Chapter 4
4.
Megan struck while the iron was hot and started a TikTok Live.
When I clicked in, the viewer count was already over a hundred thousand. Her eyes were red, her voice soft and full of grievance.
"I really didn’t want to talk about this anymore... but people keep saying I’m doing it for clout. It hurts. Natalie used to be so nice to me. I don’t know why she turned out like this."
Comments flooded the screen.
"Megan, don’t cry."
"Plagiarists should pay the price."
She paused, as if she didn't want to say it, but also as if she was waiting for people to ask. "Actually, Natalie’s personality has always been a bit... how should I put it? She doesn't really like interacting with people. When we invited her, she always refused. She always used her dad's situation to explain why she was so anti-social. Maybe people would feel soft-hearted because of that, but I really shouldn't say more."
With one sentence, she nailed the labels of being anti-social, difficult to get along with, and using my father's scandal for sympathy right onto me.
The cyberbullying completely escalated.
My private accounts were dug up, the comments filled with abuse.
"Thief hiding behind a screen stealing things."
"Like father, like daughter."
"What kind of person was your father, how much better could you be?"
Someone dug up info near where I lived and sent a photo of the street outside my apartment building.
"You live in this building, right? Be careful when you go out."
A chill ran down my spine. I saved all the threat messages, submitted a doxxing report to the platform, notified building management, and called the police.
Another hashtag hit the trending topics.
#DanielBrooksCorruptionCase
The news from eight years ago was dug up again, the headlines malicious and sensational.
“Former Chicago Mayor Daniel Brooks suspected of accepting approximately three million dollars in bribes, dies awaiting trial.”
No one cared that the official findings were riddled with holes. No one knew that my father was framed, dying in despair in custody. Everyone was saying that a man like my father couldn't raise a good daughter.
I hugged my knees and curled up on the floor, tears falling silently into my palms.
The first week after my father left, I was like an empty shell. Gavin found me and held me tightly.
"I looked into your dad's case, there are too many problems with it. He wasn't a corrupt politician, he was framed. Believe me, I'll clear his name."
"Really?" My voice was terribly hoarse.
He nodded, his eyes so earnest that I believed him for many years. "Really. With me around, you won't have to carry this alone."
That was the only light that shone into my life after my father died. Now, that light had personally pushed me into an even deeper place.
I dialed Gavin’s number for the last time.
"My father's materials, are you giving them to me or not?"
He was clearly impatient. "I told you, wait until the storm passes. With your current reputation, giving you the materials is useless."
"You promised me back then."
"That was then." His voice suddenly turned cold. "Natalie, don't push me. Keep making a scene, and I'll make those files disappear permanently. Your father will die a corrupt politician in the eyes of the world."
The call disconnected.
I listened to the busy tone, my whole body freezing cold, even my fingertips trembling. Eight years, in exchange for my innocence being destroyed, my father's grievance used as leverage, mutual friends collectively betraying me, and the entire internet chasing after me.
Just as I was about to collapse, the doorbell rang.
One ring, then another.
Steady, firm.
I walked warily to the door and looked out through the peephole.
Standing outside was a man both familiar and strange. His suit was still crisp, his features cool, looking like he had just finished a long journey, still carrying the exhaustion of travel.
Adrian Vale.
The upperclassman from law school I had seen while auditing a campus mock trial event to collect novel materials back in college.
I opened the door.
He didn't ask me what happened, nor did he offer empty platitudes. He just went to work: confirming I'd called the police, having his team file for a temporary restraining order, and forcing building management to tighten security. Only then did he walk in, drop the document envelope on the table, and slide it toward me.
"I came back early," he said. "Open it."
I opened the envelope with trembling hands.
Inside was a thick stack of materials.
The record of real estate developer Victor Harlow transferring funds to Robert Sterling's account.
The manipulated flow of funds.
The forensic materials for the forged signatures.
The key chain of evidence for my father's case.
Complete, clear, fatal.
The tears that had been building up for days finally broke the dam.
Adrian looked at me, his voice very calm, but enough to suppress all the chaos.
"Go do what you want to do."
"Leave the rest to me."
I wiped my tears, opened X, and drafted a new statement.
My fingertips were no longer trembling.
"I am Natalie Brooks. The following is a formal statement regarding the plagiarism allegations against Spring Stars on the Water, and new evidence regarding the corruption findings against my father, Daniel Brooks."