Chapter 7 - The Trial of Public Opinion
"Come on, Sarah, copy faster," I muttered, my palms sweating against the steering wheel.
Suddenly, the app on my phone flashed red. System Alert: Unauthorized Data Export Detected.
"Oh no," Kayla gasped. "Richard must have a remote alert set up on his phone for that server!"
Across town, on the live Instagram feed, we saw Richard Vance suddenly stop mid-conversation with the school principal. He pulled a sleek black phone from his breast pocket, looked at the screen, and his face instantly darkened into an expression of murderous rage. He whispered something to his security guard standing by the door, turned around, and walked swiftly out of the ballroom.
"He knows," I panicked, hitting the speed-dial for Arthur. "Arthur! Get out! Richard’s remote alarm went off. He's heading your way!"
"We have 80% of the files," Sarah’s voice came through the speaker, breathless and frantic over the static. "The federal ledger is massive. I need two more minutes!"
"You don't have two minutes! Richard has a private security detail with him at the club. They can get here in four!"
"I'm not leaving without the audit trails, Elena," Arthur’s voice broke in, steady and resolved. "This is the only shot we have to clear my name and protect Kayla. Keep the engine running."
"Dad, please!" Kayla cried into the phone.
Suddenly, a sleek black SUV tore around the corner of the block, its tires screeching as it pulled up to the front entrance of the Vance building. Two large men in suits jumped out, followed by Richard Vance himself. They didn't bother with the keycards; one of the security guards used a heavy tactical bat to smash through the glass side door of the lobby.
Old Terry jumped out of his chair, dropping his headphones in shock as the men blew past him toward the elevators.
"They're inside," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. "They're going up."
Kayla didn't hesitate. She threw open the passenger door of the minivan.
"Kayla, no!" I screamed, reaching for her, but she was already out of the car.
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She pulled off her hoodie, exposing her completely bald head to the cold night air. She ran toward the front of the building, not into the shadows, but directly into the bright glare of the streetlamps. She pulled out her phone, opened her own social media account—where she had over ten thousand followers as the school’s star athlete and student council president—and hit Go Live.
"My name is Kayla Adams," she said clearly, her voice echoing down the empty street as she walked right up to the smashed lobby doors. "And tonight, I was supposed to be at the prom. But I’m not. I’m standing outside Vance Development because three hours ago, Steven Vance threatened to destroy my family after my eight-year-old sister caught him planning to drug me."
