Chapter 120: The Backup Brain

LEITANA

“So now that it seems Willow is out of the equation, what do we do now?” Marco asked. He took a long sip from his smoothie and looked around at each of us. He was leaning against the dresser, one ankle crossed over the other.

Stacy nodded while twisting her hair up into a small, messy bun. “Yeah, and I think she’s going to tell him about our plan. I mean, she was the one who kissed you, knowing fully well that you’re married. Who does that?”

Marco chuckled and shook his head. “Apparently Willow. When I saw her crying, I thought maybe she’d hurt herself or something. But to be honest, we all noticed it that day at the shoot, the way she was looking at Leitana.”

I had been quietly flipping through a printed copy of Celeste’s files they’d brought: emails, rider clauses, retreat confirmations. But at Marco’s words, I looked up. My heart gave a small, guilty thud.

Lafu noticed immediately. She sat cross-legged on the guest bed with her laptop beside her and tilted her head.

“Leitana… did you tell Ravial everything that happened?” she asked gently. “About Willow… the kiss… all of it?”

I nodded slowly. My cheeks warmed again just thinking about it. “Yes. I tell him everyting.”

Marco’s eyebrows shot up. “Ohhh shit. And he didn’t… lose it?”

Stacy’s eyes went wide. “Yeah, like… did he get angry? I mean, we’ve all seen the way he treats you. He practically adores you. Is he gonna, like… drop Willow? Or… worse?”

I looked appalled and shook my head fast. “No no! Willow can’t help feelings. Feelings hard to control. Mi no wan’ hurt her more. Ravial… him no angry at her. He said we will find another way.”

Marco rolled his eyes dramatically. “Well, I once had a crush on the boss. Your husband doesn’t mean I go around kissing…”

He froze mid-sentence. His face flushed bright red as he realized what he’d just admitted out loud.

“I mean no disrespect!” he blurted, hands up. “I just hypothetically… never mind!”

I giggled despite everything and shook my head. “It fine, Marco. Mi no mind.”

Stacy snorted, trying not to laugh. Lafu just smirked and patted the bed beside her.

I sat down, still holding the files. “Mi wan’ go talk to Willow tomorrow,” I said quietly. “To explain. Mi wan’ say sorry. Mi wan’ her know mi no use her.”

Lafu shook her head immediately. “No no, we don’t need her. Not after that.”

I frowned. “But…”

Lafu cut me off gently but firmly. “The main reason we’re all here, though we didn’t mention it in the group chat, is that Stacy’s guy finally cracked open the USB and SD card.”

My heart jumped into my throat.

Stacy was already moving. She grabbed her laptop from the bed, flipped it open, and turned the screen toward us. She sat cross-legged with her fingers flying over the keys.

“Hmmm,” she said, scrolling. “I had to pay a lot for this one. It was really encrypted, military-grade stuff. My guy said he’s never seen anything like it on a model’s personal drive. Took him all night and half the morning.”

She clicked play.

The screen filled with grainy, timestamped footage.

It was a private yacht: luxury, white decks, endless blue ocean. Nighttime. Soft golden lights. A small group of men in suits. Their faces were blurred so you couldn’t see who they were, but they were laughing with cigars in hand. And there, Celeste.

She was wearing a thin silk dress, barefoot, hair loose. She looked… small. Uncomfortable. One of the men, older, silver-haired, expensive watch, had his arm around her waist, his face also blurred. Too tight. She smiled for the camera, but her eyes were glassy. Empty.

The footage jumped to a different angle, a hidden camera in a cabin.

Celeste alone now. Pacing. Crying quietly. She sat on the bed, pulled out her phone, and started recording herself.

Her voice was soft and trembling.

“If anything happens to me… this is proof. Jim Caruso… he sold me to these men. They call them sponsors. They’re not. They’re… they want things. Private things. I said no at first. He said I’d lose everything. He said Ravial would never book me again if I didn’t cooperate. I… I didn’t want to. But I thought… maybe if I did it once… it would stop.”

She wiped her eyes.

“It didn’t stop. They want more. Always more. The last one… he hurt me. I can’t do it anymore. If I disappear… if something happens… it’s them. It’s Jim.”

The video ended.

We all stared at the frozen frame. Celeste’s tear-streaked face filled the screen.

Marco let out a slow breath. “Holy… fuck.”

Stacy’s hands were shaking. “That’s it. That’s the smoking gun. She recorded her own confession. Timestamped. With names, dates, everything.”

Lafu leaned forward with fierce eyes. “Why would Jim leave this in Archive B, knowing someone could find it?”

Marco shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t know it existed. Or maybe he thought no one would ever look. Police ruled it suicide, fall from the building. Case closed. Why dig through old boxes?”

Lafu pulled out her phone, scrolled quickly, and turned the screen toward us.

It was a photo she’d taken months ago: her and Celeste on set, laughing. In the background, on Celeste’s vanity table: her laptop… and right beside it, the exact same USB drive.

“I didn’t recognize it then,” Lafu said quietly. “But now… I do. Celeste used this USB all the time. She said it was her ‘backup brain’: raw files, notes, voice memos. She probably started using it to store everything in case something happened to her. She knew. She knew Jim was dangerous. She was protecting herself… and she hid it where she thought no one would look.”

My throat tightened.

Diego’s voice came through the laptop speaker. He’d joined the call remotely.

“Guys… I’ve got something too. I dug into public records. Three names keep popping up: Senator Harlan Whitlock, hedge-fund billionaire Victor Langston, and tech mogul Elias Crowe. All three were on yachts matching the descriptions in the emails. All three donated heavily to Ashbourne Global charities that year. And all three were photographed with Celeste at private events, events not listed on her public schedule.”

Silence.

Then Stacy whispered, “Oh my God.”

Marco leaned closer to the screen. “That’s half the puzzle. We have Celeste’s confession video. We have names. We have dates and locations. We have proof Jim facilitated it.”

Lafu’s eyes were fierce. “But we still need video or camera footage of what actually happened that night. Not just her falling. Proof someone pushed her or that she was drugged, coerced, anything that rules out suicide.”

Diego’s voice crackled. “I’m still digging. But since Jim knows we are onto him… he’s going to move fast. We need to be faster.”

I stared at the frozen image of Celeste on Stacy’s screen: sad, scared, brave.

“Tomorrow,” I said quietly. “Mi go talk to Willow. One more time. Maybe she listen now. Maybe she help.”

Lafu looked at me, worried. “Leitana… after today…”

“Mi have to try,” I whispered. “For Celeste.”

My phone buzzed.

A text from an unknown number.

I opened it.

One line.

You took something that doesn’t belong to you. Return it. Or I’ll take something that belongs to you.

My blood ran cold.

I looked up at my friends.

They saw my face.

And the room went silent.