Chapter 7 - The Video They Wanted Everyone to See
By morning, my face was on half the phones in Chicago.
The clip was eleven seconds long. It began with me grabbing Victoria's wrist and ended with her stumbling backward. The old woman in the wheelchair had been cropped out completely.
The caption said: WAITRESS ATTACKS CHICAGO PHILANTHROPIST AT CHARITY EVENT.
My catering agency left a voicemail: no further assignments until its investigation ended. A stranger posted the name of my neighborhood. Another called me a liar. Someone else said people like me only wanted a payday.
Sophie looked at my screen and swore. "She really thought this would work."
"It is working," I said.
I made us instant oatmeal in the hospital family kitchen. We ate from paper bowls and pretended it tasted like breakfast.
Dad asked to see the clip. When I showed him, his shoulders sank.
"I hate that you got dragged into this."
"I hate that they hurt you," I replied. "We can hate things together."
A reporter called asking whether I planned to sue Vincent Moretti. I said no. She asked whether I had been paid for my statement. I hung up.
Then a message appeared from Maureen Bell, an audiovisual technician I recognized from the gala. She had been stationed behind the soundboard.
I HAVE THE BEGINNING OF THAT VIDEO, she wrote. THEY CUT IT OFF FOR A REASON.
"Can you send it?" I typed.
NOT OVER THE PHONE. SOMEONE FROM THE EVENT OFFICE ASKED FOR MY DEVICE LAST NIGHT.
May you like
I stared at the words. Maureen sent a second message before I could answer.
MEET ME AT THE HOTEL CAFE. WHAT I HEARD ON THE TAPE IS WORSE.
