Chapter 7 - The Social Media Retaliation
By dawn, Bridget had made bail—funded, no doubt, by her desperate mother pawning off whatever jewelry hadn't yet been seized. But Bridget wasn't interested in staying quiet.
At eight in the morning, my phone began ringing off the hook with calls from old college acquaintances, distant cousins, and high school friends. When I opened the internet, my heart seized in my chest.
Bridget had gone live on TikTok and Instagram.
The video was professionally edited with mournful music. Bridget sat on the floor of a modest apartment, crying dramatically without makeup, showing supposed "bruises" on her wrists from the handcuffs.
*"I never wanted to make this public,"* Bridget sobbed to the camera, dabbing her dry eyes with a tissue. *"My sister, Esther, has harbored jealousy toward me our whole lives. Yesterday at her wedding, she and her new husband tricked our elderly, ailing father into signing over our entire family inheritance. They ran off with all the gift envelopes, locked our parents out of their accounts, and last night, when I went to plead with them for my dad's heart medication, Esther had the local police throw me in jail. My dad had a mild heart attack last night because of the stress. Please, if you have any decency, share this. Expose Esther and Ellis for the monsters they are."*
The video already had over two million views. The comment section was a cesspool of vile attacks directed at me:
— *"What kind of daughter steals from her sick dad?"*
— *"Look at that smug bride, hope karma destroys her!"*
— *"Cancel her! Find out where she works!"*
"Turn it off, Esther," Ellis said gently, taking the phone from my hand. His jaw was clenched, but his composure was rock solid. "Lies burn bright, but they burn fast."
"Ellis, people are calling my firm demanding I be fired," I said, panic threading through my chest. "They're leaving one-star reviews on your construction business page!"
Right then, Arthur Pendelton's name flashed on the screen. I answered immediately.
"Arthur, have you seen the video?" I asked breathlessly.
"I have, Esther," Arthur replied, his voice brimming with grim amusement. "And your foolish sister just handed us the ultimate legal hammer on a silver platter. Did you forget who was filming your entire wedding ceremony and reception?"
My breath hitched. "Marcus... our videographer."
"Not only Marcus," Arthur said. "Marcus used four high-definition cameras with directional boom microphones. He captured every single second of the ballroom incident in crystal-clear 4K. He captured your father screaming that you were worthless, demanding you give Bridget the wedding envelopes, and Richard slapping you across the face so hard your earring flew off. Marcus just delivered the uncompressed master files to my office."
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"What do we do with them?" I asked.
"With your permission, Esther," Arthur said, "we release the raw footage to the press alongside the sworn audit of Richard’s offshore embezzlement. Let the world see who the real monster is."
