Chapter 8 - The Counter-Strike
At noon, Arthur Pendelton’s law firm issued an official press release containing a single link to a public drive. Within twenty minutes, the internet exploded.
The raw video began with the joyful moments of Ellis and me cutting our modest wedding cake. Then, the audio captured Richard’s booming, arrogant voice interrupting the dance floor. The footage zoomed in on Richard snatching the wooden card box, Bridget shrieking that she needed the cash for her luxury trip, and the sickening, audible *crack* of Richard’s palm striking my face in front of 118 horrified guests.
The video didn't cut away. It recorded Ellis pinning Richard against the pillar, Grandma Ruth stepping forward to disown her son, and Richard snarling that Esther was "nothing more than an unpaid maid for Bridget."
The backlash was instant, catastrophic, and total.
Bridget’s follower count plummeted by hundreds of thousands in minutes. Influencers who had reposted her sob story frantically deleted their videos and posted public apologies. Her sponsors terminated every pending contract.
Meanwhile, Richard’s corporate clients took immediate action. The board of directors at the regional development firm where Richard was managing partner held an emergency meeting and voted unanimously to terminate him with cause, stripping him of his severance package.
Around three in the afternoon, my mother, Eleanor, called my personal line.
I took a deep breath and answered. "Hello, Eleanor."
"Esther... Esther, my darling baby..." Eleanor’s voice was trembling, thick with desperate sobs. "Please, tell Arthur to take down that horrible video! The neighbors are throwing eggs at our front windows! The bank just froze our home equity line! The mortgage payment is due on Friday, and the bank manager says they’re foreclosing on the house! We are going to be on the street!"
"Where was this concern when Richard slapped me, Mom?" I asked, my voice chillingly steady. "You stood right next to him. You handed him my wedding cards."
"He was stressed, Esther! You know how your father gets when he’s under pressure!" she cried, trying to turn the blame back on me. "Bridget is locked in her bedroom threatening to harm herself! How can you be so cruel to your own flesh and blood? We gave you life!"
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"You gave me a bill for being born, Eleanor," I answered, feeling the last ember of childhood obligation extinguish in my heart. "You chose Richard’s vanity and Bridget’s greed over my dignity. Do not ever call this number again."
I hung up and blocked her number permanently.
