"It's your uncle's farm," someone said. "You expect us to believe you knew nothing? Let us go, or we'll call the police!"
Others echoed the threat. Natalie tried to slip away, but I called her back.
"Where are you going?"
She held up her phone. "You're known for those workers' rights videos, Tessa. What do you think will happen if I start livestreaming this?"
"Go ahead," I said. "If you don't, I will."
I aimed my phone camera at them. Natalie and the others shouted that the farm was a shady sweatshop, that they'd been hired illegally, and that Frank and I had conspired. Then I showed the signed contracts on camera. Each described weekend farmwork at $25 an hour and bore the employee's signature.
I showed screenshots of the earlier work chat. "Read every contract before you sign it. C
