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Madison

I wait in the alley, my heart pounding so hard my throat is dry.

After a moment, the door swings open and Laura’s hulking helper is ushering me inside.

The small office is buzzing with activity; there are only a few days left to ensure Julian Echeveria’s victory, and every person on his campaign has a personal stake in his ultimate victory.

Every person except his own daughter.

Rita is here too, fixing her makeup. She’s not vain—but there’s a reporter waiting down the block for a big story to break, and when it does, Rita is going to be ready with her Echeveria hat and TV-ready makeup to nail down the narrative. We’re only missing one piece of the puzzle now.

“He called, he’s on his way,” Laura says, turning toward me. “Do you have the files?”

I hand her the flash drive. My palms are sweating, my stomach is rolling—in just a few minutes, the whole city is going to know my secrets. Laura takes it from me matter-of-factly and plugs it into her computer. Lindsey, beside her, starts sorting through the files.

“Family man,” she says, and drops the pictures in a file folder.

“Integrity,” she says after opening another, and slides that into a different folder.

I wrap my arms around myself and huddle back against the wall beside Cameron, who is keeping an eye on the office through the little window in the door.

“I don’t know what to do now,” I tell him.

“Just stay out of sight,” he says. “You deserve to be here for this—but you’ll blow the whole thing if someone recognizes you.”

I pull my hoodie up higher on my head and move to the far side of the room, away from the window. I’m not privy to the whole plan—a lot was established while I was missing. So when Cameron looks at Rita and says, “He’s here,” I frown at him, confused.

“Rhue?” I ask.

“No,” Cameron says. “Julian.”

My blood turns to ice and I feel like I’m going to throw up. Rita adjusts her bra to emphasize her generous cleavage, then shoots me a sassy wink. “That’s my cue,” she says.

“Wait—what?” She just waves at me and prances out into the office, looking for all the world like a bouncy, bubbly, die-hard Echeveria groupie. “I thought she was just here to talk to the press,” I whisper.

“Rita’s interest in anthropology has always been investigative,” Lindsey tells me without looking away from her screen. “She wants first-hand experience.”

I feel like I’ve been kicked in the chest. “She’s going out there—deliberately—to get ass—”

“Sshh!” They all hiss at me at once.

“Damn, keep it down, would you? You’re gonna blow the whole thing!” Cameron whispers frantically. He looks back out the little window, and steps back just in time to avoid being hit by the door as Steve opens it, ushering Rhue inside. Steve follows Rhue in and locks the door behind them.

“Do you have it?” Laura demands.

“It’s all on my phone,” he says as he reluctantly hands it over. “Mostly audio files. Couple videos.”

“Good.”

“And I already backed them up,” he says. “Gave copies to the sheriff’s office out in Ithaca and dropboxed them to myself. Did a hard upload to my laptop, too. Just in case you’re thinking about destroying the evidence or anything.”

The room goes silent and my jaw drops. Laura keeps working away like he didn’t say anything awful, but the rest of us stare, speechless.

“Rhue, what the hell?” I finally manage.

His eyes soften when he sees me, but his posture is still defensive.

He gestures at Steve and Laura. “These two have been going to bat for Dad for weeks. Arguing with me about his guilt and innocence, demanding proof, acting like I’m the one tearing the family apart for trying to expose the bastard—now she’s demanding to see all the evidence I’ve scraped together so she can ‘take him down?’ Sorry, I don’t buy it. ”

“God, you’re an idiot,” Steve mutters.

“Excuse me, asshole?” Rhue turns, fists already clenched. There’s not enough room in here for a brawl—they’ll break something if they start throwing punches, which will ruin the whole plan.

“I said you’re an idiot,” Steve repeats.

“Every time you went off about your dad, to your dad, he’d scramble to cover his tracks.

Laura never once said he was innocent—she demanded evidence.

Evidence she was always planning to use exactly the way she’s using it now.

You think this is a last-minute effort? Boy, you are dumb.

Laura’s been working on these videos for months. ”

Rhue stares at Laura, then at me. Shame creeps up my face, but I swallow it. He’s not entitled to know everything all the time.

“Did you know about this?” He asks.

“Yes,” I tell him. “That’s how everybody got involved.

Laura had a plan, but she needed help. Since Lindsey rocks at computer stuff and Rita rocks the interpersonal stuff, they agreed to pitch in.

Laura was about ready to give up the day that Julian threatened me—but after I left, Rita called the hotline and had a whole cryptic conversation with her. ”

“We’ve been working on this for weeks,” Lindsey pipes up. “If you weren’t so insistent on confronting Laura when she’s in your dad’s house and being monitored, you’d probably have known a lot more a lot sooner.”

Rhue looks furious for a moment, then confused. “Okay, but wait—what’s the plan?”

“Hold on,” Laura says irritably. “Lindsey, chronology check.”

There’s a tense pause. “Time stamps look good. Chronology checks out.”

“Upload order?”

“Check. Solid narrative. Maximum impact.”

“Okay,” Laura breathes. “Steve—Cameron—Rhue—hold the door. I have to upload these one by one, and the first will be playing before the last one is finished. If he busts in here before I’m done, we’re toast.”

The men get in place. Rhue seeks out my eyes. I go to him, thinking one more body against the door can’t hurt. I kiss him lightly and cling to his hand. We’re about to do something very brave—or very stupid.

“And—send.” Laura clicks the button and swallows hard. She huffs out a breath; then, with shaking fingers, she starts uploading the others. Lindsey reaches overhead to turn on the TV, which is showing each of the campaign spots as they play.

Julian appears on the screen, dressed up and pompous. His theme music plays—but instead of his message of unity and personal responsibility, a woman’s shaking voice speaks over his image.

“Julian Echeveria raped me. I was working late one night. I stopped by the house to pick up some papers that I needed to look through for Roxanne. She was out of town, coming back in the morning. Julian––he’s an opportunist. He doesn’t plan these things.

He just… he was there, and I couldn’t stop him. ”

Julian’s voice from the original TV spot damns him. “I won’t be stopped. I’m here to win.”

“That’s some spicy editing,” I whisper, impressed. “Poor Sibel.”

We watch in somber silence as the other spots roll out, one after another.

Everything we’ve uncovered about Julian plays out over his face, each confirmed by his recorded voice.

The shattering glass and terrified screams at the end of Sibel’s confession makes me curl into Rhue, grateful that he’s still alive.

By the end of the second commercial, Julian Echeveria has lost his mind.