Chapter 8 - The Counter-Strike
The internet is a fickle, unforgiving beast. It loves nothing more than an underdog story—except, perhaps, the public, total destruction of a hypocrite.
Within forty-five minutes of my post going live, the tide turned with the force of a tidal wave.
A prominent local investigative blogger with over fifty thousand followers stumbled upon the dossier. He cross-referenced the police report numbers, confirmed Arthur Vance’s legal credentials, and retweeted the entire thread with the caption: **"Local influencer claims to be victim of 'greedy sister'—turns out her husband bought a Porsche with stolen grandma jewelry. receipts inside."**
From there, the story caught fire.
Commenters who had flooded my clinic's page hours earlier began deleting their reviews in shame, replacing them with five-star apologies. Meanwhile, Vanessa’s social media profiles turned into an absolute warzone.
*“Wait, you made a tearful video crying about family values while your husband used stolen jewelry money to pay his car lease??”*
*“The audacity! Look at slide 3, the wire transfer literally says 'Porsche deposit'!”*
*“Elder abuse? Your mother-in-law literally robbed her dead mother-in-law! You guys are disgusting!”*
*“Reporting this account for fraud and defamation.”*
By ten-thirty that night, Vanessa had turned off comments on all her platforms. By eleven, she had deleted the original smear video entirely. But the internet never forgets; hundreds of users had already screen-recorded her tearful performance and stitched it side-by-side with the pawn shop security footage of Linda stuffing cash into her purse.
My phone rang. It was Toby.
I didn't answer.
Three seconds later, Dad’s phone rang. Toby’s name flashed across his screen.
Dad looked at me, his eyes questioning. "Should I take it?"
"Only if you put it on speaker, Dad," I said. "Let's hear how golden the boy sounds when his halo is on fire."
Dad swiped the screen and tapped the speaker icon. "Hello, Toby."
"Dad! Make her take it down!" Toby screamed. His voice was frantic, breathless, completely stripped of the smug arrogance he had displayed earlier. "Make Pamela delete that post right now! Do you have any idea what’s happening? Vanessa lost three brand sponsorships in the last two hours! My regional VP called me twenty minutes ago asking why my name and our company’s name are trending on Twitter alongside a police report for stolen property!"
"Toby," Dad said with chilling calmness. "Pamela didn't post anything that wasn't true. You threatened her business. She defended herself with the facts."
"She's ruining my life, Dad!" Toby sobbed, a hysterical edge creeping into his tone. "The VP said our compliance department is opening an internal investigation into my corporate card expenses tomorrow morning! If they dig into my accounts, they’re going to find out about the loan defaults! You have to fix this! Call Pamela! Tell her to say it was all a misunderstanding!"
"A misunderstanding?" Dad asked, his voice hardening. "You took forty thousand dollars of money that your mother got from pawning your grandmother’s most cherished possessions. You knew those sapphires belonged to your sister. You knew Evelyn wanted Pamela to have that ring. You didn't care about family, Toby. You only cared about looking rich in front of people who don't give a damn about you."
"Dad, please—"
"I spent thirty years cleaning up your messes, Toby," Dad interrupted. "I paid your speeding tickets. I paid your credit card overages. I let your mother treat Pamela like an afterthought while we poured every spare penny into making you feel like a prince. And look at what we created: a selfish, cowardly bully who hides behind his wife's internet followers."
"If you don't help me, Dad, Vanessa is going to leave me!" Toby cried out, completely breaking down. "She said if we lose the cottage and my job gets compromised, she's filing for divorce! She packed a suitcase an hour ago!"
"Then you’d better go help her pack, son," Dad said quietly. "Because the only thing you're getting from this family from now on is the truth."
May you like
Dad hung up the call.
He set the phone face down on the table, leaned back against the cushions of the booth, and took a long, deep breath. For the first time in my life, Robert Harris looked like an entirely free man.
