Kate called near the end of the workday. “You’re not going to believe this. He’s live.”
I turned to the second monitor and opened her link. Every bottom-feeder streaming platform was carrying the feed.
Julian sat on an unmade bed in a beige motel room. His face was swollen from crying, and he had carefully torn the collar of his shirt.
He kept checking the viewer count in the corner of the screen.
“I was a fool,” he told thousands of anonymous viewers. “I was manipulated. I was trapped. I know what you all think of me, but you don’t know the truth about Chloe Vance.”
I took a sip of coffee. Julian had found another story in which he was the victim.
“She preyed on my kindness,” he said. “She told me she was pregnant and alone. She threatened to harm herself. I was trying to do the rig
