Chapter 123: Publish The Evidence
Diana’s POV
The door creaks open, and Jeruel steps back into the dimly lit room after being gone for what feels like an eternity. She’s been out for hours, searching for that person who can help us with this very delicate task. As she enters, a shadow falls across the threshold, followed by a familiar face.
It's him—a young boy who’s a constant presence on the streets. I’ve seen him countless times, curled up in a grimy corner, scavenging through dumpsters for scraps, just trying to survive. He’s thin, with hollow cheeks and eyes that have seen far too much for someone so young.
“Aren’t you Harry?” I ask, my voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. I need to be sure. I need to confirm what I already suspect. The boy looks up at me, his eyes wide but steady, and nods.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m Harry,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper, but there’s strength there, a resolve that catches my attention.
I narrow my eyes, scrutinizing him. “Are you sure you can do this? And more importantly, can you keep your mouth shut?” My tone is sharp and demanding. This is no small favor I’m asking, and I can’t afford any loose ends.
Harry’s gaze flickers to Jeruel before he answers. I watch them closely, noting the silent exchange between them. There’s something in the way they look at each other—trust, maybe desperation. It makes me pause.
Don’t get me wrong; here in the ghetto, everyone knows how to keep their mouth shut. It’s a survival skill. But even in this world, there are always those who can’t resist the lure of a quick payday. Snitches—they’re the ones who sell information to the highest bidder, and in doing so, put everyone at risk. That’s why I have to be absolutely certain that Harry isn’t one of them.
Jeruel steps forward, sensing my hesitation. “Don’t worry, Ma Diana. Harry needs this money more than I do. He’s got no parents, no one to look out for him. He needs to survive, so he’ll do whatever it takes to keep his mouth shut.”
Her words hang in the air, and for a moment, I almost want to believe her. But I know better. I’ve been around too long to take anything at face value, especially when it comes to something as important as this.
“No,” I say, my voice firm. “I need to hear it from Harry himself.” I turn my gaze back to the boy, my eyes boring into him. “Your pitiable situation is exactly why I’m concerned. It makes you vulnerable, and that means you could be bought. So, I’ll ask you again, Harry—can you keep your mouth shut?”
Harry straightens up, his expression hardening. Despite his circumstances, there’s a spark of intelligence in his eyes—a sharpness that catches me off guard. He’s street-smart, like all the kids out here, but there’s something more to him. Something tells me he’s already thought this through.
“If I can keep my mouth shut, that shouldn’t be your concern,” he says, his voice stronger now and more assured. “I’m already here, and I know what you’re up to. You’re going to frame Brandon Biden, the president’s son. So even if I don’t get the gig with you, I could go somewhere else and sell this information. But I won’t do that.” He pauses, letting the weight of his words sink in. “I know if this leaks from me, you won’t hesitate to find me and take me down.”
I can’t help but smile at his response. The kid’s got guts; I’ll give him that. He knows how the game is played, and he’s already proving to me that he’s someone we can work with.
“Well said,” I mutter, more to myself than to anyone else. This kid just might be what we need. It’s time to see if he can actually deliver.
I glance at Emily, giving her a small nod. She immediately understands and pulls out two photos from the stack we took earlier. One is of Brandon, and the other is of Jeruel. She tosses them toward Harry, the pictures sliding across the table and stopping just in front of him.
“Can you manipulate these?” I ask, my voice low and even. “Make the environment darker, like it’s nighttime. Make it seem like he’s kissing Jeruel.”
Harry picks up the photos, examining them with a practiced eye. “Easy,” he says, not missing a beat. The confidence in his voice makes me smirk. This is going to be easier than I thought.
Once these photos are out in public, Brandon Biden’s life will be ruined. He’ll never be able to recover from this scandal. The public will turn on him, and he’ll lose everything—his reputation, his career, his freedom.
I lean back in my chair, a sense of satisfaction settling over me. Brandon Biden will learn a hard lesson in his next life—if he even gets one. When you marry someone, you inherit not only their friends but their enemies as well. By marrying Alessandra, he inherited us as his enemies, and we’re going to take him down to get to her.
Harry works quickly, his fingers flying over the keyboard. It takes him less than 45 minutes to finish, and when he’s done, he’s manipulated over ten pictures. Each one is perfectly crafted to make it look like Brandon is having an illicit affair with Jeruel.
This is a crime—a severe crime—that Brandon has just committed—or at least, one he’s about to be accused of. It’s a crime punishable by harsh penalties—long prison sentences, mandatory registration as a sex offender, and other legal consequences. Brandon Biden is done for, and this is just the beginning of his downfall.
I smirked again, savoring the moment. Alessandra thought she could take my son away from me and get away with it. But she’s wrong—so very wrong. First, I’ll take her husband away from her, and then I’ll take her down myself.
I scoff; the sound is harsh in the quiet room.
“Publish these manipulated pictures online immediately,” I say, my voice cold and commanding. “Let’s watch their lives crumble.”
Emily and Olivia spring into action. They create new Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram accounts, each with false information and fake profile pictures. It doesn’t take them long to set everything up, and soon they’re posting the photos online. They start with two pictures, each one accompanied by the caption:
“Mr. Brandon Biden was caught red-handed.”
Once the photos are published, there’s nothing more we need to do. The wheels are in motion, and there’s no stopping them now. All we have to do is sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.
If we were rich enough, we would grab some popcorn and drinks, settling in for what promises to be a long, satisfying evening. But we’re only seated, the broken TV is on, and the anticipation is thick in the air.
And then, just as we expected, not even twenty minutes pass before there’s breaking news. A journalist appears on the TV screen, her expression serious as she delivers the report.
“August 26—A high-profile scandal has erupted as Brandon Biden, a well-known public figure, faces serious allegations of involvement in an illicit affair. The controversy escalated dramatically when several photographs surfaced online, allegedly showing Biden in a compromising position.
The images, which spread rapidly across social media and news outlets, have sparked widespread outrage. The nature of the affair and the circumstances surrounding it remain unclear, but the implications are severe, and the public is demanding answers. Authorities are reportedly investigating the matter, and Mr. Biden has been taken into custody until the investigation is completed. Stay tuned for more updates.”
As the reporter speaks, the television screen transitions from the studio to a live feed of Brandon’s home. We watch as he’s handcuffed and led away by the police, Alessandra desperately trying to hold him back, her face a mask of panic and disbelief.
Seeing this, I can’t help but smile. Alessandra’s eyes are red, tears streaming down her face. It’s a beautiful sight. This is just the beginning of her suffering, and I’m going to enjoy every moment of it.
The first domino has fallen, and soon the rest will follow.