The elite do not fear the police, the lawyers, or even the hackers. What they truly fear is one thing: the truth that destroys reputation. And I was the interpreter of truth in their world of social hypocrisy.

I lived my life in Los Angeles, surrounded by the most beautiful and most fake things. I owned a luxurious and famous beauty salon, and that salon was the real confessional booth for the city’s elite. Wealthy women would come to me with their bare faces, telling me about their husbands, their deals, and their fears, all while I was making them beautiful. I would listen and collect.

But my role wasn't just as a beautician. I was a social activist, trying to use my wealthy network to raise funds for my community organization. This mix of luxury and activism earned me everyone's trust.

My fall came at the hands of the man who was supposed to be my partner. My wealthy, successful doctor husband.

I discovered by chance that my husband was running a massive medical insurance fraud scheme. When I confronted him, he didn't panic. He was utterly confident in his social immunity. I threatened to expose him and everyone around him; but he beat me to it.

He fabricated an extortion case against me. He used lawyers (not as talented as Elena Petrova, but well-funded) and built a story that I was blackmailing him to drop the medical case. All the evidence was manufactured, but it came from a successful, famous man with an impeccable public reputation.

In the courtroom, it was clear: the judge (an older white man) looked at me as a "greedy Black wife" trying to extort her wealthy white husband. My real evidence didn't matter. It didn't matter that I was the activist. What mattered was the appearance. It was much easier to convict Kendra Mitchell than to indict a reputable doctor.

Three years. The sentence felt like a slap across the face of the entire society.

In prison, I learned one thing: the real fear is not losing money, but losing the reputation that took years to build. Financial extortion hurts, but social shaming kills professionally and personally.

When I met Natalie, Jia, and Elena, I didn't see just fellow inmates. I saw keys. Natalie knows how to move the money, Jia knows how to breach the secrets, and Elena knows how to protect us legally.

In our first meeting, Natalie asked me about the perfect victim—a powerful yet easily destructible target.

I looked at the wall, which had an old poster of a political candidate, and I remembered all the men who used to gossip in my salon about their little secrets. I smiled a smile no one had ever seen before: "Every wealthy, successful man in this country has a secret he buries. A secret he thinks is completely safe. I know where to look for those secrets, Natalie. And they don't even know they're targets yet."