The Trust by Tom Dolby

could deliver that was by giving her access to the inner workings of the Society. She had been the initial impetus that had sent him to Isis Island, in the hopes of getting some footage of the Society’s retreat. Unfortunately, he had never had the chance to capture a single frame. While he had gotten an insider’s view, all he had were his own memories. And now, after having been kidnapped and becoming a member, the Society had the original memory cards of his footage. In addition to messengering them to the Society’s town house the day after the retreat, he had signed an affidavit that he no longer had any duplicate copies in his possession.
    What he didn’t tell them was that a week ago, he had contacted Eliot Walker, the older of the two Walker cousins who were on the lobster boat he had taken out to Isis Island. As a favor to Patch, Eliot had set up a safe-deposit box for him at the Coastal Bank of Maine. The key had arrived in the mail today. In the safe-deposit box were several memory sticks containing all the raw footage, plus the rough cuts that Patch had put together.
    Patch knew he wouldn’t be able to use any of it now, but at least he had it as leverage if he ever needed it. He figured he hadn’t technically broken the affidavit, as the material wasn’t in his possession.
    Now, this afternoon, as he headed to the loft that housed Simone’s production company, he hoped he might be able to revive the project, even without the Society footage—to make the show more about Chadwick and less about the Society. He had tried to get back in touch with Simone, but she wasn’t returning his calls.
    When he showed up at the building in the West Thirties, though, his key card no longer worked. He waited for a few minutes and then was able to gain entry as some members of a production crew left for the day.
    Patch went up to the third floor and looked for Eyes Wide Open Productions. There was no sign on the door anymore, and the office was unlocked. Patch walked in to discover that it was as if the company had disappeared. All the editing decks had been removed; the same went for the file cabinets, the bulletin boards, the posters on the walls. All that was left was what the space had come with: empty cubicles, phones with dead lines, and the detritus of moving.
    Patch called Simone on her cell. Perhaps they had recently moved, and she had been preoccupied.
    He felt the lightbulb on one of the office lamps. Confirming his suspicions, it was still warm.
    Simone picked up after a few rings. “Patch,” she said. “You’re probably wondering what’s going on.”
    “Um, yeah, that would be one of my questions.”
    She sighed. “I had to move my editing suite uptown. I was given an opportunity—it was something I couldn’t turn down.”
    “What kind of opportunity?”
    “I’m not really supposed to talk about it. I guess it’s okay to mention it to you. I got a grant from this group that gives out awards to filmmakers, sort of like the Guggenheim or the MacArthur grants. The Bradford Trust Association?”
    Patch groaned. Even though the Bradford Trust Association was the parent corporation for the Society, everyone thought it was a philanthropic group that was improving the world by writing checks.
    “Anyway, they gave me a hundred thousand dollars to work on my documentary, a pet project I’ve been doing.”
    “What are their terms?”
    “I had to sign a confidentiality agreement about where I was getting the money. And, well . . .”
    “And what?”
    “I had to commit to working in film for the next two years. It’s really exciting—they think this new project of mine could make it to Sundance next year. They don’t want me distracted by my television projects.”
    “Where does that leave us with Chadwick Prep ?”
    “I’m sorry, Patch. We’re going to have to drop the project. Our option runs out on it in June. After that, you’ll be free to pursue other venues. But to be honest, I just