A Billionaire, a Psychic and a Bad Investment: The Friendship Breakup from Hell

“OH, MY GOD,” said Taylor Thomson, clapping her eyes on Ashley Richardson for the first time. “You have those fabulous heroin-chic arms.”

It was 2009. Both women were lounging in the backyard at the Malibu home of Beau St. Clair, a film producer and mutual friend. Richardson, wearing a muscle tee over her bikini, basked in the sun while Thomson sat fully covered in a flowy outfit and a hat. Her then-10-year-old daughter clutched a hot-pink mini Birkin.

Richardson, a lanky, 6-foot-tall blonde, was a free spirit who went on to build a career designing social-media campaigns for companies like Ford Motor and McDonald’s. Thomson was an heiress to Canada’s wealthiest family. An eccentric with a self-deprecating sense of humor, she went to dinners and parties with wild hair and drapey, distressed clothes by California designer Rick Owens. “She was this subversive, secret billionaire,” says one mutual friend.

But a few crucial commonalities—a shared silliness, a love for animals and a deep spirituality—drew them together. Thomson liked that Richardson had spent five years in India working with a spiritual leader named Amma, the so-called hugging saint. Richardson bonded with Thomson’s daughter, whom she recalls as precocious and “a quirky little being.”

“Taylor is a Holly Golightly, adventurous bohemian spirit,” says Richardson. “She has this big beautiful heart when she lets her guard down.” Both women have ADHD, she adds. “Because of that, I think we got each other.”

Richardson soon became part of a small Los Angeles friend group that Thomson called her inner sanctum. Whenever Thomson would land in Los Angeles, says Richardson, her phone would blow up. The women, often with Richardson’s girlfriend, would order Nobu takeout and pair it with tequila at Thomson’s beach house. Richardson made Sunday dinners and frittatas at the heiress’s Bel Air mansion. When Thomson had staff there, her assistants chopped onions. When she didn’t, Thomson was the first to do the dishes, and Richardson taught Thomson’s eager then-teenage daughter how to roast potatoes. For New Year’s Eve, they planned a menu that included chocolates and truffles. “Also an onion to chop for caviar,” reminded Thomson in a text message at the time.

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Author: HP McLovincraft

Seeker of rabbit holes. Pessimist. Libertine. Contrarian. Your huckleberry. Possibly true tales of sanity-blasting horror also known as abject reality. Prepare yourself. Veteran of a thousand psychic wars. I have seen the fnords. Deplatformed on Tumblr and Twitter.

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