Chapter 4

At 7:58 the following evening, all twelve cropped photos were queued for the downtown screen.

Nora pushed a list of penalties toward me.

“You paused the client email last night, and the brand already wants an explanation. If you stop tonight’s launch too, where will the money for six employees’ salaries come from next month?”

Clients and reporters crowded around the control booth.

Everyone was waiting for the official launch of the REAL FAMILIES campaign.

Each time the countdown changed, more phones rose from the audience.

The tablet in my hands held all twelve pairs of images—the originals beside the cropped versions.

I had come prepared to put them on the giant screen and show everyone exactly what Evan had done.

Lucy saw the backstage preview and grabbed my wrist.

“You’re going to put my face up there too?”

“I want them to see that you’re telling the truth.”

“They’ve seen me enough.” She pushed the tablet back toward me. “Don’t use my face to prove which one of you is the good parent.”

Even while trying to protect her, I was still deciding which of her wounds could be made public.

Those twelve photos belonged to Lucy. They were not mine to use as weapons against her father.

Evan came around the side of the stage, the studio badge pinned to his jacket.

“Let me finish tonight’s launch,” he said. “Tomorrow, I’ll remove the family photos and cancel the rest of the posters.”

“The printed copies are already on their way.”

“I’ll deal with them. We have to save the contract first.”

He reminded me how much debt we had carried when we opened the studio.

We had sold our car and taken turns sleeping in the office so our six employees could have the jobs they held now.

If we lost our largest brand contract, the studio could be shut down for at least three months.

Pressing the button wouldn’t erase the bills. Our employees wouldn’t forgive me simply because I had done it to protect my daughter.

Nora checked the timer.

“Ninety seconds, Claire. Think carefully.”

I didn’t open the twelve comparison files.

Instead, I logged into the parental consent portal.

I couldn’t access Evan’s playback system remotely, but from the control booth, I could withdraw the permission I had signed for the use of Lucy’s image.

The system would lock every connected file and send the project for manual review.

I entered my authorization code.

Twelve files appeared on the screen.

The picnic. The road trip. Christmas breakfast. The kitchen window.

Lucy’s name appeared beside every one.

I selected WITHDRAW ALL.

One by one, the files turned gray.

A confirmation box appeared:

This action cannot be immediately reversed. Contractual and publication liability will be assigned to the account holder.

The countdown reached thirty seconds.

Evan rushed to the console and planted one hand against the edge of the screen.

“If you show the originals, at least we can explain. If you pull everything, the brand will only see a breach of contract.”

“Lucy doesn’t want her face displayed.”

“What about the studio? What about our house?” His voice finally broke. “If you press that button, you won’t just destroy tonight. You’ll destroy everything we built.”

The audience began counting down with the screen.

“Ten.”

“Nine.”

Evan reached toward the confirmation button, then stopped before his hand touched mine.

Lucy stood behind me. She didn’t urge me on. She didn’t make the decision for me.

“Three.”

“Two.”

I pressed confirm.

The number 1 flashed across the giant screen.

Then the entire display went black.