Chapter 8 - The Deleted Footage
Father Thomas, the senior rector of St. Jude’s Episcopal Church, was a seventy-two-year-old man who had baptized Molly eight years ago. He was not a man easily intimidated by real estate moguls or television smear campaigns.
By 8:45 AM, Richard and I were crowded into the small, wood-paneled parish office behind the vestry. Outside, three local news vans were already parked along the curb of the church, their satellite dishes raised toward the sky, looking for comments on Victoria’s live morning bombshell.
"I watched her broadcast on the television in the rectory," Father Thomas said, shaking his gray head with profound sadness as he tapped on his desktop computer. "Lying on television is one thing. But lying while using the house of God as the backdrop for cruelty to an innocent child... that is an entirely different sin."
He clicked an icon on his monitor. "Here is the feed from Camera 4. Located directly above the mirror in the bride's preparation room. Recorded yesterday afternoon at two-fifteen. Exactly twenty-two minutes before the processional."
The video loaded.
The picture was crisp, high-definition 4K, capturing the entire bridal suite in full color.
On the screen, Victoria was standing before the full-length mirror, adjusting her veil. Molly was sitting on a velvet settee in the corner, clutching her small hands in her lap, looking miserable in her beige dress.
Then, the door opened, and Marcus the baker entered, carrying the massive five-tier cake on the silver platter, placing it on the vanity table. You could see Marcus arguing with Victoria—his hands waving in protest, pointing to the weight of the cake, then pointing to Molly.
Victoria shoved an envelope of cash into his chest, pushed him out of the room, and slammed the door shut.
Then came the audio, recorded by the room’s omnidirectional ceiling mic.
Victoria turned to Molly. Her expression on screen was chillingly cold.
*"Get up, you little parasite,"* Victoria’s voice came through the computer speakers, crystal clear.
Molly stood up, trembling.
Victoria walked over, grabbed Molly’s wrists, and yanked her violently toward the vanity table.
*"You're going to carry this tray,"* Victoria hissed, leaning down until her face was inches from Molly’s. *"And if you drop it, I'm going to make sure your father sends you to a boarding school in Switzerland where you will never see him again. Do you understand me?"*
*"It hurts,"* Molly wept on the video, trying to pull her hands back. *"It's too heavy, Victoria! Please!"*
Victoria dug her manicured nails deep into the underside of Molly's wrists—matching the exact purple crescents I had photographed the night before.
*"You drop this cake, and I will destroy your mother,"* Victoria sneered, leaning into the child's face. *"I will take everything she owns. Now take the handles. And smile, or I'll give you something to really cry about."*
Father Thomas crossed himself in silence.
Richard looked away from the monitor, his head in his hands, his breath coming in ragged, agonized gasps. "She threatened to take her away. She threatened to destroy Claire. Right to her face."
"Father Thomas," I said, my voice steady, vibrating with absolute, lethal purpose. "Can you export this file onto three separate encrypted thumb drives right now?"
May you like
The old priest looked at me through his spectacles, nodded solemnly, and reached for a drawer. "I will export four, Claire. One for you, one for the police, one for the court, and one for the television station parked outside my church."
***
