A Chapter from Quentin Drummond Anderson’s quickly to be launched sequel to Quick Tales from Tech
“That’s a wrap on episode three!”
The director’s voice echoed by means of the transformed warehouse in Hackney Wick the place Isla Monaghan — nonetheless sometimes catching herself when not answering to “Montgomery” — had been filming for the previous six hours. The Netflix documentary collection, now titled “Filtered: The Darkish Actuality of Affect,” had advanced from idea to manufacturing with extraordinary velocity, propelled by the viral explosion of Isla’s confession video.
Isla wiped away the sunshine sheen of perspiration that had fashioned beneath the studio lights. Regardless of the cautious calibration of the “pure” lighting setup, designed to convey authenticity whereas nonetheless remaining flattering, the house was stiflingly sizzling. Some issues about content material creation remained fixed, no matter one’s dedication to transparency.
“You have been sensible,” mentioned Mira Patel, the showrunner Netflix had assigned to the undertaking. A former documentary filmmaker with a status for unflinching cultural evaluation, Mira had reworked Isla’s preliminary idea into one thing with real journalistic heft. “The sequence concerning the borrowed Lamborghini is devastating.”
Isla nodded, reaching for her water bottle — an bizarre plastic one, not the £80 rose quartz-infused vessel she’d as soon as promoted as important to her “wellness journey.”
“Oliver’s arriving for his interview at 4,” Mira continued, consulting her pill. “Are you staying to watch, or would you like to overview the footage later?”
“I’ll keep,” Isla replied, checking her cellphone. The notification rely remained astronomical; her transformation from aspirational influencer to whistleblower had solely amplified public fascination along with her story. The character of the eye had shifted, however its depth remained unchanged. “I need to see his response to the questions firsthand.”
For the reason that publication of his Observer piece three months earlier, Oliver Blackwood had maintained an expert distance from Isla, agreeing to take part within the documentary however declining her invites to collaborate extra extensively. His wariness amused her. For all his journalistic acumen, he remained disconcerted by how totally she had included his investigation into her reinvention technique.
“There’s one thing else we must always talk about,” Mira mentioned, reducing her voice as she guided Isla towards a quieter nook of the set. “The analysis staff has been digging into the Stellar Magnificence contract termination, and so they’ve uncovered some regarding connections.”
Isla tensed. The collapse of her Stellar Magnificence ambassadorship had been the catalyst for her monetary disaster, the primary main domino in what would have been her inevitable downfall had she not seized management of the narrative.
“What sort of connections?”
“It appears the choice didn’t originate with Stellar’s advertising and marketing staff,” Mira defined, displaying Isla a fancy internet of company relationships on her pill. “Their father or mother firm was acquired by Zamok Krystal final 12 months.”
“The Belarusian vodka conglomerate?” Isla frowned. “I did a marketing campaign for his or her premium model, Zamok Elite, in 2021. Restricted version bottle design, unique launch get together in Moscow. It was earlier than the sanctions.”
“Sure, we discovered that connection. However there’s extra to it than a easy enterprise relationship. The info analyst we’ve employed has uncovered uncommon patterns in your engagement metrics instantly following the Volk marketing campaign. It seems your account was focused by bot exercise — to not increase your numbers, however to artificially depress them.”
Isla’s frown deepened. “That’s not unusual within the trade. Rivals generally deploy bots to undermine opponents.”
“This wasn’t competitors,” Mira mentioned quietly. “This was retaliation. Our sources recommend you noticed one thing throughout that Moscow occasion — one thing Zamok Krystal didn’t need publicised.”
A chilly sensation unfold by means of Isla’s chest as a fragmented reminiscence from the Moscow launch get together surfaced — a half-open door, a heated dialog in Russian, paperwork swiftly gathered as she’d stumbled in looking out for a loo. She’d been champagne-dizzy and had thought nothing of it on the time.
“I must make a name,” Isla mentioned abruptly, gathering her issues. “Inform Oliver I is likely to be barely late for his interview.”
Outdoors, the late June sunshine felt incongruously cheerful in opposition to the shadow of apprehension now looming over her. She dialled Charlotte’s quantity as she walked briskly towards the canal path.
“I would like you to look the archive for the Moscow footage,” she mentioned with out preamble when her assistant answered. “The Zamok Elite launch. All of the uncooked information, together with something we didn’t publish.”
“All the things’s nonetheless backed up on the cloud server,” Charlotte confirmed. “However Isla, I’ve been that means to inform you — there’s been somebody watching the flat. A person in a gray Audi. Identical automotive, three totally different days this week.”
“Have you ever informed constructing safety?”
“Sure, however he by no means comes contained in the perimeter, simply observes from the road. They will’t do a lot about somebody parked legally on a public street.”
“Don’t return to the flat,” Isla instructed, her coronary heart charge accelerating. “Meet me on the Shoreditch Home in an hour. We’ll overview the footage collectively there.”
As she ended the decision, Isla observed a textual content from Trevor, her supervisor, nonetheless desperately making an attempt to salvage relationships with manufacturers who’d fled within the wake of her revelations.
Pressing assembly request from Kristall representatives. Very beneficiant provide to characteristic in Volk Elite’s “authenticity” marketing campaign. €1.5M for 3 posts and attendance at Minsk product launch. Ideas?
The timing was too good to be coincidental. Isla texted again:
Not . And Trevor, we have to talk about your vetting course of for model partnerships. Name me tomorrow.
She put her cellphone away, quickening her tempo alongside the canal. The gentrified waterway was busy with afternoon joggers and distant employees searching for respite from house places of work. None paid any explicit consideration to Isla; her new pared-back aesthetic — minimal make-up, easy clothes, pure hair — had confirmed an efficient disguise in a world that had recognized her solely in full glam and designer labels.
The reinvention of Isla Monaghan had develop into a masterclass in managed narrative transformation. In simply three months, she had pivoted from disgraced influencer to cultural critic, securing not simply the Netflix deal however a e-book contract, talking engagements, and visitor lecturer positions at media research departments. The very authenticity she had strategically constructed for years had been changed by a brand new authenticity — one constructed on confession, critique, and calculated transparency.
Her cellphone buzzed with a notification from her banking app. The primary instalment of the Netflix cost had cleared — sufficient to clear her money owed and set up a monetary cushion, although nowhere close to the stratospheric earnings of her influencer heyday. The reduction was tempered by a now-familiar guilt. Her redemption narrative was proving as profitable as her authentic deception, elevating uncomfortable questions concerning the commodification of reality in digital areas.
Oliver had been proper about one factor: she was nonetheless performing, nonetheless developing a persona for public consumption. The one distinction was the character of the efficiency.
Shoreditch Home was busy with its ordinary clientele of media professionals and inventive trade sorts. Charlotte was already ready in a discreet nook of the rooftop bar, her perpetually anxious expression much more pronounced than ordinary.
“I’ve received the whole lot on my laptop computer,” she mentioned as Isla joined her. “What precisely are we on the lookout for?”
“I’m unsure,” Isla admitted. “However one thing occurred in Moscow that may clarify why Kristall has been undermining my partnerships.”
They spent the following hour reviewing footage — official marketing campaign movies, behind-the-scenes content material, and the uncooked information Charlotte had captured all through the three-day occasion. Nothing instantly stood out till they reached footage from the after-party at a mansion on the outskirts of Moscow.
“Wait,” Isla mentioned all of the sudden. “Return to that sequence within the hallway.”
Charlotte rewound to a shaky clip of Isla, champagne glass in hand, navigating an ornate hall lined with pre-revolutionary art work. The footage captured her opening a door, then rapidly backing away as voices have been raised inside. For a quick second, the digicam had continued recording, capturing a glimpse of papers scattered throughout a desk and a laptop computer display displaying what seemed to be transport manifests.
“Can you improve that display?” Isla requested.
Charlotte zoomed in and adjusted the decision as greatest she may. The picture was blurry, however one element grew to become clear: transport routes highlighted between Belarus and several other Center Jap international locations, with dates and cargo designations.
“This was in the course of the sanctions interval,” Isla murmured. “When exports to these areas have been closely restricted.”
“You suppose they have been smuggling vodka?” Charlotte requested, her forehead furrowed.
“I feel vodka might need been the least of what they have been shifting,” Isla replied grimly. “We have to ship this to Mira and her analysis staff. And Charlotte — I feel it’s best to keep some place else for a number of days. Not your flat, not mine. Someplace sudden.”
Charlotte nodded, her face pale however composed. “My sister’s in Bristol. I may go there.”
“Good. Go straight from right here. Don’t return to your flat first.”
As Charlotte gathered her issues, a notification appeared on Isla’s cellphone — a message from an unknown quantity.
Delete Moscow footage. Remaining warning.
Isla stared on the textual content, her blood working chilly. She confirmed it to Charlotte, whose arms started to tremble.
“They know what we’ve discovered,” Charlotte whispered. “How may they probably know?”
“My accounts have been in all probability compromised in the course of the marketing campaign,” Isla realised. “In the event that they’ve been monitoring my communications since then…”
“What can we do?” Charlotte’s voice had risen an octave with panic.
“We go to the police,” Isla determined. “Proper now. Collectively.”
They left Shoreditch Home by means of the facet entrance, Isla maintaining a watchful eye for any signal of surveillance. The road appeared regular — busy with early night commuters and post-work drinkers having fun with the summer time climate.
“There’s a police station on Industrial Road,” Isla mentioned, guiding Charlotte towards the primary street. “It’s only some minutes’ stroll.”
That they had barely gone twenty metres when Isla observed a gray Audi idling on the kerb forward. The identical automotive Charlotte had described watching her flat.
“Cross the road,” she murmured, gripping Charlotte’s elbow. “Now.”
They stepped into the street, weaving between stopped visitors towards the other pavement. The driving force of the Audi — a broad-shouldered man with a close-cropped beard — made eye contact with Isla for one chilling second earlier than reaching inside his jacket.
“Run!” Isla shouted, pulling Charlotte towards a slender facet avenue.
The primary shot rang out as they reached the nook — a surprisingly subdued pop that didn’t instantly register as gunfire to the pedestrians close by. The second shot got here as they have been midway down the alley, and Isla felt Charlotte’s grip on her arm all of the sudden slacken.
She turned in time to see her assistant crumple to the bottom, a bloom of crimson spreading throughout her chest. Screams erupted round them as the truth of the scenario penetrated the night bustle.
“Charlotte!” Isla dropped to her knees beside the fallen lady, urgent desperately in opposition to the wound. “Somebody name an ambulance! Please!”
Charlotte’s eyes have been huge with shock, her respiratory speedy and shallow. “The laptop computer,” she gasped. “Don’t allow them to — “
Her phrases lower off as a convulsion handed by means of her physique. By the point the wail of approaching sirens crammed the air, Charlotte Cole had slipped away, her options frozen in an expression of disbelief.
Isla remained beside her, arms stained with blood, as chaos erupted round them. Via her shock, one thought crystallised with horrible readability: the efficiency of her life had simply develop into lethal critical.
