Chương 6
It was the first normal thing that had happened all night.
Then my father looked at the bruise on my arm.
His face changed again.
"I want them ruined."
There it was.
The sentence was quiet.
Not theatrical.
Worse because he meant it.
"Dad."
"I know what you're going to say."
"No, you don't."
"They assaulted you."
"Clarissa did."
"Her daughter grabbed you."
"Yes."
"Her son stood there."
"That isn't illegal."
"It ought to be."
Despite myself, I almost smiled.
He did not.
"I can have every lender they depend on reviewing their exposure by morning."
"Don't."
"Emma."
"Don't."
His jaw tightened.
"You called me."
"I called you to come get me."
"And I came."
"I know."
"Then let me protect you."
"This isn't protection."
"What would you call it?"
"Retaliation."
He looked past me toward the conference room.
"They humiliated you because they thought you were powerless."
"Then don't prove them right about what power does."
He looked at me again.
That hurt him.
I could tell because he stopped arguing.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
A housekeeper pushed a cart past the far end of the corridor and gave us a curious glance.
My father folded the torn dress over his forearm.
"I hate when you sound like your mother."
"You married her."
"Against my better judgment."
"You proposed three times."
"She was difficult."
"You loved difficult."
"I have reconsidered."
I leaned my head back against the wall.
He exhaled.
"Fine."
"Fine what?"
"That wording isn't comforting."
"It's the best you're getting."
We returned to the conference room.
Officer Ramirez had finished speaking with the waiter from the ballroom.
His name was Miguel Santos.
He sat near the end of the table, still in uniform, twisting a paper coffee cup between his palms.
When he saw me, he stood.
"You okay?"
"Yes."
He glanced at my cheek and clearly decided not to challenge the answer.
"I told them what I saw."
"Thank you."
He shrugged awkwardly.
"I should've done something before."
"You were working."
"Still."
The hotel director shifted in his chair.
Miguel noticed and looked down.
There were consequences everywhere now, even for people who had barely spoken.
"What happens to him?" I asked.
The director answered too quickly.
"Nothing."
Miguel looked at him.
The director corrected himself.
"I mean, he will not face discipline for cooperating."
Officer Ramirez glanced between them.
"Good."
The word contained enough warning that the director nodded.
Howard's phone buzzed.
He checked it, then leaned toward my father.
"We have a problem."
I looked at him.
"How big?"
Howard turned the screen toward us.
Jessica's livestream had been clipped and reposted before she ended it.
Not one clip.
Dozens.
The first showed Clarissa mocking my dress.
Another showed Natasha pulling at my sleeve.
The most viewed clip began two seconds before the slap and ended with my father entering the ballroom.
The caption read, BILLIONAIRE DAD ARRIVES AFTER DAUGHTER ATTACKED AT SOCIETY GALA.
The view count was moving so quickly I could watch the numbers change.
My stomach dropped.
"No."
Howard scrolled.
"It's spreading."
"I don't want this online."
"I know."
"Can we take it down?"
"Not all of it."
My father reached for the phone.
Howard pulled it away.
"No."
My father stared at him.
"William, absolutely not."
"What?"
"You are not posting."
"I wasn't going to post."
"You were thinking about posting."
"I was going to make one statement."
"Which is posting with a tie on."
I rubbed my forehead.
Officer Ramirez looked at me.
"Do you need a minute?"
"I need the internet to disappear."
Miguel gave a small, sympathetic shrug.
"If you figure that out, tell me."
Howard's phone buzzed again.
Then mine.
Then my father's.
The room filled with little digital alarms.
My screen showed seventeen missed calls, thirty-four texts, and notifications from people I had not spoken to in years.
Former classmates.
Clients.
A woman who once rented me a cabin in Vermont.
One message came from Brandon.
Please don't let your father destroy my family.
I stared at it.
Not are you okay.
Not I'm sorry.
Not I should have stopped them.
That was his first private message after the ballroom.
I handed the phone to Howard.
He read it.
His eyebrows rose.
My father held out his hand.
"No."
"Howard."
"No."
"I'd like to see."
"You'd like to commit several white-collar crimes before breakfast."
"I would not."
"Your face disagrees."
I took the phone back.
Another message appeared.
Emma please answer.
Then another.
I know I failed you.
That one hurt more.
Because it was closer to the truth.
I locked the screen.
Officer Ramirez closed her notebook.
"We've spoken to multiple witnesses, and hotel security is preserving footage."
"What happens now?"
"We'll speak to Ms. Hayes."
"Tonight?"
"Yes."
"Will she be arrested?"
"Possibly."
My father looked dissatisfied with the word.
Officer Ramirez ignored him.
"That depends on the evidence, the circumstances, and what the responding officers determine."
I nodded.
Real life refused to move at the speed of humiliation.
There would be statements.
Review.
Maybe charges.
Maybe attorneys.
Maybe arguments about who touched whom first.
The internet had already held a trial, but the law was not interested in trending captions.
The conference-room door opened.
The younger officer stepped in.
"Ma'am, there's someone outside asking to speak with Emma."
My father stood.
"Who?"
The officer looked at me instead of him.
"Brandon Hayes."
"No."
The answer came out immediately.
The officer nodded.
He turned.
"Wait."
My father looked at me.
Howard looked at me.
I hated that my heart had begun beating faster.
I hated that some part of me still wanted an explanation even after I had seen everything that mattered.
"What does he want?" I asked.
The officer's expression was neutral.
"He says he has something on his phone you need to see."
Howard leaned back slowly.
My father said, "Absolutely not."
I looked at the closed door.
May you like
"Bring him in."
Brandon entered without his jacket, his tie loosened and one sleeve marked with what looked like champagne.
