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I wander around the set, trying to see it objectively. It has to be flawless. It’s just been changed from a reproduction of The Nook to Gary Lucas’s apartment. My eyes travel slowly over the enlarged image of the real thing in my hand, before jumping from item to item on the set and the painstakingly sourced props in front of me.
It’s perfect. From pot plants to cushions.
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“How many do we have?” I ask the producer.
“Three, if you include the original for De Luca. Fourth, in production.” I nod and leave him to it as I drift across to the technical guy. My feet slow to a stop behind his chair and I watch his screen over his shoulder, sipping my coffee as he manipulates images and frames.
“What do you think?” he asks me, his attention on the face he’s cutting out and digitally sticking onto the actress’s body.
“It’s going to have to be very convincing. I want no room for doubt or questions. Hunter has to one hundred percent believe that this woman is Eva Adams.”
“He will.” He doesn’t even look up, totally focused on his digital deception. A fake so deep even the real Eva would have a hard time believing it’s not her on the screen.
I hope. But as long as Will Hunter believes it, I’m happy.
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That man destroyed my life. I’m going to destroy his. One sex tape at a time.