Chapter 7: Gold Digger

By Monday morning the clip had eleven million views, and a news van was parked outside the dental office where I work.

"Mrs. Lorne!" A woman in a red blazer jogged beside me with a microphone. "Is it true you married him for his money?"

"No," I said.

"Is it true your mother's surgery was paid for by your new husband?"

"Yes. Is it true your station pays you by the clip?"

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I'm asking questions too."

Harvey's car was at the curb.

I got in, and he pulled away from the van without a word.

"The full stream," he said. "You said you had it."

"The rental company saves every file for ninety days."

I'd called them at six that morning.

A second camera on the ballroom stage had run all day next to the dressing room one, and they sent me a link and a password.

I held up my phone.

On it, ready to post, were fourteen minutes.

The dressing room. The ballroom. The staircase.

A stepfather in a golf jacket saying, quietly and clearly, "Tilda, don't make a scene."

"It's the whole truth," I said. "They cut the truth out. I'm putting it back."

"Do it," Harvey said.

I pressed the button.

Within eight minutes the comments had changed.

The gold digger posts disappeared and new ones took their place.

She walked in on them. Her own sister?? Stepsister. The mother is in the hospital. WHO says DON'T MAKE A SCENE to a bride???

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