Every time my phone buzzed with a message from Martin Shkreli while he was in prison, it was like a pinprick of secret glee. He was still one of the most notorious characters in the business world, still a juicy “get” for any reporter, and I had him more or less in my pocket, both literally and figuratively. The dopamine rush was incredible.
Multiple times each day, the screen would light up with notifications. And I always had to look immediately. I couldn’t force myself to ignore them, even when my ex-husband would glance at me on the couch in our living room, staring into my phone, and complain: “Babe. You don’t have to talk to him now. Pharma Jerk will still be in jail tomorrow.”
At first, I talked with him over CorrLinks, the official closed-circuit email system that people in federal prison are allowed to use. It had a cell phone app people on the outside could use for convenience. I downloaded it so that I could always reply to Martin swiftly. Not that the matter was ever urgent. I just really wanted to see what he said, and keep the conversation going.
