Chapter 5 - THE PUBLIC EXECUTIONThe footage was blindingly clear.
The crowd gasped in unison as the video showed the interior of my bathroom. There was Jocelyn, holding her skeleton key, snatching my post-mastectomy pain medication out of my pale, trembling hands.
The audio captured my agonizing gasps: “They’re prescribed! My surgeon said I need them!”
Then came Jocelyn’s cold, sadistic smile on the giant screen, enlarged so big that every single person in the room could see the absolute evil in her eyes: “Addicts always have excuses.”
The sound of the toilet flushing roared through the ballroom’s subwoofer speakers like thunder.
People in the audience began to scream in horror. Women covered their mouths; prominent donors stood up in shock.
“Turn it off! TURN IT OFF!” Gregory screamed frantically on stage, abandoning his polished persona and lunging at the AV technicians near the side of the stage. But the control booth was locked from the inside—Ethan’s security team had jammed the doors and hijacked the broadcast transmitter.
The video didn't stop.
The screen cut to the next frame: Gregory entering the bathroom. The audience watched as he stepped over my collapsed, writhing body to protect his expensive pants.
“Mom’s right. You’re dragging this out, and I’m sick of hearing you complain.”
The entire ballroom erupted into shouts of outrage as the footage played the moment Gregory reached down, grabbed the surgical drainage bags attached to my open chest wounds, and violently ripped them free, splattering blood across the floor before dumping them into the garbage.
“Get up. The lawn needs mowing. Maybe some hard work will remind you of your responsibilities to this family.”
“Oh my God!” a woman near the front row shrieked. “He tried to kill her!”
“Monster! You absolute monster!” someone else shouted.
Gregory stood on the stage, completely paralyzed, his face drained of all color. He looked around the room in absolute terror. The hundreds of people who had been applauding him moments ago were now glaring at him with pure, unadulterated hatred.
Jocelyn tried to scramble out of her chair to run toward the exit, but her foot caught on her green gown, sending her crashing onto the carpet in front of dozens of high-profile city officials.
“It’s a fake! It’s an AI generation!” Jocelyn shrieked hysterically, scrambling to her knees, her polished hair completely disheveled. “That bitter girl is trying to frame my innocent boy! Someone turn it off!”
At that exact moment, the heavy double doors at the back of the ballroom slammed open.
The spotlight swung away from the stage and landed directly on the entrance.
I stepped into the ballroom.
I was wearing a striking white gown, my posture straight, flanked by my brother Ethan and two high-ranking detectives from the State Attorney General’s Special Crimes Unit.
The entire room went so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
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I walked slowly down the center aisle, my eyes locked on Gregory, who was sweating so profusely his hair was plastered to his forehead.
“It isn’t fake, Jocelyn,” I said, my voice echoing through the clip-on microphone Ethan had wired to my dress, carrying across the entire hall and directly into the live news broadcast. “And those drains were recovered from your kitchen trash can by federal forensics three hours ago.”
