e smoke and mildew. Through the paper-thin walls,

ress and pulled out her phone. She dial

en times before

said. His voice wa

o the chase. "Indie films, supporting ro

out an hour ago. You're radioactive. Bronson Ortega has blacklisted you ac

ne wen

e phone. Her fingers dug

opened her old laptop and connect

fund-the money she had earned from acting before s

age l

e Balanc

st three years, massive wire transfers had drained her account, funneling the

k of legal documents while she was reading by the pool. Just some tax optimization

d been systematically dismantling her independence

printed into the tiny, filthy bathroom

ink, looking at her pale, holl

hand down t

rmy of lawyers. He would claim she was an unfit, homeless mother. He would take the chi

in his suffocating shadow. She stared at her trembling hands as a thought, more terrifying than homelessness, slithered into her mind like a venomous snake. The only way to sever this chai

r, curling into a tight ball. She wept until her lungs burned, torn between th

tears stopped. Her eyes we

ed her phone, and d

a raspy whisper. "I need to schedule

echoed through the speake