Chapter 4

The laptop hit the polished studio floor with a sickening crack.

The big screen went black for a second, then flickered erratically.

Michael stood panting, his chest heaving, fists clenched. Jessica rushed to his side, murmuring soothing words.

"Enough of this circus!" Michael yelled, his voice hoarse. "She was a liar and a manipulator!"

David remained calm, signaling to a technician. "Can we get that back online? There might be an auto-save feature to a cloud drive she had."

A young tech scurried forward, carefully picking up the damaged laptop. He plugged in a few cables.

The screen flickered again, and then, an entirely new window popped up.

Not my Instagram.

It was a video player.

A small icon in the corner indicated it was streaming from a secure cloud server.

A file name appeared briefly: "Contingency_Evidence_01.mp4."

My breath hitched, even in this non-existent state. I'd set that up. A dead man's switch, of sorts. If my devices were tampered with or inactive for too long...

The video began to play.

It was shaky, clearly filmed covertly. Audio first, then a blurry image.

My voice, hesitant. "...so you think you can help me? With Brenda? And the legal stuff?"

Then Jessica's voice, smooth and reassuring. "Of course, Sarah. This friend of mine, he's a lawyer, specializes in these messy family situations. He can get a restraining order against Brenda, help you sort out the debt. We'll meet him for coffee."

The video cut to a dimly lit coffee shop. I was there, looking tired and hopeful. Jessica was smiling, introducing me to a slick-looking man in a cheap suit.

He handed me a bottled water. "Here, you look like you need this."

I took a sip.

The camera angle shifted slightly, as if the phone recording it had been subtly moved. It now focused on my face.

My eyes started to look unfocused. I blinked slowly.

The video jumped.

Now I was in a dingy motel room. Sunlight streamed through a gap in the curtains.

I was lying on a bed, my clothes disheveled. A strange man, not the "lawyer," was asleep beside me, snoring.

My recorded voice, groggy, confused. "Where... where am I?"

Then, the motel room door burst open.

Michael stood there, his face a mask of fury. Jessica was right behind him, her hand over her mouth in mock horror.

"Sarah! What the HELL is this?" Michael roared.

The video showed me scrambling up, confused, terrified. "Michael... I... I don't know..."

Michael strode forward and slapped me. Hard. The sound cracked through the studio.

The live audience gasped. On the chat, emojis of shocked faces flew by.

In the video, I recoiled, tears streaming down my face. I looked at Jessica, pleading. "Jessica, help me... I don't understand..."

Jessica rushed to my side, but her words were for Michael. "Oh, Michael! I can't believe she'd do this! After everything! I found her messages... she was meeting someone here... for money..."

Then, her voice dropped to a whisper, meant only for me, but the hidden phone's microphone caught it. "Face it, Sarah. This is easier, isn't it? A quick way to make cash. Stop pretending you're a saint."

She then turned back to Michael, her face a mask of sorrow. "She's... she's just not the person we thought she was, Michael."

Michael in the video looked utterly betrayed. He spat on the floor near me. "You're filth, Sarah. Don't ever come near me or my family again."

He stormed out. Jessica gave me one last, triumphant smirk before following him.

The video ended.

The studio was silent. Utterly silent.

Michael, in the present, was pale, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair. He looked like he was going to be sick.

Jessica was babbling. "That's... that's edited! It's fake! Sarah was always good with computers! She... she faked that to make me look bad! Michael, you know the truth! You were there!"

Michael didn't look at her. He stared at the blank screen where the video had played.

David cleared his throat. "There's another file. An audio log, it seems."

The new file began to play. My voice again, but this time, it was a narration, like a diary entry.

"I ran from that motel. I didn't know what else to do. I saw Michael... he was waiting by his car, around the corner. He looked... lost. I wanted to run to him, to tell him it was a lie, a setup. But then I saw them. The same thugs who beat me up for Brenda's debt. They were watching Michael. Hiding in a doorway. If I went to him, they'd go after him. I knew it."

A pause in the audio. A shaky breath.

"He saw me. He started walking towards me, his face hard. He asked me what happened. Who that man was. I... I had to make him leave. I had to make him hate me enough to stay away. For his own safety."

Then, my voice in the recording changed, becoming harsh, cold – the voice I used with Michael that day. "What's it to you, Michael? Get lost. It's none of your business how I make my money."

Michael's recorded voice, full of pain. "Sarah... why?"

My recorded voice, colder still. "Because I'm tired of being poor. Now leave me alone. And tell your parents to stop sending me pity money. I don't need it."

The audio clicked off.

In the studio, Michael let out a choked sob. He covered his face with his hands.

Jessica stared at him, her composure finally cracking. Her eyes were wide with panic.

"Michael, don't listen to that! She's twisting everything!"

David spoke again, his voice like a judge's gavel. "There's another audio file. Shorter. Titled 'Deal_With_Devil.mp3'."

Brenda's raspy voice filled the air. "So, fifty bucks a week, you said? To keep an eye on her? Make sure she doesn't bother pretty boy Michael or his folks?"

Jessica's voice, clear and cold. "A hundred. And a bonus if you can... encourage her to leave town. Or at least make her life difficult enough that she won't have time for them. She's a nuisance. I want her out of the picture."

Brenda cackled. "Consider it done, sweetie. For that price, I'll make her wish she was never born."