ME (exhausted by creep): Hello?

SOME WOMAN (just as exhausted as me): Is this Tessa Rodgers?

ME (hesitant): It is.

SOME WOMAN (about to announce herself): My name is Miranda Coller. I used to write for The New York Times and I heard through a contact I have at The University of Mississippi that you are doing a podcast with Graham Welsh…

Here we go…those who would have ignored me three months ago, start to try and latch onto my shine.

MIRANDA COLLER (Beotch): I wanted to reach out to you to see if, fuck it, to warn you.

Cold blood.

MIRANDA COLLER (Savior): I want to let you know that Graham isn’t exactly who he seems to be, and, his story isn’t nearly as cut and dry as it might seem. I’m at least partially to blame.

I would quickly discover that Miranda was very much to blame.

MIRANDA COLLER (Apologetic): Graham’s story was a lot more complicated than it came across on the page. I wanted to tell it, but my editor, was like, this is the story, but I wanted to let you know that I was deeply, deeply disturbed by Graham when I worked with him on the story. I can’t even describe it, the man made me feel like my insides were hollow. I was trying to help him, but he had this weird, caustic way of always insulting me. He would go on long rants that would make it seem like, oh my God, this guy couldn’t be more innocent, then he would slip in something that made me forget all the things that made it seem like he didn’t kill those people in 1993.

ME (About to spill my beans): Oh my God…

I told Miranda everything that happened with me and Graham. It was exactly the same thing, except that she was motivated to stick to his story of innocence because it would sell. I pictured her calling me from the townhouse near Central Park she was able to purchase for price in the mid-2000s because of the story she sold for Graham, the book deal, and the movie deal. Deal. Deal. Deal.

The dollar signs rang in my head.