal my bandage. ‘All fixed. I need to learn to be less clumsy.’

Talia walks towards me and pushes a new drink into my injured hand, the ice against my newly bandaged skin making me wince.

‘This way, ladies, our members are waiting to meet you all. Before we go in I’ll need to take photographs of you all.’

We form an orderly queue as if we are in a playground. Talia and Miranda take Polaroids of each of us individually. Not just front-on photographs but side-profiles and photos from the back, close-up photographs and full-length ones. Something about it makes me feel uneasy but I can’t quite put my finger on why.

After the photographs have been taken, the bartenders open what appears to be a false wall to reveal a secondary bar area. With the décor, I’d think this was a trendy Mayfair hotspot if I didn’t know any better.

‘You thought we’d shown you all our secrets? You wouldn’t believe what we have up our sleeves. We like to use this area for late-hours drinks amongst our members. One of the core tenets of Inside is that we encourage our members to mingle and get to know each other on a personal level,’ Talia says. She grins, flashing her pearly whites.

There’s music playing in the background, some sort of easy-listening music that you’d hear in a lift or when you’re put on hold. I couldn’t hear it from the bar so the room must be soundproof. Why would they need a hidden, soundproof room?

A group of women enter from behind us, all masked, and take seats at the various tables dotted around the room.

‘Ladies, some of our esteemed members have agreed to speak to you tonight. Think of this as a chance to get to know a little more about us, and let them share their stories. We are going to run this like speed-dating. We have five different tables, each with a member of Inside,’ Talia says.

‘We’ll split you into two groups. You’ll have three minutes with each member. We will let you know when it’s time to move on. Once the first group has gone, the second will have their turn. While you wait for the other group, you can help yourself to more drinks from the bar.’

They sort us. I’m in Group 2. I watch the other group of women swarm around the masked members. It’s strange how awkward everybody seems at first. I notice the bartenders are diligently topping up everybody’s cocktails. At least the alcohol will help with the nerves. Although it could also lead to people forgetting this evening is essentially a long interview. That’s probably the point.

James passes by and tops up my drink. I can already feel the alcohol going to my head, a headache forming behind my brow. I need to take it easy and remember I’m here on a fact-finding mission. My plans to explore have already been thwarted but maybe I can get some more information out of these members. Talia and Miranda are impenetrable but maybe somebody else will slip up.

Miranda motions for the groups to switch and I approach the table closest to me.

The woman I’m sat with is blonde with short hair. Lightly tanned skin and thin lips. She’s wearing a forest-green dress that wraps around her waist; silver hoops that brush the tops of her shoulders.

‘Cassandra Harlow,’ she says, looking me up and down. She doesn’t try to hide her judgement. ‘You were a late addition to today’s event, as I’m sure you know.’

‘Because of Nat?’

She doesn’t give anything away. ‘So tell me, why do you want to be part of Inside?’

‘It’s simple really, I want to be the best in my career. I wish I could do that just with sheer talent, but sometimes it feels like the only way to succeed as a woman in this world is as part of a quota or sleeping your way to the top.’ The lies roll off my tongue.

‘And what do you think you bring to Inside? Does the world really need any more lawyers?’

I wonder what her job is.

‘You’ve had lawyers as members before. And being a lawyer brings with it a lot of advantages. I can obviously help with any legal issues. I have clients at FTSE 100 companies who are in powerful positions. I can help make connections for some of your other members.’

‘You’ve just told me you’re not good enough to reach the top of your career without our help. Now you’re telling me you know powerful people. Which is it?’

I hear people moving tables. Relief washes over me and I try not to show it on my face.

‘See you around, Cassandra.’

I leave feeling disheartened. I need to stay in this process. This is the final obstacle before the membership ceremony. I’m not sure I’ll have a chance to explore Inside anymore tonight so I need to make sure I’m invited back. Better yet, if I can somehow become the next member then I’ll have unrestricted access to find out what is really going on in Inside. I’ll have as much access as Sara did. I need to convince these members that I deserve to be invited back.

The next three members are much nicer; it feels less like an interview and more like they are just getting to know me. They ask about my hobbies, my personal life. They ask me where I grew up. They even tell me their first names, although nothing more than that. It’s almost enough to settle me into a false sense of security – until I get to the final table.

‘I want to sub in, why don’t you go to the bar?’ Talia says to the final member as I sit down. It’s clearly an order and the woman complies without muttering a word.

‘Hello, Cassandra,’ she says.

‘Hi, Talia.’ I’m not sure what else to say.

‘You’re probably wondering why I wanted to speak to you.’

‘It crossed my mind.’

‘I wanted to find out how you are feeling after Nat’s death.’

I gulp, trying not to let my face betray my emotion.

‘How did you know?’

‘We have a way of finding out things. It’s so sad to hear about her overdose, she really was so…promising. Such a waste of potential.’

‘She didn’t overdose,’ I say through gritted teeth.

‘I heard it was drugs. So sad, but they do really ravage your profession, don’t they?’ I’m not sure what’s she’s trying to accomplish, but it’s winding me up.

I shrug. ‘Believe what you want but I know my friend.’

‘Funny. I’ve always liked you, Cassandra, you have something about you. The truth is, I wanted to put you through to the last round ahead of Nat anyway, but Miranda overruled me.’

‘Why?’

‘Nat was too boring for me. I like people that like to take a risk and aren’t afraid to stand up for what they believe. I knew that you lied in your interview with me and I didn’t care. I liked it.’

‘Why are you telling me all this?’

‘Because people who like to take risks sometimes don’t know when they’ve gone too far.’

Chapter Thirty-Two

‘She threatened you?’ George says, pacing around the kitchen.

He’s stressed out; he hasn’t been able to relax since I told him about my conversation with Talia. The night ended abruptly after that conversation. Miranda and Talia told us it was time to leave. There were cars waiting outside. I texted George as soon as I got in the car and he was on the doorstep waiting for me.

‘Well, not directly.’

‘Tell me exactly what she said.’ George’s eyes look like they are going to explode from his skull.

‘It’s hard to explain but it felt like a threat.’

‘Maybe you should tell Detective Lewis about it.’

‘I’m not so sure about that. I keep messaging him asking for updates but he fobs me off. I even called his office and somebody told me he’d return my call but he never did. I don’t think he believes me about Inside.’

‘I think you need to stay away from them,’ George says, his voice becoming irate. ‘It’s dangerous. We need to call it here. I know you want to find out more about Inside and get justice for your friends, and so do I, but this feels like too big a risk. This is an organisation potentially implicated in two murders. We need to let the police handle it from here.’

‘I need to find out what happened. What if the police do nothing and I never find out the truth? What if Inside hurt somebody else? There is still so much we don’t know – it feels we’ve barely scratched the surface. I need to get into Nat’s flat sooner rather than later to see if I can find anything.’

‘Two people are dead! I don’t want you to be next. I can’t have that on my conscience.’

George collapses onto the sofa, his head in his hands. It’s nice to see he cares about me. I sit next to him and embrace him.

‘This won’t make you feel any different about me carrying on with Inside but I found out there might be a third murder.’

He looks up, his attention grabbed. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I heard Talia and Miranda talking about some woman called Hayley. They didn’t say what happened to her but then I asked the receptionist about her and she said she was dead.’

‘Three is more than just a coincidence. That’s a pattern.’

I smile. George had exactly the same thought as me. Then I remember the serious nature of what we are discussing.

‘I have her name.’

I grab my laptop from my office and bring it downstairs.

I type ‘Hayley Jones’ into Google. It’s a fairly generic name so there’s thousands of results. A Facebook page is the top result. The photos look old, and it looks like the profile hasn’t been updated for years.

‘Do you think this is her?’ I ask.

‘It says her occupation is investment banker, which feels about right for Inside. Let’s see if she’s on LinkedIn.’

George brings up LinkedIn and types in ‘Hayley Jones’. A profile appears with a photo of a woman in a suit. Long brown hair, tousled and wavy. Green eyes and pale skin. It looks like the same person as in the Facebook photo.

It says she last worked at Hardman & Stein. Let’s see if that will help us find her.

George tries Google again, this time including Hardman & Stein.

News articles appear, confirming our worst fears.

GRIEF-STRICKEN MOTHER SETS UP CHARITY AFTER DAUGHTER’S DEATH FROM WORK STRESS

On Monday, Dr Elizabeth Jones launched new charity Hayley’s Helping Hand, named after her daughter who died last year, aimed at providing counselling to employees experiencing burnout as a result of their high workloads. Elizabeth’s daughter Hayley took her own life last year. According to Elizabeth, her daughter killed herself because of insane demands placed on her by her bosses at Hardman & Stein. Her mother has previously called the company out for failing to recognise the signs that her daughter was struggling…

There’s a photograph of Elizabeth and Hayley. It takes a few seconds but then the realisation hits me like an oncoming freight train. ‘This woman, she was on TV a few weeks ago, after Sara’s death.’

‘You’re sure this is the same person?’

‘I remember I looked up the charity when she mentioned it. She was on one of those morning shows after Sara’s death because they were all talking about burnout and work stress. It piqued my interest because of Sara being mentioned.’ I try to take in all the information as my eyes scan the rest of the article. George finds several other articles reporting the death but none of them say anything new, just the same information repackaged. ‘This is a third woman we know was connected to Inside who seems to have committed suicide. Does the article say how she died?’

‘Let me see.’ George scrolls through the article. ‘No, it doesn’t.’

‘It can’t be a coincidence. Young women in their early thirties don’t die like this. We know Sara was murdered. I know that Nat didn’t kill herself no matter what the police said. What are the odds that this suicide was also a cover-up?’

‘I wonder why Sara was the odd one out. Her death certainly feels much more public. If it wasn’t for Hayley’s mum speaking out, I’m not sure anybody would’ve reported on this.’

George looks exhausted – possibly even more so than me. I feel guilty for dragging him into all of this. He hasn’t even known me for very long. He didn’t know Sara or Nat and now he’s in this with me. I’m surprised he hasn’t bolted.

‘I wonder if Hayley’s mum thought her death was murder.’

‘The article says she blamed her work.’

‘Well, there’s only one way to find out. I think we’ve just been given another route in.’

I navigate to the Hayley’s Helping Hand website and click on the tab with their contact information.

‘The website says they offer free, confidential counselling for overworked professionals, right? It says here that Hayley’s mum is one of the counsellors. If I can just get in a room with her, I can⁠—’

‘Can what? Ask her outright if she thinks her daughter was murdered? Cass, you need to be careful. You’re getting in deep with this. It doesn’t seem safe to keep digging around. What if somebody finds out? If Inside is behind all three deaths, you don’t want to put yourself in their crosshairs.’

‘I can’t leave this alone. I need answers. And besides, hopefully they wouldn’t dare kill a third person at the same firm. Even Carrey & Watson wouldn’t be able to turn a blind eye if a third lawyer ended up dead.’

‘What’s your plan?’

‘I need to find out what her mother knows, if Hayley confided in her about what was going on. And then I need to go to Nat’s flat to see if I can find anything. Hopefully one of these avenues will lead me to something I can give to Detective Lewis to make him believe me.’

‘And what are you going to say to get the appointment in the first place?’

‘Well, that I’m a stressed-out professional in need of some counselling.’

It’s not even a lie.

Chapter Thirty-Three

My appointment with Dr Elizabeth Jones isn’t until tomorrow and life feels as if it is on pause until then. Everything is cold. The office is cold, and not just because of the temperature outside. Henry is no longer here. Nat is gone. It’s just me, alone and left behind. I’ve been keeping the door closed because I don’t want to speak to anyone. Part of me wondered what the point was in coming into the office when I barely have any work to do, but I need to keep up appearances for Inside – just in case I don’t find any evidence and need another chance to look around their headquarters. The only person I’ve managed to speak to today is Rita. She’s been bringing me coffees so I don’t feel totally alone.

Rita knocks on my door. I think it might be with another coffee but instead she tells me she has somebody on the phone for me asking to be put through, as I’ve not been answering my mobile. I didn’t even hear it ring.

‘She won’t tell me where she’s calling from but said you know who she is – Miranda? She didn’t give me a surname.’

‘Put her through. Thanks, Rita.’

‘Cassandra Harlow,’ I say on autopilot. Something about being at work makes me revert to how I used to be. I wonder why Miranda is calling me.

‘Cassandra, I’m so glad I got through to you.’

‘Is everything okay?’

Maybe she’s calling me with the bad news. This is it – I’m not getting into Inside and I won’t be able to find out what happened to Nat. Although people usually only call with good news – right?

‘Yes all fine, the ladies are still discussing the next steps for applicants. I actually wanted to invite you to lunch. I know it’s last minute, but I talked it over with Talia and, after everything you’ve been through, I just wanted to take you out and check you’re okay. It’s completely paid for by Inside, of course.’

I don’t know what to say, but I can’t turn it down. Maybe Miranda will reveal something. Maybe I can ask her about Hayley.

‘Yes, of course, when and where?’

‘I’ll send a car. 1 p.m. outside your office. See you soon.’

She puts the phone down. It’s already 12.40 p.m. but Inside always seem to do things at short notice. I made no effort for work today. I have no make-up on and my outfit has creases in – I just didn’t care enough to do anything about it. Luckily the spare clothes in the wardrobe have been freshly dry-cleaned. I also have a full set of make-up in there, which I keep in case I work in the office overnight and need to freshen up. I grab the dry-clean bag and my make-up and head to the ladies’ toilets. I’ve not got long until the car gets here.

The car pulls up exactly at 1 p.m. Not a minute before, not a minute after. I have to give it to them, they are punctual.

I’m not surprised by the location. Miranda has chosen one of the tallest skyscrapers in London – not quite the Shard but I think it’s the second or third tallest. Entirely glass with lifts that can give you vertigo if you look down. The restaurant is located on the top floor. As soon as I enter I’m shown to my table and there’s a glass of champagne waiting for me.

It feels awkward seeing Miranda in this context, like seeing a teacher outside school. I look around at the other people in the restaurant. It looks eerily similar to the one where Sebastian groped me.

‘I hope you don’t mind me inviting you to lunch, Cassandra,’ Miranda says as I take a seat. ‘I just wanted to get to know you a bit better. I know that you didn’t have the chance to come to the dinner we hosted and obviously the death of your friend must have been terrible for you. How are you holding up?’

The waiter hands us two menus. Miranda orders instantly – she must have been here enough times to know what she wants – so I have to rush to choose something. I choose the blackened cod with broccoli.

‘I’m okay,’ I say before realising opening up may be my only chance to establish a rapport with Miranda and maybe break down her barriers, ‘Actually no, that’s a lie. I’m doing awfully.’

‘It’s always sad when somebody dies. And even more tragic when they take their own life. I didn’t think Nat was the type, from our admittedly limited interactions, but you never know who somebody really is. I’m sad to say I’ve known a few talented young people fall susceptible to the same fate.’

‘She didn’t kill herself.’

I don’t know why I said that. I almost forgot who I am dealing with, how dangerous the person in front of me might be. Miranda is part of Inside so she might have been involved in Nat’s death for all I know. I shouldn’t have been so quick to voice my suspicions.

‘What makes you so sure?’

I can’t back down from a statement like that. ‘I know Nat. She wouldn’t do that.’

‘You think it was an accident then?’

‘Maybe. I guess that’s for the police to find out.’

‘You don’t suspect something untoward, do you?’

Is this a test? Is she trying to work out if I suspect Inside are involved? I can’t let her know that I’m investigating them. I shouldn’t have been so adamant that it wasn’t a suicide, but then that’s what somebody in my situation would do. It’s to be expected.

‘I don’t know. It’s not like Nat had any enemies.’

‘Have you thought about seeing a therapist? I have some I can recommend. I’ve lost people close to me, too, and it never gets easy, but a good therapist can make it easier.’

Our food arrives, which is a welcome interruption. Maybe I should go and see a therapist. I’ve lost two people close to me so quickly. I’m sure a therapist would say I’m so fixated on Inside because it’s easier to focus on that than confront the fact that Nat and Sara are dead.

‘I heard something about Inside when I first applied. I wondered if it was true,’ I say, cutting my broccoli into smaller chunks. I’m going to take my chance; I’ll never have this one-on-one time again.

‘What was that? We have all sorts of speculation circulating about us. Some true. Some not.’

‘I heard that nobody ever leaves Inside so you rarely take on new people. Is that true?’

Miranda takes a sip of her champagne. ‘That’s true. Having too many members would dilute the society. Having a small number of members means that we can be fussy about who we choose and make sure they are the right fit.’

‘How long has Inside been around?’

‘Five years now. It seems like far longer. I’m so proud of what we’ve accomplished.’

‘Has anyone left in that time?’

I’m being brave here, not sure if I’m asking too many questions, but I’ll never get another opportunity like this. I wish I had thought to record the conversation on my phone but it’s too late for that now.

‘Only two.’

‘Sara was one of them.’

‘Yes. You worked with her, didn’t you?’

‘She was in my department.’

‘So much death for you to deal with.’

‘Who was the other person?’

‘Hmm?’ Miranda says, as she puts a piece of pasta in her mouth.

‘The other person who left Inside?’

‘You know we don’t talk about members’ personal details publicly. But if you must know, she killed herself, too. Tragic death. That’s the thing with high-powered women, sometimes they just can’t handle the stress. You understand, don’t you?’

I nod.

‘Hopefully you don’t end up like them.’

I can’t push Miranda any further, I don’t want to alert her to my suspicions, or I’ll have no chance of making it through to the next round. I may already have gone too far.

* * *

When I get home the house is in darkness. George couldn’t come round tonight as he had to stay late at work. He’s been here so much lately it will feel weird being in the house alone. I open the door and close it behind me. Something isn’t right, it’s like the air has been disturbed and I can hear somebody moving about.

‘I’m going to call the police,’ I yell. I reach around for the light switch but my hands are shaking and I can’t find it. I hear a clatter from the kitchen and weigh up if I should run out of the door and call the police from the safety of outside. I move towards the door but before I can open it somebody barges into me, slamming into my shoulder and pinning me against the wall. I clutch my shoulder in my pain. I can’t make out their face in the dark.

I try to push the stranger back. I need to get out of here.

‘Please just leave. I won’t call the police, just don’t hurt me.’

The stranger moves closer towards me. I can feel my heart beating in my chest. They are so close I can feel their breath on my neck.

‘You need to stay away from Inside.’

The stranger releases their grip, yanking open the front door and pelting down the road. The stranger doesn’t look back. She doesn’t look back.

Chapter Thirty-Four

‘Cassandra Harlow. I’ve got an appointment with Dr Jones.’

The receptionist checks her computer. ‘Ms Harlow, take a seat. Dr Jones will be out shortly.’

George insisted I stayed the night at his after the intruder at my place, as I was too scared to sleep in my own bed. I called Detective Lewis about the break-in. I practically have his number committed to memory these days, given how often I ring asking for updates on Nat’s case – not that he ever tells me anything meaningful. He came round this morning to take my statement and help me look through the chaos.

It had been trashed, all my belongings pulled out and tossed in a pile on the floor. None of my valuables have been taken, my laptop is left, jewellery untouched. But Sara’s laptop is gone. The USB drive is gone. So is the bracelet I found on the roof terrace, the one with the ‘A’ initial.

And why did the person who took those things tell me to stay away from Inside? It shows it’s connected. Was it a threat? Did Miranda figure out that I knew more than I was letting on?

I’m hoping to get more answers about Hayley today. I specifically requested Dr Jones when I got in touch with the charity. I said I’d been particularly affected by Hayley’s story and had just lost a colleague in the same way.

The waiting room looks exactly like a doctor’s office, magazines spread across tables, old-fashioned armchairs, except that the walls are covered with motivational stories and resources from suicide-prevention charities and helplines.

My palms sweat as I fidget nervously, playing over different scenarios in my head. It’s not going to be easy getting Dr Jones to open up about Hayley. I need to think about why I’m sitting in this waiting room, the people I’m doing this for.

‘Cassandra Harlow?’

I raise my head, looking up from my phone, which I’d been using to jot down ideas of how I might approach the conversation.

‘I’m Dr Jones, do you want to follow me?’

Dr Jones’ smile is warm, welcoming. It spreads across her face, bunching up her cheeks and showing the lines in the corner of her eyes. Her brown hair has been pinned up in a claw clip, although two strands have fallen down each side of her face. She’s dressed in blue jeans and a coral jumper.

I follow Dr Jones into a small room. There are two sofas facing each other with a coffee table in the middle.

‘Would you like something to drink? Tea, coffee?’

‘Just water, please,’ I say.

‘Still okay?’ Dr Jones pours a glass, places it on the table and takes a seat on one of the sofas. She gestures for me to sit opposite her.

‘So, Cassandra, I think if I start by explaining what we do here and then we can talk about why you’re here?’

I nod.

‘I set this charity up because my daughter killed herself after being overworked. I don’t think that companies these days offer their staff enough support. There is too much focus on making money and not enough done to address employee burnout. After Hayley died, I took the necessary courses so that I could try to fill that gap.’

‘That’s very admirable of you.’

‘Thank you. I’m not sure if you’ve had therapy before but I find it works best if these sessions are informal. We can talk about anything you want, and of course everything you do say within this room is strictly confidential. I would encourage you to speak freely.’

‘I heard about Hayley’s story on the news recently and it really resonated with me. I work in a law firm and there’s a lot of pressure. We’re constantly judged on how many hours we’re billing our clients, working incredibly long hours, and we’re treated like machines rather than humans. I barely have a life outside of the office because they demand you be contactable twenty-four-seven.’

‘It makes complete sense that you feel that way. I see a lot of lawyers and from my experience as a therapist, I can see that the billing culture lends itself to burnout.’

‘One of my colleagues killed herself recently. I don’t know if it was because of work but I know she was stressed out. I can’t help but wonder…’ I pause. ‘I’m sorry to ask this, but how did you know that Hayley killed herself because of her work? Was there some sort of sign? I keep thinking I should have seen it coming.’

Dr Jones shifts uncomfortably in her seat and tucks the stray hair behind her ears. ‘That’s a tough question to answer. If I’m honest, I knew work was difficult but I never thought Hayley would end up how she did. I couldn’t see any signs at the time – though in hindsight they were there. But we shouldn’t try and dwell on what we should and shouldn’t have done. It’s not our fault.’

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.’

I’m not sure I can go through with this. It was so much easier in my head, but now seeing this grieving woman in front of me, who is only trying to help people, makes it too difficult. Asking what I need to ask will open an already sore wound – not just open it, but rip it apart.

‘No, you shouldn’t be sorry. I can’t expect you to open up about your emotions if I can’t open up about mine.’

‘My friend was part of the same society as Hayley was. I couldn’t help wondering if that meant something.’

‘What society?’

‘It’s called Inside. It’s an elite, female-only members’ club.’

‘Hmmm. Hayley never mentioned it, but she may well have been a member. She always worked so hard, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she was part of something like that.’

‘Before my friend took her life, she told me something about Hayley. I’m not sure whether to mention it or not, but I think you should know,’ I say.

This lie is the only thing I can think of which could persuade Dr Jones to talk about her suspicions about Hayley’s death. She may not have any; she may truly believe that it was suicide. Or even if she knows that something else was going on, why would she talk about it to a stranger?

‘My Hayley? What did your friend say?’

‘She said that people didn’t think Hayley killed herself. There were murmurings that something else happened. That maybe somebody hurt her.’

‘Why would she say that? What evidence did she have?’

Her tone and expression are unreadable. Her face blank, professional. I dare to keep pushing.

‘I don’t know, that’s all she said. I must admit, I have my own suspicions about my friend’s death. I don’t think she killed herself…and I wondered if maybe Hayley didn’t either.’

‘I’m sorry, Cassandra, I don’t feel comfortable talking to you about this. I’m going to stop your session here. If you would still like counselling then I’d be very happy to refer you to one of my colleagues, but I don’t think I’m the right person to help you. These sessions are for you to discuss you and your problems rather than deflecting by talking about other people’s suffering.’

She stands up and heads towards the door.

‘I’m so sorry for bringing it up, Dr Jones. You don’t have to believe me – I know what I’m saying sounds crazy. But do you think there’s any chance your daughter was murdered?’

Dr Jones exhales loudly.

‘No.’

She opens the door.

‘If you speak to Sophie at the front desk, I’m sure she can arrange an appointment for you with another therapist.’

I walk out of the room, hanging my head in shame. In the doorway, I turn back and see Dr Jones sitting on the sofa with her head in her hands. I can’t leave like this.

‘Dr Jones? I really am sorry. About your daughter, about bringing it up.’

She nods but doesn’t say anything and I close the door behind me feeling like the worst person in the world.

‘Would you like to make another appointment?’ Sophie, the friendly receptionist, asks.

‘Not right now. Thanks, though.’

I walk away from the desk towards the front door. As I leave, I see there’s a portrait of Hayley next to the exit. She looks young. Her dark brown hair is in loose waves. Her face is full, her cheeks flushed. Her eyes sparkle as she smiles at the camera. She looks so happy in that photo.

What happened to you, Hayley?

Chapter Thirty-Five

I’m dressed in all black. I feel ridiculous, as if I’m dressing up as a burglar, but at least it’s winter so my clothing doesn’t betray my intentions. I take Nat’s key out of my bag. The biggest risk is that Phoebe, Nat’s neighbour, will see me here. She might not realise I’m using her key. After all, I got it copied the same day and returned it to her, telling her I ‘forgot’ I still had it. I didn’t tell her I’d made a copy. I slide the key in the lock. It’s silent, no police, no nosy neighbour.

The door opens and I slip inside, shutting it behind me quietly and locking it. The flat looks pristine, except for the packed suitcases in the corner. I didn’t notice them before. Nat must’ve been planning to leave without telling me. It makes sense; that’s why she cleared out her desk at Carrey & Watson. She must’ve been so close to getting away before someone stopped her.

Nat’s body has gone, so have the empty pill bottles I saw surrounding her. I guess they needed them for forensic testing. It looks like nothing happened here, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing as horrific as what did happen. I attempt to not focus on the spot where her body lay. I need to focus on finding something that shows why Nat was so scared when she left me that voicemail. Nat documented everything. It’s what made her so good at her job. She kept notes on everything, kept every letter she ever received, whether it was a pension statement or an energy bill. If she found something at Inside, she’ll have put it somewhere safe. Nat was a contradiction, someone who never threw anything away but was also pristine in her tidiness.

I take my shoes off and leave them next to the door. Bare feet will be quieter. Although I spent so many happy evenings on Nat’s sofa gossiping, her home now feels cold and unnatural without her presence. I wonder what will happen to this flat now. Did she have a will? Nat was an only child so I suppose her parents will take ownership of it. I have so many memories of being here. Occasionally we’d go to exercise classes on the weekend and we’d always come back to hers and Nat would whip up brunch. It will never happen again and it’s likely this will be the last time I’ll set foot in this flat. I take a moment to remember the details; everything within these walls is the last connection I have to Nat.

I search the kitchen first, gently opening the drawers and cupboards, but there’s nothing unexpected. I find a drawer with envelopes and documents, but they are all bills and GP letters, mundane life admin. They are all in a binder sorted into categories. Nat’s organisation means it’s quick to see that none of them are the smoking gun I’m looking for.

I check the sofa, taking off each of the cushions and searching behind them. I get down on my hands and knees and use the torch on my phone to see if there’s anything underneath. Nothing. I head to the bathroom; the only place to search is the cabinet above the sink, but all that’s in there is hair products. The only room left is the bedroom. For once, I’m glad that Nat bought such a compact flat. If there is anything here, it’ll be easier to find than if she’d bought a townhouse with several floors.

The bedroom still smells like Nat, Baccarat Rouge 540 perfume, and also of chemicals that the police must have used. Perfume was one of her only splurges and she wouldn’t hesitate to drop £320 for a 70ml bottle.

Her room isn’t as tidy as it usually is. The police must have searched it, but unlike me they didn’t know what they were looking for. I search the wardrobe and chest of drawers, rummaging through my dead friend’s clothes. Some of them are familiar. The clothes in her wardrobe look freshly steamed and ready to wear. Reiss, Whistles and Jigsaw. The odd designer staple. The Balmain blazer I always used to envy as it looked so good on her. I finger the buttons on the blazer and remember the last time I saw her in this. I can’t get myself worked up. Every second I spend in this flat makes it more likely that somebody will catch me.

I check the inside of her pillowcases, take off the fitted sheet and search under the mattress. Still nothing. I must have been wrong. There isn’t evidence or anything implicating Inside in the flat. Or if there was, the police have obviously found it and removed it, which means Detective Lewis has already seen it and still isn’t making any headway with the investigation. There’s nothing left to do but leave. I close the bedroom door behind me and do one last check of the flat to make sure I haven’t left anything differently to how I found it – I don’t want to alert anyone to the fact I was here.

There’s somewhere I haven’t searched. Nat once told me she started smoking at university. Not cigarettes, but cannabis. It was before Abbie, when she was still using drugs. It started out as just something to do when she was out with friends, but eventually it became a daily habit. Her parents had always been strict, and she told me she had to hide her habit over the summer breaks and douse herself in Febreze and strong-smelling perfume – that must have been where her love of woody perfumes started. She said they never caught her and she stopped using anyway after Abbie’s death. I asked her how she managed to hide the drugs without them being discovered, figuring it was somewhere in her bedroom. I was wrong; her parents had a cleaner and she needed to be sure she wouldn’t find it.

So she found a hiding place where nobody would ever look. At the back of the freezer, underneath the piles of food. She found an old bag of chicken nuggets – something her parents would never eat because they were vegetarians (unlike Nat) – and placed everything she needed inside.

It’s a long shot, but maybe Nat did the same with any evidence she found at Inside. I dart to the freezer, hoping that the story has some meaning. It’s full of food still. I grab packets and pull them out, throwing them on the floor. The freezer is stacked with Tupperware containers, descriptions of meals written on them. Nat became really into her fitness after she stopped experimenting with drugs, so she always meal-prepped. Nothing in the first drawer. Nothing in the second. My hands become numb, the ice clinging to my fingers. In the final drawer, I find an opened packet of chips. It could be totally innocent but I know Nat didn’t eat carbs unless it was brown rice or quinoa – a nutritionist’s dream. I take the packet out and open it up. There’s something inside, wrapped in newspaper.

I unravel the newspaper like a child playing pass the parcel. What I find takes me by surprise. It’s completely unexpected and I know it’s definitely something, but I’m not sure what. It’s a work ID for Carrey & Watson. I have one just like it. But the name on it isn’t Nat’s. It’s Sara O’Neil.

What was Nat doing with Sara’s work ID? Sara would have needed this ID to get to the roof terrace where she was pushed so the only person that could’ve taken it is somebody who was there when she died. Questions swirl in my head and I frantically shove the food back into the freezer. I need to get out of here. I need to work out what’s going on and talk to George about this. Did Nat find this at Inside or was she there when Sara died? Is that why she was so on edge when the police came? I can’t even believe I’m suspecting Nat would somehow have been involved but nothing makes sense right now. I need to get out of here.

I hear a noise. I turn towards the door, hoping it’s just somebody in the hallway, but I hear the jingle of keys in the lock. At least I thought to lock it which will buy me some time. Who would have access to Nat’s flat? Someone from Inside? Or the police? Neither would be good for me.

I act quickly, rushing into Nat’s bedroom and closing the door behind me, pressing my back against it.

I hear the door give way and footsteps across the wooden floor. I want to look through the cracks to see who the intruder is but I’m too scared they’ll catch me. I try to slow my breathing, placing my hand over my mouth to muffle any sound. I look to the ceiling as if there’s somebody out there who can get me out of this situation. Maybe whoever is in the apartment will leave. Maybe it’s just somebody here to steal valuables and they’ll go. Except whoever is inside used a key to get in. Maybe it’s Phoebe; she has a key. But why would she be here?

Whoever it is continues walking around the flat. There’s no noise. I think it’s only one person but it’s hard to tell. Please leave. Please leave. Please leave. The footsteps get closer and the door handle moves behind my back. I use all my strength to keep the door from opening, knowing that it’s unlikely to deter the mysterious figure and will reveal my presence, but there’s no other option. I don’t have enough time to get into the wardrobe or under the bed, not without them seeing me first.

The person attempts to open the door again with more force this time. My body jolts forward but I manage to slam back into the door to close it again. They know I’m in here now with nowhere to escape. The stranger tries again. This time I can’t hold on and I’m thrown forward, falling into the duvet on Nat’s bed. I drag myself up to see who is in the now open doorway, knowing that it will seal my fate.

I turn and recognise the person standing in front of me. And they recognise me.

‘What are you doing here, Cassandra?’

Chapter Thirty-Six

He repeats himself.

‘What are you doing here, Cassandra?’ Detective Lewis says.

I don’t answer. My mind scrambles to think of an excuse, a reason I might be here that won’t sound suspicious.

‘I came here to think about Nat. I miss her.’

‘You have a key to her flat?’

‘She was my best friend. She gave me a spare in case she ever lost hers.’ Nat was not the type to lose anything but its believable that I’d have a spare key.

‘How do you have a key?’ I ask.

‘The neighbour gave us hers so we could revisit the flat without bothering her each time.’

‘Oh, right. How come you’re here now?’

‘The neighbour called me, she said it sounded as though there was movement in this flat, so I came to investigate. I wasn’t expecting to find you.’

I thought I’d been so careful, so quiet. Detective Lewis must’ve given Phoebe his contact information the day we found Nat. I shouldn’t be surprised; this is still a crime scene, of sorts.

‘I think we need to have a chat,’ he adds, although the tone of his voice makes it clear that it’s an order, not a suggestion.

‘Am I under arrest?’ Hopefully he buys my story about having a spare key, but I’m worried he might tell me I’m obstructing an active crime scene. Is it even considered active anymore? They don’t teach you these kinds of things in law school.

‘No, why, do you think you should be?’

‘No. No. I just wondered.’

‘You’re not under arrest, but I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful about your reason for being here. Follow me.’

Does he think I have something to do with Nat’s death? Although the last time I spoke to him he still thought that Nat’s death was suicide.

Detective Lewis leads me out of the flat, pausing whilst I put my shoes back on. He locks it behind me.

He leads me downstairs to his car. It’s not a police car but I suppose that makes sense – as a detective he would drive an unmarked car.

‘It seems you’ve developed a bit of an obsession with what happened to your friend.’

‘It’s not an obsession. Did you look at the documents I sent you about Inside? Have you linked it to Sara’s death? What about Nat’s post-mortem, did they show it wasn’t suicide?’

‘I cannot discuss an open investigation with you.’

‘So there’s an investigation, right? You do think it was suspicious? Because every time I ring you, you don’t answer my questions and I’m worried nobody is looking into Inside.’

‘Do you have any more information than what you’ve given me?’

‘Yes. I found out about another suspicious death connected to them. Her name was Hayley Jones. It was said to be a suicide like Nat’s but it seems odd, right – how many women connected to this place have died in strange circumstances so close together?’

Detective Lewis says nothing, appearing to mull over what I’ve just told him.

‘How did you find out about Hayley Jones?’

‘I was at Inside’s headquarters and I overheard a conversation that implied her death was a cover-up.’ I’m being creative with the truth but I need Detective Lewis to take this seriously.

‘Wait, I don’t understand. What were you doing at their headquarters? Are you connected to this society you say is implicated in these deaths?’

‘No, well, sort of. I was in the application process before Nat died. I thought I’d been cut out of the process but then I got another chance after Nat’s death. I’ve been trying to investigate them…because the police weren’t doing anything.’ I almost didn’t add the second part but it’s the truth. If the police had believed me from the start I wouldn’t need to be putting myself at risk.

‘You’re investigating them?’

‘Trying to find information to prove what really happened to Nat and Sara. Nobody else seemed to be doing anything.’

Detective Lewis sighs.

‘It’s not really right of you to be investigating them. That’s the police’s job. If and when we think we need to, we will move our investigation forward. There is a lot you are not privy to. If this organisation is as dangerous as you seem to think, I’d suggest you stay away.’

‘But—’

‘I mean it. I’ll look into this Hayley person but at the moment I am worried this Inside is a fixation of yours rather than that there’s any ground to suspect them.’

‘Hang on⁠—’

‘What were you really doing in Nat’s flat?’

‘I told you, I miss her and came here to be close to her.’

‘What did you take?’

‘Huh?’

‘You took something from Nat’s flat, didn’t you? If you have something pertinent to our investigation it’s imperative you hand it to me.’

‘I didn’t take anything.’ A risky lie, but I can’t hand this evidence over while Detective Lewis refuses to take this seriously. The ID will end up neglected on a desk with the other evidence I sent him.

‘Then why have you had your hands in your coat pockets ever since I walked in?’

‘I’m just cold,’ I say, removing my hands, careful not to drag Sara’s ID out with me.

‘Turn out your pockets.’

‘I’m not carrying a knife or anything.’

‘Cassandra, are you going to co-operate with me or should I arrest you on suspicion of breaking and entering and have my colleague search you in the station?’

I don’t see any way out of it.

I begrudgingly empty my pockets and hand over the ID to Detective Lewis.

‘What’s this?’ he says, turning the ID card over in his hands. ‘Why do you have Sara O’Neil’s work ID? Where did you get this?’

‘It’s not what it looks like,’ I say, realising I sound like every criminal that I’ve seen on TV. It’s going to look like I was trying to remove evidence. They always say the person that finds the body is the killer.

‘Then what is it?’

‘I found it in Nat’s flat. I told you I’ve been investigating and this is part of it. I went to Nat’s flat to find evidence. I knew her hiding spots better than anyone.’

‘My team did a thorough search. You expect me to believe you were able to find something they couldn’t?’

‘They don’t know Nat like I do.’

‘Did you plant this? Is that why you were there? I’m starting to think you’re keeping a lot of secrets, Cassandra. You must know how this looks. First I find you breaking and entering⁠—’

‘I had a key!’

‘And then I find you concealing evidence that could be relevant to our investigation. Were you planning to hand this in? Keeping things from us will only undermine the work we are doing and won’t help us get justice for your friend.’

‘I know. I know. I wasn’t thinking. But it was well-intentioned. You have to believe me.’ His tone is concerning me, his suspicions seem to be squarely focused on me.

‘You know, there’s another link between Sara and Nat, other than this secret society you seem fixated on, that you seem to conveniently gloss over.’

‘What?’

‘You.’

My face drops. ‘Obviously…we work – worked – together.’

‘But that’s not all, is it? You know Sara’s brother.’

‘Sara’s brother? I’ve only met her sister, Julia.’

‘We have photographic evidence of you with Sara’s brother, on multiple occasions.’

‘Have you been following me?’

‘Quite the opposite. We’ve been watching him.’

‘Why?’

‘He’s a person of interest.’

‘Okay, but I don’t know Sara’s brother. I didn’t even know she had one. She only ever spoke about her sister.’

‘Like I said, we have photos of you with Sara’s brother. And now I’ve found you in Nat’s apartment with a vital piece of evidence. It begs the question whether the ID was here when you arrived or if you were planting it.’

‘What? Why would I do that?’

‘You know something they teach us? Any person that takes an unusual interest in a case or tries to involve themselves in an investigation is very likely involved in some way. You are obsessed with this case and it makes you incredibly suspicious.’

‘No, no. You’ve got it wrong.’

‘Seems pretty clear from where I’m sitting. I think you’re working with Sara’s brother to cover up these deaths. I don’t know your motive yet, but I will find it.’

‘You don’t understand. You need to focus on Inside. There’s something shady going on there. Please. You need to look.’

‘I have looked. And I have found nothing to implicate this “secret society” that you seem so determined to blame.’

I place my head in my hands. This conversation confirms that I was right not to go to the police with my suspicions earlier. They don’t believe me.

‘You still haven’t explained your connection to Mr O’Neil.’

I sigh, pulling at my hair. ‘I don’t know Sara’s brother. I’ve never met him.’

‘Then how do you explain this?’ Detective Lewis hands me an iPad displaying photographs on the screen. It’s me and George. The person I’ve been dating for the last couple of months has been lying to me.

George is Sara’s brother.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Detective Lewis let me go, but with a stern warning that I am to stick around London in case he has more questions for me – like I’d be going anywhere. After the reveal about George, I pleaded that I didn’t know he was Sara’s brother but he didn’t believe me. I don’t blame him. I look like a liar and I’ve been spending so much time with George that of course it looks like something suspicious has been going on. Although I don’t understand why they suspect George would have anything to do with his sister’s death. But then, I realise now I don’t know anything about him.

There is only one place I’m going right now, and that’s to confront George. With Nat gone, George was the only person I could talk to about everything. If he’s really Sara’s brother, why didn’t he tell me from the start? It wouldn’t even have mattered; if anything, it would’ve been easier to open up to someone who missed Sara as much as me. Unlike the rest of the firm who saw her as just a cog in their billing machine.

To find out that our whole relationship has been based on lies is the biggest betrayal. Could he have something to do with Nat’s death? Detective Lewis has gotten inside my head. George knew who Nat was. I never introduced them but I spoke about her enough and he knew exactly where she worked. But why would he kill her? It doesn’t make any sense. For Detective Lewis to suspect him, there must be some evidence against him.

I catch the bus to George’s flat in Vauxhall. I’ve no idea whether he’ll be home but if not, I’ll wait outside for him. The bus comes to a standstill when it hits traffic on Lambeth Bridge. I drum my fingers impatiently against the window. The weather is grey. Drizzle is splattering the window, obscuring any real view.

I check Citymapper. Still ten minutes until we reach the stop near George’s flat, but the map shows the entire route as subject to heavy traffic. I sigh. Everyone knows that buses in London never run on time because there are far too many cars on the road.

Horns blare somewhere outside as drivers grow impatient. I distract myself by fiddling with my phone. I scroll through my recent texts and an idea hits me. I should text Julia. I hesitate, hovering my fingers over the keyboard before typing out the message. I type it and quickly send, not giving myself chance to back out.

Cass [18:21]: Hey…super weird question but do you have a brother?

It’s unlikely she’ll reply to me anytime soon. Should I have noticed the resemblance between Sara, Julia and George? Saying that, I never thought Julia and Sara looked alike. I told her that once, and she said it was because Julia had the complexion of someone who never stressed about anything. Julia and Sara didn’t even have the same colour hair; Julia had hers dyed jet-black, a nose piercing and tattoos covering her arms. Sara had nothing of the sort. But George doesn’t look like either of them. And why did Sara never mention him? Maybe Detective Lewis got it all wrong. Also, if George is Sara’s brother, why wasn’t he at her funeral?

The traffic slowly starts to move and we make it to the other side of the bridge. George’s flat isn’t far from here. The bus turns a corner, finally breaking away from the rows of traffic and managing to pick up speed. I press the red button to alert the driver to let me off at the next stop. I get up, walking towards the doors in the centre of the bus, holding onto the pole to stop myself falling over.

I check my phone to make sure I’m going the right way. Julia’s replied to my message.

Julia [18:34]: Yeah, I have a brother called George. Why do you ask? X

I call her and she answers immediately. ‘Cass? What’s going on?’

‘Your brother is George?

‘Yeah…Well, actually he’s my stepbrother. Our parents divorced and my dad married his mum. So not biologically related. Why?’

‘I’ve met him. I only just found out, but Sara never mentioned him to me. I thought it was weird.’

‘She probably wouldn’t have. They weren’t on speaking terms for the longest time, I don’t even know why because neither of them ever told me. I wasn’t surprised he didn’t come to the funeral but then he visited the day after and told me that he and Sara had patched things up before she died.’

‘Why wouldn’t he have gone to the funeral if they’d made up?’

‘He didn’t have the best relationship with mine and Sara’s mum. The divorce wasn’t amicable but because we were all the same age we’d still go on family holidays with both parents and Dad convinced Mum that George should come. Mum spent her whole time making him feel like a spare wheel. He told me he didn’t want to cause a scene at the funeral and that Mum had more of a right to be there as Sara was her daughter.’

‘I suppose that makes sense.’

‘Sorry, is that enough? I’ve got to go; I’m running late for an audition for this new musical about the Kray brothers.’

‘Yeah, sure, go. Thanks for your help.’

The rain starts to come down heavier, fat splodges of water landing on my phone screen and I curse myself for forgetting my umbrella. I quicken my pace towards George’s flat, my clothes becoming sodden and heavier with each step. As I stand to cross the road a car speeds past, spraying water over my entire body and making me gasp from the shock of the icy water.

I reach the front door and jab the buzzer multiple times. I barely wait five seconds before buzzing it again but George doesn’t answer. There’s no point pounding the door as he won’t hear me from down here.

‘Are you waiting for somebody?’

I turn to see a woman behind me, keys in her hand. She must live here.

‘Yes, I’m meant to be seeing my boyfriend but he’s not answering.’

‘I’ll let you in. You poor thing, you’re drenched. It’s far too cold to be waiting out here.’

She opens the door and lets me inside, and the warmth from the central heating envelops me like a warm hug. George lives in one of those new-build flat complexes. There are hundreds of flats across multiple buildings in just this one development and they have everything they need on-site: restaurants, bars and gyms.

The woman who let me in heads towards the lifts and I wait until I can hear the doors closing before taking the stairs to George’s flat. He lives on the sixth floor. I race up the stairs, occasionally taking two at a time until I reach flat 63. I knock on the door, quietly at first, using all my willpower not to hammer my fist against it. I wait, pacing backwards and forwards, tearing my cuticles from my fingers as blood starts to seep from under my nail. There’s some sort of irony that the last time I was knocking on a door like this, I found Nat dead behind it.

He’s taking too long. I launch myself at the door, pounding my fist against it. I don’t care about upsetting the neighbours. I need to talk to George. Maybe he’s not in. Maybe this is all for nothing, but I’m going to stay here outside his front door and I’m not leaving until I speak to him.

I’m mentally preparing myself to spend several hours in George’s doorway when the door to his flat swings open. George stands there, headset on.

‘Cass? What’s going on? I was in a meeting but thought there was an emergency or something.’

‘I need to talk to you.’

I don’t wait for him to invite me in, instead pushing past him and walking inside. I dump my bag on the sofa and turn to face him, arms crossed.

‘You seem mad. Are you okay?’

I dart my eyes away from his, instead staring at the open laptop on the table. I can’t quite make out the text.

‘Am I okay? Am I okay, George? I don’t know. I just found out that the guy I’ve been sleeping with has been lying to me ever since he met me. So how do you think I feel?’

‘Wait, Cass, I don’t know what you’ve been told but⁠—’

‘Don’t even dare lie to me again. When were you going to tell me you knew Sara? Not even just knew her, but she was your stepsister.’

‘Shit. Right. Yes. Okay,’ George says, running his hand through his hair. It’s fluffier than usual, not full of product. ‘I know how this must look, but I can explain everything. I never wanted to lie to you.’

‘Then why did you? Why couldn’t you just tell me who you are at the bar the first time? It wouldn’t have made a difference.’

‘I wasn’t sure if I could trust you. I thought if you knew who I was, you’d never open up to me. You’d never have told me about Inside.’

‘What does Inside have to do with you lying about who you are?’

He moves past me, heading for the sofa and grabbing his laptop. He turns it to face me.

‘I need to show you something. It wasn’t an accident that I spilt my drink on you. I knew you were a colleague of Sara’s from the firm’s website.’

I perch on the sofa next to him, taking the laptop from the coffee table and putting it on my lap so I can see it better. There’s a word document on the screen. At first I don’t understand what I’m reading, then it all makes sense.

EXPOSED: THE MEMBERS’ CLUB WHERE MURDER IS ON THE AGENDA

Author: George O’Neil

Inside was founded several years ago as an alternative to the infamous old boys’ networks and dining societies. Shrouded in mystery, this exclusive clique is said to help women advance in their careers and give them the advantage they never got. Everything is based on whispers. Nobody actually knows how Inside operates or who is a member. But just like all old-boys’ clubs, Inside has its own dirty secret.

It’s an exposé. I scroll down, reading the rest of the article.

‘It’s not finished,’ I say, turning to face him, a million questions in my head.

‘And that’s why I needed you. It’s about time I told you the truth.’

Chapter Thirty-Eight

‘You’re a journalist. You’re writing about Inside. Are you writing about Sara, too? About Nat?’

The facts are clear now. Why he was so quick to believe that something was going on there. He was so willing to help me hack into the laptop even though it was highly illegal. He must’ve had someone in his office who was used to doing such things to get a scoop.

When everything happened with Nat, he must’ve been overjoyed. He couldn’t have found better material for his story than everything I told him. I mistook his agenda for him being interested in me. He’s used me. Was any of our relationship even real?

‘An investigative journalist, yes.’

‘You used me.’

‘No, well, yes, but it’s a long story. Please give me a chance to explain myself.’

Tears run down my cheeks involuntarily. I don’t want to show George how much he’s upset me. I’m not sure what bothers me more – the fact that he lied to me or the fact that the only person who seemed to believe me about Nat and Sara had an ulterior motive.

‘I need to go,’ I say, lips starting to tremble as I fight back the tears. I’ve been betrayed. I finally felt like I found someone who cared about me but it was all a lie. I’ve lost my job, my best friend and now the man I care about. It’s too much to handle. I stand up, disorientated and confused. I feel drunk on the disappointment of my life.

‘Cass, please. I need to explain why I did what I did.’ He takes my hands in his. ‘And I need you to understand that while I did start getting to know you because of this investigation, what I feel for you now is very real. What we have is real.’

I snort. Fool me twice, shame on me. I snatch my hands away from his. ‘You make me feel sick.’

‘Wait. Wait. Please. You need to listen to what I have to say.’

‘And why would I listen to you? You’ll probably just tell me a pack of lies anyway.’

‘Because I might be the only person who can help you find out what really happened to Nat and Sara. And I think you know that.’

I close my eyes, bracing myself. It’s the one hook he knows he can use to reel me in. He knows that despite everything, finding out what happened to my friends means more to me than my pride, more than my hurt feelings.

‘Tell me everything. Leave nothing out.’

I shouldn’t give him the chance to speak to me, he doesn’t deserve it. But I don’t know what else to do. As much as I want to storm out, I’m not in a rush to get home to my empty house, especially after I was threatened the other night.

‘You’re going to need to sit down then. Let me get you a drink.’

‘Fine. I’ll take a coffee.’ I sit back down on the sofa. I turn the laptop away from me; I can’t keep looking at that article. I only read it once but the words are already burned into my mind.

‘You’re going to need something a lot stronger than that,’ he says, heading over to his collection of spirits, grabbing a bottle of rum and pouring it into two glasses.

‘I don’t even like rum.’

He shrugs and takes a sip of his drink. ‘This is the strongest alcohol I’ve got.’ He places the other glass in front of me.

‘Let me start from the beginning.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘Yes, I’m a journalist. My work has been focused on corruption, mostly politics and scandals. I was responsible for that piece a few years ago about drugs in the House of Commons.’

I remember that article. It caused outrage. The press coverage lasted for days. It was a highlight on the evening news.

‘Sara was my stepsister. We were always close but we fell out a few years ago. She caught me going through her work laptop trying to find stories about her clients that I could use to impress my editor,’ George holds his hands up in defence, ‘I know, it was unethical but I was young and stupid. Thankfully, Sara never told anyone, or I would’ve been disgraced. Anyway, our relationship was ruined and Sara said she could never trust me again. I didn’t think I’d ever hear from her again.’

‘But then you did?’

‘A couple of months before she died, she came to me wanting help. She told me about Inside. How it sounded amazing at first, how she became a member and suddenly she made partner and everything in her career just started to line up. It seemed like a dream come true, but she said things started to change and she needed help.’

‘What happened?’

‘She started noticing men going in and out of Inside. Hearing hushed conversations. She started noticing how much didn’t add up. She said Inside was supposed to be about networking but it all felt like a front. People were so private that the place was usually empty. And then Inside started asking for favours from her.’

‘Favours?’

‘Small things at first, making introductions to clients. But then she said she got a request to filter some money through Carrey & Watson’s accounts.’

‘But that’s illegal. Classic money laundering. And Sara wouldn’t have access to the firm accounts, surely?’

Law firms are the best place to filter dirty money. There’s so much money going in and out.

He shrugged. ‘She refused to do it. They made out like that was fine, but more requests kept coming.’

‘Who asked her to do these things?’

‘She never said. I asked countless times, but I think she was afraid of whoever it was. She wanted to quit. Wanted to get out. But she said they’d forged records to make it look like she had been laundering money already so she couldn’t go to the police. And then one time they roughed her up. Got some guys to take her into a room at Inside and told her she needed to start complying with their requests. When she continued to refuse, they hurt her. Not badly enough that she needed to go to hospital, but it spooked her. And they threatened her. Started sending her videos of her being watched. Of Julia being watched.’

‘I think I need that drink after all,’ I say, taking a swig of my rum. It burns the back of my throat like I’ve swallowed an entire chilli with the seeds still in it. ‘Those videos…You sent me them, didn’t you?’

He nods. ‘I wanted you to become suspicious. I couldn’t deal with everyone naively believing Sara jumped.’

‘Well, it worked.’

‘It was after she got the video of Julia that she came to me. Since Sara couldn’t leave without risking being set up for a crime she didn’t commit, I decided to help her take them down and expose what was really going on. She was terrified but she said they had people working for them in prominent positions, in the government and the police. She thought they were into some really shady stuff. Money laundering. Drugs. Even…’ George pauses. ‘Sara said that sometimes Inside would hold these mixers, and they were meant to be about networking but they were anything but. They’d be told that important contacts were being invited but Sara started to notice they were all men, and they were very handsy with the members. She said the “clients” were clearly looking for more than conversation. She didn’t go into details with me but she said she got the very clear impression that there was an expectation to entertain these “clients”.’

‘I don’t even know what to say. So Inside is a complete lie?’

‘It’s just an innovative front for the criminal gangs to sink their teeth into and exploit. They get their money laundered through the reputable businesses the members are part of, they get access to some of the wealthiest and most respected companies in the country. They get the members to sell drugs in pressure-cooker environments, banks, law firms, hundreds of budding customers. And then they also seem to have access to the women of Inside to have their wicked way with. And the members have to comply or they are made to look complicit. That’s where the article comes in. I spoke to someone in the police. They said they could give Sara immunity if she helped them gather evidence to use against Inside.’

‘You never mentioned you’d been speaking to Detective Lewis too?’ Why did Detective Lewis never mention that another police officer was investigating Inside? Why would he tell me I didn’t have enough information when George has been working with someone in the police already?

‘No, someone else. I never mentioned him to you because if you spoke to him you’d realise who I am.’

‘It’s weird Detective Lewis never mentioned anyone else. He’s the one who just told me about you. Maybe he should talk to your friend – maybe if they work together it will help progress the investigation.’

‘I’ll give him a message.’

‘He keeps dismissing me but maybe with your help we can help convince him. Did Sara say anything else?’

‘Sara started sneaking around Inside. Trying to eavesdrop on conversations. She’d heard snippets but didn’t have anything concrete. That’s where all the material on her laptop and that memory stick came from. Anyway, one morning she called me and said she’d found something big and would explain everything after work. She was meant to come here but she never made it.’

‘Because she was killed?’

‘The same day.’

‘Doesn’t seem like a coincidence.’

‘Sara told me she felt like she was being watched, followed. She was worried that the people at Inside, and whoever they have shady dealings with, had found out about her deal with the police, or that they knew she was poking around. She was worried they would try to shut her up. Permanently.’ George rubs his face with his hands. ‘And then I got the call.’

‘You knew it wasn’t suicide, didn’t you?’

‘I knew straight away.’

‘This is a lot to take in.’ I take another sip of my drink.

‘I haven’t even gotten to the important part.’

‘Which is?’

‘You.’

Chapter Thirty-Nine

‘Me? Why did you go after me? How did you know I would get involved with Inside?’

‘Honestly, I didn’t. It was luck. I looked up Sara’s colleagues. She’d mentioned some of the bars you all usually haunt so I tried my luck. I was mostly hoping that you’d have information on Sara’s death that could help me find out what happened to her – I wasn’t even thinking about Inside at that point. You were my main target as I knew you were friends. It was only when you told me you’d applied that I saw a chance to finish the article and find out who killed Sara.’

‘Did you date any of Sara’s other colleagues, then?’

He bows his head. ‘I went on a couple of dates with a woman called Alexa but she seemed clueless.’

His words hurt me more than I want them to. His lies and deceit go so far. I want to ask him if he kissed her, if he slept with her, but I can’t bear knowing the answer.

‘I’m sorry, Cass. I’ll be honest, at first it was a ruse to get information out of you, but then I genuinely did start to care about you. I do care about you, so much. I didn’t sleep with you until I cared.’

‘Well, that makes everything better,’ I say with a heavy dose of sarcasm. I down the rest of the rum.

‘I’m sorry, that came out wrong. But I hope you understand why I did it. I needed to understand what happened to my sister. I needed to finish what we started. I needed to expose Inside. And I couldn’t do it on my own. You know yourself how private they are, how secretive they are. I’m sorry I had to lie to you. I’m telling the truth when I tell you how much you mean to me.’

I nod. I still can’t forgive him for what’s he done, but I can’t get angry at him for wanting justice for Sara. My whole crusade has been about getting justice for Sara and Nat. Sara was his sister. She and Nat were my friends, but George lost his family in all of this. As angry as I am, I can’t help but feel for him, for what he’s lost.

‘Is that everything? Is there anything else you’re not telling me? Because if there is, then you need to tell me now. I can’t deal with any more lies.’

‘I think that’s everything.’

I put my head in my hands, trying to take everything in, but it’s overwhelming. Life has changed so much lately that it’s hard to tell what’s real. The line between reality and fiction has blurred.

‘Cass, I know I don’t deserve to ask you this, but I need to.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘This is hard to say. Will you still help me write this article? I can’t get the information to bring them down. But you can, you are my only hope. We can get justice for Sara and Nat. Without your help, I’m worried the trail will run cold again.’

‘I don’t even know if I’ll make it to the final round, anyway. I can’t think about it right now. I need space.’

'That’s all I can ask from you.’

* * *

I no longer feel like I’m suffocating when my front door slams behind me. I couldn’t stay at George’s tonight. Once we finished talking, I needed some space, needed to get away from him and all his lies, even if it meant going back to the house I still feel unsafe in. On the way home I’ve been thinking about what to do, flitting between the two options. I still feel betrayed. The level of his deceit is so calculated. He said that he cares about me, that what started off a ploy to learn more about Inside has turned into something genuine, but I don’t know if I buy it. If he truly cared about me, he would’ve told me the truth earlier. He wouldn’t have waited until somebody else told me. But another part of me wants nothing more than to forgive him and stay with him. And another part of me knows that I did the same to Nat. That I never told her about being fired or about Inside. Now I know how she felt.

I walk up the stairs, straight to my bedroom. It’s not even late, but I feel like I could sleep for eternity. I let myself collapse onto my duvet. I’m sure I can still smell George on these sheets. His deep, smoky scent.

I want to sleep but my mind won’t stop thinking about everything George said, everything I’ve just found out. I don’t need to make a decision about what to do until I hear from Inside. But even if I do make it through, I’m not sure if I can go through with it. The stakes are becoming too high. We are both in so deep, water up to our necks, ready to take us under for good.

My phone vibrates besides me. I’m always sceptical about answering calls from numbers I don’t know. I’m too polite to hang up on salespeople, so I end up staying on the phone for twenty minutes as they convince me why I need to change broadband.

I slide the answer button before it cuts out, curiosity getting the better of me.

‘Hello?’

‘Is this Cassandra Harlow?’ a woman asks.

‘Speaking.’

I prepare myself for the usual sales drivel or maybe somebody trying to scam me. I saw something online yesterday about a new scam from fraudsters claiming your bank account has been hacked, asking you to transfer all your money to a new account so it can be kept safe. My colleagues are meant to be some of the brightest in the country, yet I’ve known a few partners who have fallen victim to phishing emails. They get sent to law firms all the time because of the large amounts of money we keep on hold for clients. Millions. Occasionally billions. No wonder Inside wants to recruit lawyers; we work in gold mines.

‘Is now a good time to talk?’

‘Who is this, please?’

‘Oh, sorry, I thought maybe you’d recognise my voice. It’s Dr Jones, from Hayley’s Helping Hand. You came in for a session?’

I’m surprised to hear from her. We didn’t exactly end things on good terms.

‘Yes, of course I remember. What’s going on?’

‘I just wanted to apologise for how I reacted the other day when you brought up Hayley. Even a couple of years on, it’s still painful thinking about what she went through.’

‘You don’t need to apologise, I shouldn’t have brought it up.’

‘You remind me of her actually.’

‘Oh?’ I say, not sure how to answer that.

‘Your curiosity. Hayley was always the same, always wanted to know everything that was going on around her.’

‘It sounds like we would’ve gotten along.’

It’s hard to know what to say. I’m worried about saying the wrong thing and upsetting her even more. My emotions are in such a whirl, I don’t want to break down but she’s a therapist so the temptation is there. I just need someone to talk to about everything. About being betrayed, about being scared.

‘Sorry, I didn’t ring to babble on about my daughter. I rang because what you said made me remember something I dismissed. I wondered if maybe it could be important, if maybe it could help you?’

‘What is it?’

I press the phone closer to my ear, as if it will make any difference. My breathing quickens. Maybe what Dr Jones has to say will change everything.

‘Not long before she died, Hayley phoned me up. She asked to come home for the night. We don’t live anywhere near London. I only attend the clinic there once a week as I’m usually based up in Manchester.’

I bite my nails with impatience, hearing the satisfying crack as one splits in half.

‘It was odd because she usually only came home for special occasions – she loved her life in London and it was hard to get time off work. But she got the last train out of London to be here. Stayed for one night and then…Well, that was her last night. I always thought she killed herself because of the note she left. No body was found – the note said she didn’t want me to see her that way and that I’d never find her. It said she was overwhelmed by work and couldn’t carry on anymore.’

I hear a sniffle on the other end of the phone. It wrenches at my heart.

‘But after everything you said I started to wonder why Hayley came home that night. Maybe it wasn’t just to say goodbye. You know, I never changed her bedroom. It sounds silly, as it wasn’t really her bedroom anymore. But I didn’t want to disturb her things, it would be like admitting she was really gone.’

I say nothing. Waiting for Dr Jones to finally tell me the punchline.

‘But after our conversation, I searched her room. I’m not sure why, I think maybe I was looking for some sort of sign or evidence that she did kill herself. Trying to rid myself of the doubt you put in my head, but…’

‘But…?’

‘But now I think you might be right.’

Chapter Forty

Dr Jones had seemed pretty spooked on the phone. She wouldn’t tell me what she had found, just that she wanted me to come and see it. I had to wait until this morning to take the train from London to Manchester. I considered hiring a car and driving but I wasn’t in the right frame of mind and didn’t think she’d appreciate a midnight visitor. I couldn’t sleep last night, constantly tossing and turning, trying to work out what it might be. Could it be the same evidence Sara found? Something more? She didn’t give me any clues. I keep thinking about George, too. I haven’t told him I’m visiting Dr Jones because I still haven’t decided if I can forgive him. But I want to tell him and a nagging voice in my brain tells me I should.

I called in sick to work today to avoid any questions about my absence.

The taxi arrives at the address she gave me. It’s a modest house, looks the same as the others on the street. Four windows, a tidy front garden. The type of house where happy memories are made. I double-check the address on my phone to make sure I’ve got the right one. Then I take a deep breath and open the taxi door, thanking the driver. I compose myself and walk towards the front door, slowly, as if I’m worried about going too quickly, even though I’ve been waiting for this moment.

I raise my hand to knock but hesitate, riddled with anxiety about what might come next. I end up standing on the doorstep, not sure whether to knock or leave. I’m still working up the courage when the door flies open and I almost stumble inside.

‘I saw you standing outside.’

I give a sheepish smile. I wipe my shoes on the doormat and stand awkwardly in the hallway. It’s warm and inviting. Not modern but not old-fashioned. Soft grey carpets beneath my shoes. The walls are white, filled with photos. Hayley is in some of them.

Dr Jones shows me through to the living room. She gestures to one of the cream sofas and I sit down, removing my coat and placing it next to me.

‘Tea? Coffee?’

‘Coffee would be great, thanks,’ I say, running my hands through my hair. It’s only midday but the long journey has tired me out.

Dr Jones returns, placing a mug of coffee in front of me. She takes a seat opposite. ‘Thanks for coming all this way. I know it’s not close, but I didn’t know how to explain what I found on the phone.’

‘Don’t worry. It wasn’t that long a journey at all.’

‘So, as I said, I was looking in Hayley’s room and I came across something that didn’t make much sense to me. But after everything you told me, I started to wonder if maybe there’s something in what you were saying. I found a USB drive. I’d forgotten, but it was tucked inside the same envelope as her suicide note. I’d left it on her bedside table, unable to look at it again. I had no desire to look at the USB.’

She gestures towards the open laptop on the table and I edge closer to get a good look.

‘So I opened up the folders on the USB and found all of these documents and photos but I can’t make sense of them. I was hoping you could.’

I open each file in turn. The photographs are similar to the ones Sara took, but there are far more. As I flick through the photos, they become more incriminating. One shows tightly wrapped packages being given to Talia and Miranda. I don’t need to be a genius to work out those parcels are likely drugs. You could never prove that, though.

But the most incriminating photos are at the bottom of the folder, showing two men carrying what looks like a body wrapped in bin bags, the unmistakable shape of a human. And Talia and Miranda standing there watching.

‘This is worse than I ever thought.’

‘Keep going.’

After the photos there are documents, which appear to be diary entries made by Hayley describing what she’d found. One in particular makes me shudder.

I’m making a written record of this in case it’s needed as evidence. I think Inside is selling the bodies of its members. I remember having my photograph taken when I joined. Full length, close-up, from behind. It was weird but I didn’t question it. Today I found a stack of those photographs with prices written on them. I recognise some of the people from seeing them at HQ.

And then on the next file, an update.

Today, Talia asked me a favour. She asked me to take a package to a fancy hotel, to a certain room number. I was told I wasn’t to open the package. When I got to the hotel, the man answering the door was thrilled to see me. I tried to leave but he made me stay. And then he started trying to touch me. I went to leave and he told me to look inside the package. It was cocaine. He said the hotel has CCTV everywhere and if I leave he’ll made an anonymous tip that I’ve been selling class A drugs. He gave me another option though and I had to take it.

And it gets worse.

I need to leave Inside. I told Talia today that I’m out, that I don’t want to be part of their society any longer. Yes, they did help me get a promotion but it wasn’t worth it. Talia laughed and told me I couldn’t leave. They have incriminating evidence of me delivering the drugs. They have photographs of me from that hotel room, life-ruining photographs. Miranda told me to stop being stupid and to get changed into something sexy for tonight.

The rest of the entries read similarly. Inside being involved in drugs, money laundering, sex work. Hayley worked out that is how they got so much power, how all its members got promoted. I think back to what Nat told me, about people never leaving, and now I understand why. They couldn’t leave because Inside had its hooks into them too deep. They were all trapped. Sara was trapped, too. Inside wouldn’t let her leave.

I look across to Hayley’s mum. It can’t have been easy reading these things her daughter went through.

‘I wish I’d known what was going on. Maybe I could’ve helped.’

‘No, you couldn’t have. These people are too powerful. I don’t think you could’ve done anything.

‘There was something else.’

She takes something out of her pocket and slides it across the table towards me. It’s a key: gold, larger than your average front-door key. It’s on a red ribbon and looks almost antique. A special key for a special lock. I turn it over in my hand, trying to see if there’s anything that will show me what it’s for. Then I notice the snake coiling around the key. It matches the symbols on each of the doors in Inside, the symbols on each of the calligraphy-clad invites and the website. The ouroboros. This has to unlock a door at Inside’s headquarters.

‘Thank you for trusting me with this.’

‘Do you think they killed Hayley? That it wasn’t a suicide?’

‘Honestly? I’m not sure, but that’s what I hope to find out.’

‘I just hope it helps you find out what happened to your friend. And if it can help me find out what happened to Hayley too, that would be even better.’

* * *

I’m shattered by the time I get home, barely able to keep my eyes open. I dump my handbag on the kitchen table and notice the black card on the hallway floor. I pick it up.

Another Inside special delivery. This must be the final decision as to whether they’re planning to invite me to the membership ceremony or not.

We are pleased to invite you to our membership ceremony taking place next Thursday. We will announce the next member.

A car will collect you from your house at 7 p.m. sharp.

I have nothing to left to lose. Presuming that I am not the next member of Inside, this will be the last chance I have to try and find the smoking gun that connects Inside to Sara’s and Nat’s death. Maybe Hayley’s death, too. The case against them is not a slam dunk. Not just yet. I need to know what this key unlocks.

I need more.

I need enough to take Inside down.

Chapter Forty-One

There’s a knock at the door. My chest tightens as I find myself drawing a deep breath. I walk to the door, trying to keep my breathing steady. My hand grasps the lock and I pull it open to see George in the doorway. He smiles but I don’t smile back.

‘Come in, I need to talk to you,’ I say.

George walks inside and I lock the door after him. After the break-in, I’ve become more wary of my security over the past few days. And if our suspicions about Inside are right, then I’m getting on the wrong side of some powerful people. But then if the people at Inside do know I’m on to them, why am I not in a body bag by now? Or why don’t I have at least a few marks on my body to show for it?

‘I’m surprised you wanted to see me again. I thought for sure you’d bin me off after you found out who I really am. I’m happy you called, though.’

He tosses his bag onto the sofa and takes a seat at the kitchen island.

‘I didn’t know who else to talk to. I found something.’

I turn the laptop towards George, the photos Hayley took full-screen.

‘What’s this?’

‘Photos from Hayley’s mum, the one I went to see for counselling⁠—’

‘The one you upset?’

‘Yeah, her. She called me yesterday. She said she’d been thinking about our conversation and that she’d found something that she thought I might be interested in.’

‘What’s so interesting about this?’

‘Scroll through the photos.’

I watch as he does so, noticing his expression change as the photos get worse and more incriminating.

‘And read this.’

I show George the words Hayley wrote. He pushes the laptop away in disgust.

‘This is awful. It seems Sara only really scratched the surface; it appears as though this Hayley woman was in much deeper with them.’

I nod. ‘There was something else, too.’

I hand the key to him; it feels heavy in my hand. I’ve carried it around in my pocket since Hayley’s mum gave it to me, scared that I’ll somehow lose it.

‘What this?’ he asks.

‘Not sure. I wonder if it’s to a door inside the headquarters.’

‘What makes you think that?’

George has never been in the headquarters. ‘That snake logo on the key? It’s on all of the doors at Inside – I think it’s their logo or something. It’s a bit creepy but that’s what made me notice and remember it.’

He does the same thing that I did, turning the key over and inspecting it.

‘It’s not much use until we know what it’s for.’

‘So it’s a good thing that Inside has invited me back.’

‘You got through to the membership ceremony?’

‘I was surprised, too. I felt for sure after everything that they wouldn’t want me anywhere near them.’

‘Maybe it’s a case of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer.’

The thought sends a shiver down my spine. The photographs play in my mind on a continuous loop. I need to push those thoughts away. I know I’m in danger. I know how stupid it is to set foot in Inside right now. ‘Perhaps. But if they know I’m on to them, I could end up like Nat and Sara.’

George doesn’t say anything but sits back in his chair and puts his hands behind his head. He stares up at the ceiling, eyeballing the spotlights shining down on the kitchen.

‘Maybe you shouldn’t go. It’s not safe. If Sara had gotten out earlier maybe she wouldn’t have ended up dead. I can’t let you put yourself through that just to help me with my story. If only I’d told Sara not to dig, not let my need to chase the story get ahead of me, then maybe…’ He stutters the final words and his lips quiver.

I put my hand over his. I may be mad at him but I’m not heartless – he lost his sister.

‘I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for myself. For Nat. For Sara. For Hayley. This could be my only chance to bring Inside down.’ I need to finish what Sara, Nat and Hayley started.

‘But if you get caught, Cass…’

‘I know. But I can’t think like that. I just need something to link all this evidence to Talia and Miranda. And I’m sure the evidence is in that building.’

He takes my hands in his. ‘I know you probably don’t believe me after how many lies I’ve told you, but I do care about you and I don’t want to lose you, too. Having you in my life has made it so much easier to deal with my sister’s death. I feel awful for all the lies I told you but once I started falling for you, I didn’t want to tell you the truth and lose you.’

I don’t know how to react to that last bit right now. My emotions are too confused and I need to focus on this.

‘I have to go. There’s no other way and there won’t be another chance until memberships open up again and that will only happen…’

‘If somebody dies or leaves.’

‘And people never leave.’

Unless it’s in a body bag.

Chapter Forty-Two

I steady myself as I stand outside the entrance to Inside for what may be the last time. The imposing building looks innocuous from the outside, just like all the other buildings on this side street. You’d never know the secrets that are within those walls. A chilling thought takes hold of me: that this could be the last time I do anything if Inside catches me. I push it away, trying not to let it overwhelm me. If I stop and think about the insanity of what I’m doing, I’ll rush home to George and forget about all this. And I could, but then I’ll never know the truth, and I don’t think I can live with that.

I totter inside, my stilettos clacking against the polished floor. I didn’t want to wear heels as it will only make it harder for me to sneak off but heels are almost part of the uniform requirement here. The women flaunt their red soles like proud mothers with their children.

I walk towards the spiral staircases, wondering if I should take my chance to explore as it seems eerily empty. I’m sure that whatever I’m looking for is upstairs somewhere. Apparently, Sara told George that most the rooms on the ground floor are open to all members but that the only people she had ever seen on the first floor were Talia and Miranda.

She said members were restricted to where they were allowed to go. If the upstairs is out of bounds, that must be where the secrets lie.

I climb the steps, slowly to avoid making any noise. For some reason nowhere in this place has any carpets; even the stairs are tiled.

‘Cassandra. The membership ceremony is down in the bar.’

It’s Talia. I compose myself before I turn around. ‘I’m so silly, I thought the email said upstairs for some reason.’

She gives me a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, I can tell she doesn’t believe me. I wouldn’t believe me, either; it’s a pathetic excuse but it was all I can think of.

‘Let me show you where you’re supposed to be.’ She links her arm through mine, pulling slightly too tight, and I feel like a naughty dog being tugged along by its owner.

The bar has been redecorated again. I dread to think how much money is spent on their decorating budget. It’s been turned into a palace. There’s a throne in the centre of the floor with a golden crown resting in the centre of the seat. There are gold chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and a champagne fountain on either side of the throne. Waitresses carry trays of drinks around the room. It looks like the trays are filled with glasses of the special cocktail I had last time. I don’t want to drink anything, though – I need to keep alert and focused.

Talia grabs two glasses and hands one to me. ‘Are you looking forward to finding out who will become the newest member of Inside?’

‘Yes, of course. It really has been an honour to get this far,’ I say, hoping my lie is convincing.

‘Good, isn’t it?’ Talia says taking a sip of her drink, ‘Our signature cocktail is just the best. Miranda and I spent an entire afternoon with the bar staff creating it.’

‘It has a certain kick to it.’

‘Our special ingredient,’ she says and smirks. ‘Before I forget, can you hand over your phone?’

‘My phone?’ I can’t give her my phone. I won’t be able to keep in touch with George. I won’t be able to let him know if I’m in danger.

‘Yes. All our members will be here tonight and as we’ve mentioned before, we like to respect their privacy. There have been a few worries about privacy breaches recently so we’re asking everybody to hand them over. Don’t worry, it will be kept safe behind the bar. You can pick it up when you leave.’

‘Sorry, I need to hang on to it in case I get an email or call from work. I hope that’s okay.’

‘I get it, but I’m afraid that if you don’t give me your phone, I’ll have to ask you to leave.’

I take my phone out of my bag and turn it over in my hand. If I give up my phone then I’ll have no way of contacting George, and I won’t be able to take photos of any evidence. But if I don’t then I’ll have no opportunity to find answers. I have no choice.

‘Can I just send a quick message first? Sorry, I didn’t realise I’d have to hand it in.’

‘Sure thing,’ she says, her smile wide, but it doesn’t fool me. ‘I’ll just wait over there.’ She gestures to the bar.

I bring up my messages with George. Talia isn’t taking her eyes off me.

Cass [19:45]: They’re making me hand in my phone. Don’t worry, I’ll be okay. I’m going to try and sneak away during the membership ceremony xx

I hit send. I hold onto my phone for a little longer to see if George appears online, hoping that two blue ticks will appear to show he’s read it and knows what is going on. The ticks stay grey and Talia is still watching me.

She walks over, almost like she knows what I’m trying to do. She holds out her hand.

‘Did you manage to send that message?’ Her tone is sickly sweet. Fake.

‘Yes, thanks.’

I hand over my phone, my only connection to the one person who knows I might be in danger. It should be my signal to run, to get the hell out of here. But I’ve come so far, I can’t turn back now. George can still track my phone although I don’t have a way of alerting him if something goes wrong. For now, though, I’m surrounded by so many people they can’t try anything. They won’t do anything. Yet.

‘I’ll put it behind the bar with the others. The ceremony is about to start.’

Talia finally leaves me alone. While we’ve been speaking, somebody has organised six rows of chairs in front of the throne. The chairs are all gold and look like they are made out of brass. They match the regal theme well.

I see Fallon over in the corner. I’m not surprised that she’s made it to the final five; if anything, she’s the person I’m expecting to be announced as the next member. I try not to think about what will happen to her if she does become the new member, how her innocence will be corrupted by Inside, how she’ll be used and tarnished. She’s so young, so innocent. She tosses her smooth brown hair over her shoulder and notices me, raising her hand. I walk over.

‘I didn’t expect to see you here,’ she says, before I notice the horror on her face. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘Don’t worry. I was surprised, too.’

Alice is with her. So is Ella.

‘You remember Alice and Ella, right?’

‘Of course. How are you all feeling about the crowning?’

‘Crowning! That’s a good way of putting it. It feels a bit over the top, this whole thing. Not that I’d be saying that if I am the chosen one,’ Alice says, downing a generous amount of her cocktail.

‘Good on you for getting this far after being a last-minute stand-in for your friend. I’m sure nobody expected you to, what with such a disadvantage,’ Ella says. She has a way of making snide comments without other people realising the intention behind what she’s saying.

‘I’m nervous. It’s been such a long process so I’ll be disappointed if I’m not chosen,’ Fallon says.

‘You’ll be fine. You are so successful already, you don’t even need Inside,’ Alice says. It sounds like the sort of thing Nat said to me.

‘So if we’re four of the final five, I wonder who the last person is?’ I say.

The women shrug almost in unison.

‘I’ve not seen anybody else that I recognise from the other events. Maybe they’re running late,’ Fallon says.

‘Ladies, we are ready to start our membership ceremony. Could everyone take their seats, please? Applicants, please come and stand at the front with me,’ Talia calls.

She stands next to the throne. She’s changed and is wearing a white lace dress with a train that could almost pass as a wedding dress. Miranda stands next to her, slightly more understated although also in white. I take my place at the front of the room with Fallon, Alice and Ella. There are still only four of us.

A sea of women sit in front of us. This must be all the members, their identities still obscured by masks.

‘Let’s begin.’

Chapter Forty-Three

The lights are turned down low, making it harder to make out the faces of the audience. There’s some sort of spotlight on us, though, a beam of light exposing us for all to see.

‘I am excited to be here today to welcome the newest member of Inside. We don’t get to do this very often. We are a carefully curated cohort of women and it’s always upsetting if we lose one of our own. We’re like a family here, and I can’t wait to have a new sister,’ Talia says.

‘Before we announce our new member, I want to thank all of our applicants for making this process so challenging. I think the pool of women we had applying this year has been the most talented we’ve ever seen. It really makes me and Talia happy to see how many women are out there succeeding in their careers,’ Miranda adds. ‘But first, I have something to say to the applicants. You may have noticed that there’s only four of you standing here rather than five. Unfortunately, the fifth applicant had to pull out earlier today as she accepted a job offer in New Zealand. Sadly, Inside does not have the global influence we’d like, well, not yet ...’

The audience laugh. I wonder how true it is, or whether it’s a convenient excuse. Could Inside’s body count have increased already? The idea of Inside having global reach terrifies me. They can’t be allowed to manipulate women for their own gain.

‘Ladies, all of you are exceptionally talented. And I know whether or not you join us, you will still be successful. But sadly, we can’t take all of you. We only accept the very best.’ Talia says.

Miranda walks over to the crown and picks it up. I call it a crown, but it’s more like a tiara. It’s gold to match the surroundings, with three green emeralds in the centre. It doesn’t look like something cheap that you get from Poundland or a fancy dress shop. This looks like it may well be made of real gold. If it is, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s another part of their criminal dealings. Maybe it’s stolen.

‘And now, I am about to announce the next member of Inside. For the rest of you, you can stay tonight to celebrate, but I’m afraid that will be the last time you’re allowed here. I hope you’ve enjoyed your time seeing what we have to offer. And maybe there will be another space in the future,’ Miranda says.

I look at the other women standing next to me in line. One of them will become the newest member of Inside. Maybe I should warn them about what they are becoming part of before it’s too late. Whoever the new member is will think she’s about to have her career dreams come true, but really, she could be buying herself a one-way ticket to prison. Or six feet under.

Miranda walks up and down the line of applicants, crown in hand. She stops in front of Fallon and places the crown on her head.

‘Congratulations, Fallon, welcome to Inside.’

Everybody applauds. Fallon’s smile is wide, stretching across her face. She’s so young, I can’t let her throw her life away like this. I need to find a way to bring this awful clique down before another young woman ends up dead.

‘Fallon always caught our eye. She’s a young scientist working in stem-cell research and is quickly rising through the ranks. Fallon’s also been quoted in multiple articles about inclusivity in science. She’s founded a social initiative which aims to connect young women in STEM. She is exactly the type of person that embodies everything we represent at Inside and we can’t wait to help take her career to new heights.’

If only Inside really was the female empowerment collective it makes itself out to be. It could really be something special.

‘And now, we celebrate,’ Talia says, raising her glass in the air.

The doors are opened to the bar and music starts to pump through the speakers. Beyoncé’s ‘Run the World (Girls)’. It wouldn’t surprise me if they put on a playlist called ‘Girl Anthems’ or ‘Girl Power’.

‘Congratulations!’ I say, giving Fallon a brief hug, ‘I knew you’d be the next member. How are you feeling?’

‘I can’t believe it. Thank you. It such a shame we can’t all be members. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to call my husband to let him know. I know it’s supposed to be a secret but…’

She walks away, phone pressed to her ear.

She’s using her phone.

Talia lied to me. She told me that all the applicants had to surrender their phones, that it was some sort of policy, but Fallon has hers and it’s not like she’s left to pick it up. I rush over to Alice and Ella, who are chatting in the corner.

‘Hey, bit of a weird question, but did they make you hand in your phones when you got here?’

The puzzled look on their faces tells me the answer.

‘No. I still have my phone.’

‘Same here.’

I thank them and leave, making my way to the bar. I catch the eye of the bartender, who automatically pours me a drink before I speak.

‘I wasn’t looking for a drink. I’m looking for my phone. Talia says she put it behind the bar for safe keeping. Have you seen it?’

‘Sorry, nobody said anything about a phone.’ He takes a look around the bar. ‘I can’t see anything either. Let me go check with my colleagues.’

He disappears through a door behind him, returning quickly. ‘They’ve not seen anything either. I’m not sure where Talia has gone but you’ll have to ask her, I’m afraid.’

‘Thanks anyway.’

They know why I’m here tonight. That’s the only reason she would’ve taken my phone. Talia knew that by taking it she would be cutting me off from anybody who knew about my plan. She knows I can’t send for help.

I need to get upstairs. I have nothing left to lose now.

Chapter Forty-Four

I can’t see Talia or Miranda. Now is the perfect time to sneak away. I don’t know where my phone is but I should leave now before either of them comes back. I wish I could keep George in the loop, let him know what I’m doing. I have no idea what the time is – he might already be panicked, might already have notified the police.

I climb the winding staircase leading to the ground floor, walking with purpose so nobody stops me.

There’s nobody in the hallway. I head for the central staircase, the one that leads to the first floor. I won’t have long. Once upstairs, I open doors indiscriminately. Most are locked. They have keypads outside so you need the combination to open them. I don’t dare try.

My hand grips the handle of another door. It’s locked but this one doesn’t have a keypad like the others – it has a keyhole. It’s the odd one out and that has to mean something. I pull out the key that Hayley’s mum gave me and slide it into the lock. There’s a moment of panic when I think the key isn’t going to turn but then I hear a satisfying click as the door opens. I hurry inside, shutting the door behind me and locking it.

Luckily the room is empty. My breathing starts to slow as I finally feel like I’m safe for now. As long as nobody comes in this room, or sees me leaving it, I might make it out of here unscathed.

The room looks like an office, although an upgraded version of anyone’s normal office, decked out in furniture from Anthropologie and the White Company. Everything is minimalist but in bold colours; the desk chair is a dark purple velvet, while the desk is covered in thousands of tiny tiles. And probably full of thousands of not so tiny lies.

There’s a laptop sitting on top of the desk. I open it, but of course it’s password-protected. I can’t do anything with this but George can; he found someone to unlock Sara’s laptop for me. I search the desk drawers, unsure of what I’m looking for but something tells me that I’ll know it when I see it.

The first drawer reveals nothing, it’s just full of stationery. But when I open the second drawer the first thing I see is Nat’s work pass, sitting on the top of a pile of phones. This must prove something – how else would they have this? I root through the rest of the drawer and pick up a phone. My heart stops beating inside my chest. I turn the phone over, already knowing what I’ll see on the other side. It’s a clear case covered in cartoon avocados, but one of them has been covered by a gold star. It’s Nat’s phone. I put the gold star there one day when one of the avocados started peeling off.

I click the side button on the phone to turn it on but the screen remains blank. Of course it’s dead, but I don’t need to see her lock screen with her family Corgi in it to know that this used to belong to her. I look for something that might have belonged to Hayley but I don’t know her well enough to know what’s hers. There are more work passes and ID cards with unfamiliar faces. Driver’s licenses. Passports. Key fobs and keys dangling from chains. A terrifying thought enters my mind that these could all be trophies from their victims. Otherwise surely they would get rid of the evidence? There are more phones here, but I don’t know who they belong to. But then my hand clasps one that feels familiar. This is my phone. Talia must have put it here after she took it from me.

It still has battery. I unlock it, watching the notifications pile up. George had replied minutes after Talia took my phone.

George [19:51]: Please tell me you didn’t give her your phone, it’s too dangerous.

George [20:10]: I’m worried about you. Please text me as soon as you can.

George [20:45]: I’m going to get the police involved if I don’t hear from you by half nine.

It’s 9.15 p.m. I call George. It rings several times. I will him to pick up.

‘Cass? Is that you? Are you okay? I’ve been so worried.’

‘I’m okay. I just found my phone. The key unlocked a door inside the headquarters. I’ve found all sorts of evidence here. Nat’s phone. Her work pass. There’s a laptop, too, but it’s password protected. I’m going to take it with me.’

‘No, leave it all where you found it and get out. If you take that evidence then there’s a good chance the police won’t be able to do anything. Take photographs instead. We can call the police. I’m jumping in a taxi to Bank station now. I’m still tracking your phone.’

‘Okay, I’ll text you when I’m safely outside.’

‘Please be safe. I love you, Cass. I should’ve said it before, but I can’t lose you. Please don’t take any risks.’

I blink, trying to prevent the tears that are forming from rolling down my cheeks. Even after everything he did, the lies he told, I know I feel the same way.

‘I love you, too. I’ll be fine. They are all busy downstairs. I’ll see you soon.’

I end the call, sliding the phone back in my clutch bag. I’m tempted to take Nat’s phone, too, but George is right, I need to put everything back where it was. If they work out that I’ve been snooping, then they might destroy all the evidence before the police get here.

I need to get out of here. I listen with my ear to the door to see if there’s anyone outside. I grasp the handle when my phone rings again. I answer it thinking it might be George again.

‘Cass, I need your help.’

‘Wait, Rita? Is that you?’

‘When you told me about what happened to Nat I started to look through her emails and I found something. Can you come here?’

‘Yes of course, where are you?’

‘I’m at the office. Please come, I don’t know what to do with what I found.’

‘I’m on my way.’

With this room full of evidence and whatever Rita has found, I might have enough to bury Inside once and for all.

Chapter Forty-Five

I prise the door open slightly to check that the hall is empty – I can’t risk anyone seeing me in this room. I take one step out into the hallway and hear voices coming from down below. I move back inside the room but keep the door ajar to see who it is.

The figures are downstairs in the hallway. They reach the foot of the stairs and I worry they’ll come upstairs. Miranda is there. I can’t tell who the other person is from this angle but I know it’s a male from the height and frame.

Their voices are raised but I can’t make out what they are saying because they’re too far away. Miranda is waving her hands around violently. I wonder if it’s about me, if they are searching for me. I hold my breath as Miranda places her hand on the banister, in case they search each room on this floor, but then she seems to change her mind as she heads back towards the basement bar with the male figure following. He stops just before he disappears out of view and looks behind him. My mouth drops as I see his face.

It’s Detective Lewis. The man who interviewed me about Sara and Nat. The man who found me in Nat’s flat and has Sara’s work ID. He knows everything I know. I sent him all the evidence I’d uncovered. But what is he doing here? Unless…unless he’s working for them. Is he even a police officer? Have they been onto me from the very start? Which can only mean one thing: they invited me here knowing what I was up to. If so, there’s no chance I’m supposed to make it out of here alive.

I wrench my stilettos from my feet and throw them to the floor. I need to get out of here as quickly as possible. I check nobody is around and bolt out of the room towards the exit. I don’t look back; I keep running as fast as I can.

As soon as I manage to get outside I run to the main road as quickly as possible, in disbelief that I was allowed to leave Inside without being stopped. There was nobody on the doors or even in the hallway. Maybe they were all busy looking for me in the bar but everything seemed too easy. I can’t worry about that now; I need to get to the office. I text George to let him know I’m heading there to meet Rita. I don’t tell him about Detective Lewis yet, there’s no time – I’ll explain after I make sure Rita is okay.

I flag down a black taxi. When it pulls up to the office. I tap my card to the sensor and make my way through the reception to the lift. There’s nobody on reception. I wonder where security are. The office is deserted. I remember a firm-wide email sent earlier this week about the building being closed this weekend due to essential maintenance.

The tenth floor is similarly empty.

‘Rita, are you there?’

Her desk is empty. ‘Rita?’

There’s no answer. I head to my office in case she’s waiting in there. As soon as I open the door I know something isn’t right. The office is chaotic – documents have been torn and thrown across the floor like confetti. The contents of my desk have been cleared except for one, single piece of A4 paper. My computer screen has been smashed – a hole the size of a high heel in the centre.

The paper on my desk is blank.

‘Oh, good, you’re here.’

‘Rita, what’s going on? Who did this to my office?’

‘You did.’

‘What? No, I didn’t. I just got here.’

Rita smirks and I notice how different she looks. She’s no longer wearing her typical attire of flowy dresses with minimal make-up and her hair in a loose bun. Instead she’s in tight leather trousers, fully made-up.

‘It’s understandable. I don’t think anyone will be surprised that you had a breakdown. It’s been a difficult time for you – your best friend killed herself and now you are days away from leaving the firm in disgrace. It’s enough to tip anyone over the edge.’

Rita walks towards me. I think she’s about to grab me when her hand reaches behind me and into my bag. She empties the contents onto the floor and lifts her stiletto before stomping in the centre of my phone screen. A large crack appears, a spiderweb across the glass.

‘Rita, what the hell, that’s my phone! I thought you wanted me to come to talk about something you’ve found.’

I’ve been so stupid. Rita did this to my office. She was the one who lured me here. Nobody else is here because of the maintenance work. No wonder Inside let me leave so easily; they always had a plan to lure me here, and I’ve walked straight into the lion’s lair like a naïve deer. And now I’m about to be torn limb from limb.

‘Why did you destroy my office?’

‘You still don’t get it, do you? I’m here to clean up. You and your boyfriend have caused enough trouble for us. I’m here to tie up loose ends.’

‘Us? Wait. You’re working for Inside?’

‘For someone so clever, it’s taken you long enough to work out.’

‘But why? Did they recruit you to spy on us?’

Rita joined the firm a few weeks before Sara died. Her previous secretary left unexpectedly and Rita was brought in to replace her. Now I realise how much access she had to us – she could see into all our inboxes and had access to our post. She knew our home addresses and could see our calendars. Like I said, the secretaries know us better than anyone.

‘They didn’t recruit me. I’ve known Talia and Miranda for a long time. Let’s just say I work for some of their friends.’

Criminal friends, I bet.

‘So what are you doing working here?’

She rolls her eyes. ‘It’s a cover. Inside were worried about Sara – they found her looking into things she shouldn’t have been. I was supposed to keep an eye on her but then things escalated pretty quickly.’

‘You…were you the one who pushed her?’

I’m now aware that Rita is blocking my only exit out of here and I’m backed against the windows. There’s nobody here to help me. Did she send the email about the maintenance work to make sure no one else would be around?

‘She was going to bring the whole society down. Her and that irritating brother of hers. I didn’t have a choice.’

‘And Nat?’ My lip quivers. I remember Rita consoling me about Nat – about her being the only one I told about my concerns. I played right into her hands.

‘Nat was regrettable, but she stumbled in on something she should never have seen. And you, I’ve been told you’ve become a real problem.’

‘But Inside let Nat go. She came back to the office the next day. What changed?’

‘We thought maybe we could blackmail her into complying – we didn’t want to raise suspicion with another death at the same firm. My employers don’t like too much spotlight. The media coverage of Sara’s death was unacceptable. Too much attention. But then later that evening she called Detective Lewis to report what she’d seen. Safe to say I paid her a visit pretty soon after.’

‘He works for you too, doesn’t he?’

‘Yes, he’s been on the payroll for a while.’

‘Is he even a real policeman?’

‘He used to be once upon a time…Anyway, I’ve had enough of playing Twenty Questions. I think you know what happens now.’

‘You’re going to kill me? Here? In my office?’

I told George I was coming here. I’m torn between wanting him to come here to help me and wanting him to stay away for his own safety.

‘Don’t be so stupid Cassandra. I’m not going to do anything. Smart people get others to do their dirty work for them. Isn’t that why people get lawyers like you?’ Rita reaches into her pocket. I’m sure she’s going to pull out a knife or a gun but instead she pulls out a black biro and places it on the desk.

‘You’re going to write your suicide note.’

Chapter Forty-Six

‘I’m not writing anything.’ I try to calculate whether I am quick or strong enough to get past Rita. If I make it past her I can run for the stairs.

‘Yes, I’m afraid you are.’ This time Rita pulls out a knife that had been hidden in her boot. My chances of making it past her have significantly decreased. I could still risk it, but the doorway is narrow and I don’t think I’d make it.

‘And what happens once I write it?’

Rita holds the knife to her own wrist and motions a sweeping motion across the vein. ‘Clear enough for you?’

‘Isn’t it a bit cliché? Lawyer killing herself at her desk? Are you not worried it’s suspicious having three women at the same firm die in such close proximity to each other?’

‘Honestly, Cassandra, your life is a mess. I think the only question people will have is why you didn’t kill yourself sooner. Besides, we have friends in the police to make sure people don’t ask unfortunate questions.’ She steps closer and tucks the point of the knife against my ribcage. ‘Start writing.’

‘And if I don’t? You can’t stab me, it won’t look like a suicide then.’

‘You really are trying my patience. I thought I was being nice, letting you say goodbye to your friends and family. Although do you even have any friends left? Haven’t I killed them all?’ she cackles, ‘We can do this the less nice way if you prefer.’ She puts her hand in her pocket and takes out a syringe.

‘What’s that for?’

‘It’ll render you unconscious. I don’t think I need to tell you what will happen as soon as it takes effect.’ She smirks. ‘Choice is yours, needle or pen?’

I pick up the pen and hold it hesitantly above the paper.

‘What do you want me to write?’

‘The truth. That you lost your job and can’t handle losing the career you spent years of your life sacrificing everything for. That you miss your best friend who tragically overdosed.’

It almost feels like a real suicide note – I’ve been close to breaking point for so long. I finish scrawling and sign my name, throwing the biro on the desk and watching it roll off and land on the shredded paper on the floor. I sit back in my chair and resign myself to the idea that I’m going to die in the place that took so much from me. I prepare myself for what is about to happen as Rita leans over me and places the knife in my hand with hers firmly gripping it. I breathe in for the last time.

‘Get away from her.’

Chapter Forty-Seven

‘What are you doing here?’

Rita lets go of my wrists. She looks genuinely shocked as she approaches the stranger in the doorway. There’s something so familiar about her that I can’t put my finger on. I’ve seen her somewhere before.

‘I thought you were dead.’

‘Yeah, well, so did everyone.’

‘But I⁠—’

‘You stabbed me? Yes, you did. Left me for dead but you didn’t finish the job properly. I knew the only way I’d be able to take you down was if you already thought you’d killed me.’ The stranger turns to look at me. ‘You should’ve stayed away,’ she says.

‘I don’t understand,’ I say.

‘You have a nice home.’

‘It was you…’

‘I’ve been following you. I already knew about George from when I was watching Sara so when I saw you two getting friendly I thought you might have what I need. I went to your house to find the evidence you have on Inside and you interrupted so I thought I could use it as a chance to scare you away, but it clearly didn’t work.’

‘Ladies, I’m still here,’ Rita interrupts.

‘I did find something, though. Missing this?’ She faces Rita and produces a familiar-looking item from her bag. The bracelet. I knew it was linked to Sara’s death; she must have dropped it when she pushed Sara. Sara must have been fighting for her life and yanked it from her wrist. Good. I hope she didn’t make it easy for Rita. But why does Rita have a bracelet with the wrong initial on?

Rita snatches it from her.

‘Never been the best at cleaning up after yourself. It’s time to give up.’

‘Very heroic of you, Hayley. You know I’m not letting Cass go. And I can’t let you walk out of here either.’

Hayley. That’s where I recognise the face from. She’s Dr Jones’ daughter. That’s why they could never find her body.

‘Don’t you want to get out of Inside? Finally be free of them? I can only imagine what they have on you.’ Hayley is close enough to touch Rita now. She’s reaching out for the knife. ‘We can take them down together. I’ve been working with someone in the police, someone trustworthy. He said we can have immunity for everything we did if we give evidence against Talia, Miranda and all the people they deal with.’

Her hand is on the knife now. She’s going to get it from Rita and then this can all be over. Inside is over. We can take them down and Rita will go to prison for killing Sara and Nat – I can’t believe she’s bought into Hayley’s story that she will get away with murder.

‘Not so quick, Hayley.’ Rita pushes Hayley back, her fingers uncurling from the knife.

Hayley turns to me in a panic, realising she’s lost. ‘Her name isn’t Rita, you know, it’s Adele, she’s French and⁠—’

A piercing scream interrupts whatever she was about to say. I didn’t see what happened but now Hayley lies on the floor clutching her side, howling like a dog that’s just been kicked.

‘Cass, you need to run! She will kill you!’

I rush past Rita and she doesn’t stop me. I sprint towards the lifts – they’ll be quicker than the stairs especially as nobody is here. I repeatedly stab at the buttons. I hear the ‘ding’ of the doors opening and rush towards them, relieved.

The lift isn’t empty.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

Chapter Forty-Eight

No. No. No. I thought I was free and clear. Miranda has a gun. She forces me back into the office with Hayley and Rita. Or Adele – whatever her name is. It’s clear now that this is who the ‘A’ initial on the bracelet referred to. Rita looks more comfortable now, perched on Nat’s old desk, swinging her legs back and forth while she looks down at Hayley, who is writhing around on the floor.

‘Eugh, what a mess,’ Miranda says, stepping over the puddle of blood spreading from Hayley’s stomach. ‘I see you two have already caught up.’

I flash her a scowl. She motions for me to take a seat on my desk chair. I do as she says.

‘What is Hayley doing here? I thought she was dead,’ Miranda asks Adele.

‘You and me both. Apparently she faked her death to try and bring Inside down. Even tried to recruit me to join her efforts. Isn’t that hilarious?’

‘I thought you killed her.’

‘Apparently, she was still alive, stubborn bitch.’

‘You should’ve checked. This is what happens when you make mistakes. You’re careless.’

‘I thought she was dead, okay? Anyway, no harm done. I’ve dealt with her.’

My work phone is still in my desk drawer. I’ve been leaving it at the office as I don’t need to check emails at weekends anymore. It had full charge when I was last here – I bet it’s still got battery. If I can get to it, I might have a chance to call for help. Hopefully Adele wasn’t too thorough with the destruction of my office.

‘Why are you doing this? Why are you using women and killing them when you don’t get what you want? You’re disgusting,’ I say.

Miranda smiles. ‘The thing about women, and especially female-owned businesses, is that people question them less. We don’t seem to face the same amount of scrutiny. The only time sexism actually benefits us. Inside did genuinely start as a networking society, but then we realised we could make it into something more. We needed power, so we agreed to do some favours for powerful people in exchange for them using their connections to pull some strings. Promote our members. Give them the top jobs.’

My mind is a hurricane, swirling with this new information.

‘What sort of favours?’

‘The money laundering mostly. A little blackmail. Distributing drugs. Entertaining. We help fix problems. It’s funny how some of our members are able to move undetected in a world usually inhabited only by men. Women get away with far more.’

I think of Adele. How she was able to work at Carrey & Watson for so long without anybody realising she was a plant.

‘And the ends justify the means. Everyone can be bought, for a price. Look at you, you’ve spent nearly your entire adult life working for a place that stabbed you in the back the first chance it got. Anyway, I’ve had enough of you playing amateur detective.’ Miranda turns to Adele, who appears to be scrolling through Instagram. ‘Did she finish writing the suicide note?’

‘Yeah, she just finished and then that bitch walked in trying to save the day.’

‘Did you have to stab her? Her blood’s all over the floor. It’s not what we had planned. We told you Sara was too public and now you’ve gone and done this? You’re putting us all at risk.’

‘Plans change.’

‘Not without keeping me in the loop. What’s your plan now?’

I use their distraction to slowly open the desk drawer.

‘Simple – murder suicide. Cass is the only one who’s touched the knife without gloves.’

I reach my hand inside to search for the phone, all the time not breaking eye contact.

‘Everyone thinks Hayley is dead. How are we going to explain an apparent dead woman showing up here? There’s going to be too much media attention. It’s too messy. I don’t think our contacts will be able to cover this one up for us.’ Miranda starts to pace around the office, ‘Why didn’t you think? Your impatience is going to get us all killed.’

Adele has jumped off the desk.

‘Seriously? I’m the one doing all the dirty work. You wave that gun around like you’re hot shit but you’re too scared to actually use it – you don’t have the stomach for it.’

‘You need to remember who you’re talking to.’

My hand clamps around a small rectangular object that I know is my phone. I slide it into my palm as the two women continue to argue. I tap on the screen and it lights up. It’s still working. I press my fingers against the power and volume buttons to bring up the emergency screen and slide across to ring the emergency services.

The phone call is connecting. I won’t be able to speak without giving myself away but hopefully they can track my location. If only I could remember George’s number so I could message him. It connects. It’s on silent but there must be somebody at the end of the phone. Hopefully they can hear everything.

‘You know what, deal with this mess yourself. I’m out of here,’ Adele says, striding out of the office. Miranda storms after her.

I rush to the emergency stairs. My hand grasps the door handle and I feel a sharp pain as the collar of my dress is tugged violently from behind. I stumble backwards and see Miranda. She is still clutching the gun.

‘It’s time for you to go, Cassandra.’

Miranda points the gun at my chest as I start to back away. There’s a sharp pain and everything goes black.

Chapter Forty-Nine

The wind is harsh against my face and I’m surrounded by noise. There’s an intense pain in my right shoulder. I’m outside, strapped to what feels like a stretcher. My vision is fuzzy, and all I can see is blue and red lights reflecting against glass. My eyes adjust. I’m outside Carrey & Watson. Almost in the same place as where I saw Sara that day, the day that started all of this.

‘Cass! Cass!’

George is somewhere nearby. I attempt to turn my head to find him but something is preventing me from moving it.

‘Please try not to move your head.’ How did I get outside? I thought Miranda shot me.

‘Cass, are you okay? I was so worried when I didn’t hear from you. None of my calls or messages were going through so I called the police and got them to come here. And then when they got here they said they’d had a call from inside the building. What happened in there?’ George is next to me now. I can just about see him out of the corner of my eye.

‘Miranda, she…’ I stumble over my words, my mouth dry, ‘she tried to kill me. I think she tried to kill all of us. I don’t understand how I got out.’

‘I don’t know the full story but apparently Miranda had attacked Talia and tied her up, told her that she was coming here to kill you. But Talia managed to get free and call the police.’

‘Miranda shot me.’

‘She did. But it went through your collarbone. It’s going to hurt like hell but you’ll be okay.’

‘She missed?’

‘Apparently so.’

The police must have arrived just after the shot so she didn’t get a chance to try again.

‘Is Hayley okay?’

‘Hayley?’

‘Sorry,’ the paramedic says, cutting our conversation short as he wheels my stretcher inside the ambulance. ‘We need to get you to hospital.’

‘Can I come with her?’ George asks.

‘No room, I’m afraid. You’ll have to follow.’

‘I’ll meet you there. And then I’m not leaving your side again.’

Chapter Fifty

‘I nipped across the street to get some fresh sourdough from that bakery you like. I made avocado on toast,’ George says, placing the tray on top of the duvet cover.

Since I was discharged from hospital last week, George has brought me breakfast every morning. He’s been spoiling me. I never asked him to but I’m enjoying being looked after for once in my life. As promised, he’s not left my side, he’s basically moved in and I’m completely fine with that. I suppose you could say all is forgiven. Getting shot has a way of putting things into perspective.

I have Hayley to thank for being alive. It wasn’t Miranda’s aim that was the reason she missed; Hayley managed to push her as she went to pull the trigger, knocking her hand. I can’t imagine the strength it must have taken with her injuries, I thought she had bled out, but she’s played dead for so long I suppose she’s become rather skilled at it. George told me the police came in as soon as they heard the gunshot, and arrested Miranda.

Hayley was in hospital a lot longer than me and she’s still recovering, but her testimony will prove vital to making sure Miranda is put away for a long time. She’s helping the police identify the men in the photographs, too. Apparently, many of them are well-known crime bosses in London and are into very nasty stuff. I think what I found out was just the tip of the iceberg and we’ll never know just how far Inside’s corruption ran. Adele was nowhere to be seen when the police arrived and is still on the run. They haven’t found her yet and I won’t sleep easily until I know she’s been caught.

‘Oh, and can’t forget the orange juice, too,’ George says, placing a full glass on the tray. ‘I made it myself this morning.’

‘I could get used to this,’ I say and flash him a smile.

‘You should get used to it.’ George tucks my unbrushed hair behind my ears. ‘Even when you’re better, I’ll still bring you breakfast in bed.’

Almost dying at the hands of Inside has brought us closer together. They say shared trauma bonds people.

George’s article was published while I was in hospital. He told me it was the most-read news story in the history of the paper’s website. It was a full six-page spread with photos of Inside’s headquarters as well as Carrey & Watson. And also a photo of Sara. The same photo I saw that day on the tube, the photo of her smiling. If only someone had stopped Inside before Sara lost her life. Before Nat lost hers, too – at least the police are now officially treating Nat’s death as murder.

George is following it up with an exposé on Carrey & Watson and how the partners there are sweeping sexual harassment, amongst other things, under the rug. It turns out Sebastian wasn’t the only client behaving inappropriately with the female associates. George made a reference to my situation in the Inside article, and he had many other associates contact him with their story, including Alexa.

George and I are officially boyfriend and girlfriend. It sounds so juvenile, but it’s my first serious relationship since I left university. I’ve never had time for love. My first love has always been my career, my ambition. I sacrificed everything for it. The idea of having time for anybody else in my life was far-fetched. But now that I have George, I know what I was missing out on all these years. What we have together makes me far happier than any promotion or salary ever did.

George disappears downstairs and I take a bite of my toast. There’s nothing better for breakfast than fresh sourdough. Maybe I’ll learn how to make it myself with my newfound freedom.

‘These arrived for you,’ George says, walking into the room with a huge bouquet of roses that cover his entire upper body.

‘Who are they from?’

He hands me the card inside the bouquet.

Thank you for everything you did for Hayley. Elizabeth xxx

Hayley’s mum has been in contact daily, asking me if there’s anything I need. She’s so grateful that Hayley is okay. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for Hayley to have to stay away from her family.

‘I’ll pop these with the others.’

People have been very generous. I’ve received a lot of gifts. My phone won’t stop ringing. Not just friends and family wishing me well. I seem to have become a media sensation. But they don’t need me, really, when Talia is giving as many interviews as she can. She’s plastered on the newspapers. I heard Elle are putting her on the cover of their next issue. She’s everything the media loves – a beautiful victim.

Talia has been claiming complete innocence, that she had no idea what Miranda was orchestrating behind the scenes. I don’t believe a word of it but George says the police are struggling to build a case against her. I think she’s just as guilty as Miranda but she’s smarter. She’s covered her tracks well. Talia was in those photographs with Miranda and those men. But apparently it’s not enough. The only thing they can really pin Miranda down for is my attempted murder.

Talia needs to pay for her role in everything. I need to prove she wasn’t just Miranda’s pawn; she was the chess master.

Epilogue

One Year Later

‘When I set up Inside, I wanted it to be the type of place that helps women flourish. Too long, women in male-dominated industries have been prevented from fulfilling their true potential. We can’t keep up with the old boys’ clubs, the university dining societies, the rowing teammates that give their friends a leg up when they need it. Inside was meant to remedy all of that, until my friend, or the person I thought was my friend, Miranda, took everything I built and twisted it for her own benefit. It just shows how one bad apple can spoil the whole orchard.’

Talia Sands slams the book shut in front of the crowd in Waterstones. There are so many people here that it’s standing room only.

‘Thank you, Talia,’ a woman with glasses announces at the front of the crowd. ‘That was a reading from Talia’s new tell-all book, The Poisoned Apple: the Real Downfall of Inside. Talia is available for a short question-and-answer session and then will be available to sign any purchased copies.’

I sit at the back of the room, my hands in the pocket of the hoodie I’ve worn so that it’s not immediately obvious who I am. Talia will recognise me if she sees my face, and I don’t want her to know I’m here. Not yet.

‘Any questions for Talia?’

‘Did you have any idea about what Miranda was doing with Inside? Did you suspect that she was involved in criminal enterprises?’

Talia clears her throat.

‘It saddens me to say that I had no idea. Ever since the truth came out, I’ve asked myself, time and time again, how did I not know? How did I not see what she was really up to? But you need to remember that Miranda dealt with the financial side of things. She was an investment banker, so she was far better with numbers than me. She was able to cover up her tracks well. I trusted her. I never had any reason to doubt her.’

She sounds pitch-perfect, rehearsed.

Liar.

Miranda’s trial is scheduled for two months’ time so the timing of Talia’s book is perfect. I’ve read the entire thing – so has George. Lots of it doesn’t add up – how Miranda got away with so much without Talia realising what was going on. It’s supposed to be factual but it seems to be all fiction to me.

‘You in the back.’

‘Hello, Talia. I just wondered what your first reaction was when you found out about Miranda’s betrayal?’

‘Devastated. I was upset because she betrayed my trust and ruined everything I’d worked so hard to build. But I was even more upset for our members. Everything we’d gained from Inside, all we’d done in empowering women and helping them in careers, it was erased. It undid all our good work.’

I don’t know why Miranda hasn’t turned on Talia. I wonder if Miranda will point the finger at Talia, but part of me thinks she won’t because it would put her in the crosshairs of the powerful people she worked for. Maybe they want to keep Talia out of prison for now. Maybe so she can start again with another organisation.

I check my phone. There’s a message from George. He knows I’m here and he would’ve come, too, but he is busy working on an investigative documentary about bullying in the corporate world for the BBC. He’s been flown to New York to compare their work culture to the culture in the UK.

He asked me to let him know if Talia says anything interesting. We’re still trying to build up the case against her but it’s taking a while. The police and the public seem to have painted Talia as a helpless victim who had no idea what was going on. People underestimate her like they underestimate most women. And Talia is using it to her advantage.

I put my phone away – it’s so nice not constantly seeing work emails pop up on my screen. My new job at an employment rights charity doesn’t require me to work crazy hours and I finally feel like I’m using my skills to help people, but I’m trying to be better with boundaries, and make time for a life outside work. I have another message on my phone from Hayley’s mum inviting me and George over for dinner with her and Hayley next week.

‘If I can ask another question, do you know what happened to your members?’

‘Not all of them. A lot of them wanted to distance themselves from Inside as much as possible. I believe the ongoing police investigation will look into whether any promotions or jobs were the result of criminal activity, so I can’t really comment on that.’

‘I think we have time for two more questions from the floor.’

‘What’s next for you?’

‘I haven’t figured that out yet. For the past few months I’ve been focusing on this book. It felt like an important story to tell. My agent told me that somebody has just bought the film rights. So there’s exciting times ahead. After that, who knows? But I still want help women, so I hope to find a new project soon.’

Hopefully that project never materialises.

‘I think we have time for one final question.’

The woman scans the room. My hand shoots up, waving frantically. There’s something I need to know.

‘You, in the back,’ she says. She means me.

‘I was just wondering, what do you think of the rumour that Miranda was in cahoots with a former police officer?’ I try to disguise my voice.

‘Terrible, just terrible. I heard that man tried to frame one of the victims for Sara’s murder by planting a work ID in the freezer. Can you believe that? What sort of twisted person does that?’

She laughs after she says it, like it’s all some sort of big joke to her.

‘That’s all the questions we have time for. Talia will be available for book signings for the next half an hour if you’d like to purchase a copy of her brand-new book.’

I pull my hood down and walk towards the front, grabbing a copy of Talia’s book. I stand in line patiently to get my copy signed. When she sees me next in line, her face drops.

‘Cassandra.’

‘Can you sign my book please? I can’t wait to read it.’

‘Sure,’ she says, grabbing the book and scrawling her name in large, cursive handwriting. ‘Here you go. I hope you enjoyed the Q&A.’

‘I really did. I found it very…informative. It’s funny. I was the one who found the planted evidence in my friend’s freezer, and I never told anybody about that, including Detective Lewis.’

‘Oh, I think the police told me.’

‘I never told them.’

‘Well, I must have heard it somewhere. Probably your boyfriend’s fascinating article. Thanks for coming.’ She looks over my shoulder at the person behind me. ‘Hi, nice to meet you.’

‘George never published that fact, either.’

I walk away with her book in my hand, clutching it to my chest. I turn back and her eyes meet mine. They’re wide. I’ve seen that look before. Her mask has slipped and she knows I won’t stop until she is exposed. That’s the thing with one bad apple. It always finds a way to ruin the other fruit.

‘Sorry I didn’t see you there,’ I say as I bump into someone.

The stranger says nothing, instead holding her index finger to her lips in a shush motion and I realise this isn’t a stranger at all as I see the bracelet hanging off her wrist with the distinctive ‘A’ initial. She looks different – she’s dyed her hair or is wearing a wig. Her features look different, like she’s using makeup to exaggerate them. She’s put on weight, too.

‘What are you doing here, Rita?’ I ask.

‘Cleaning up.’

She says nothing but walks past me towards Talia. I don’t turn back, don’t say anything else, just keep walking.

I don’t even turn around when I hear the scream.

Acknowledgments

I think every author dreams of one day writing their acknowledgements in a book and I was always no different. I always love reading the acknowledgements and hearing about all the people that made a story come to life. Having this book published has been a dream come true and I’m so thrilled if you’ve read the book and reached this part.

I want to thank my agent, Rachel Neely at Mushens Entertainment, who always had such enthusiasm for the book. Her ideas and editorial experience really helped shape the story. This book wouldn’t be out in the world without her help.

I would like to thank my editor Jennie Rothwell for making all my dreams come true with one email! Her editorial prowess has turned my story into something I can be really proud of. She always knew exactly what I wanted this story to be from the very moment she first read it and I knew she would be able to help it reach its potential.

I want to thank the entire team at One More Chapter who helped with the book. I’ve always admired the One More Chapter team from afar, loving their books and their social media presence. I’m so proud to now be one of their authors.

I would not be where I am without the amazing author Lauren North. She has offered me countless advice and help, read over drafts and helped me when I was querying agents. Writing can be such a scary process sometimes as there’s no right answer but she’s always helped me when I’ve had any worries. I will always be thankful for everything she has done for me.

I also wouldn’t be here without the Writer’s Tears gang – Lauren Farnsworth, Melanie Reynard, Lucy Bamforth, Joanne McClean, Dave Telford, Pete Sherlock, Becky Brynolf, Rute Évora-Jauad, Nicola Venning, Daisy Pfiel and Elise Summers. We met on the Faber Academy Writing a Novel Course in 2021 and have stayed in contact ever since. Their support has been so valuable over the years.

Speaking of Faber Academy, I also have to thank the author Marnie Riches who was our tutor on the course and taught us all so much. Although this book is not the one that I worked on during the course, she still taught me so much about writing and her very honest insights about the writing world were always appreciated. Taking the Faber Academy course was the best decision I ever made for my writing.

I have to thank my fiancé, Thomas Bloomfield. He may not be a reader, but he diligently reads everything I write and tells me his honest opinion. He also understands when I work late typing away as it’s the only time I have to spend in my imaginary world. He’s always been my champion and I know he’ll continue to support me on this ride.

I also have to thank my family, Mum, Ryan and Amber for always being supportive of my writing. Particularly Mum, who believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself.

To all the readers that are reading this book. Thank you for helping make my dream a reality. Having a book published is incredible but knowing people are reading it is even more amazing. I hope you enjoyed it and will continue to follow me on this journey.

Thank you for reading…

We hope you enjoyed The Clique!

Do leave a review if so on all your preferred platforms to help spread the word!

* * *

Be sure to follow Rhiannon Barnsley on Instagram, on TikTok and on X (Twitter) for all the updates on her latest work.

Originally from the West Midlands, Rhiannon Barnsley currently lives in London with her fiancé and her cat Salem. She's a corporate lawyer by day and writes after work and during weekends.

Rhiannon is a Faber Academy Writing Novel graduate and loves to write dark and twisty thrillers with a particular focus on women. When she's not writing, she can often be found reading or training with her cheerleading team.

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