Michael
My father’s home seemed like a base of operations. Papers are scattered on his dining room table. Laptops open. Everyone who could do anything was here. My father at the end of the table. Patricia Chen, the lawyer. Marcus Reid, the private investigator. Kitty. Betty. And me.
Betty, holding the flash drive in her hand, looked down at it.
“We have to know what we’re dealing with,” Patricia said softly.
Betty nodded and inserted the drive into my father’s laptop. We gathered as she opened the folder. Dozens of files.
She opened the first video. The video was cut to eliminate any context. It featured Betty clicking her toes against the floor of the Red Room Club, seemingly kicking things off. Duke's voice was edited out. His promises, his manipulation, all washed away.
"Oh God,"
