Chapter 3 - THE DIGITAL TRAP
Vivien managed to hold her tears back until the heavy oak front door of our house closed behind us late that evening.
The moment the lock clicked, her shoulder bag hit the entryway floor, and she collapsed into my arms, sobbing so hard her entire frame shook.
“I didn’t do anything wrong, Mom,” she cried into my shoulder, her voice small and broken. “I worked so hard on those fellowship essays. I didn't cheat. Why would Aunt Monica say those things about me?”
I pulled her tight against my chest, smoothing down her hair, feeling the violent pulse of her heartbreak. “Because she doesn't know you, Viv. Cruel people attack what they don't understand, especially when they feel threatened by things they can't have.”
Vivien pulled back slightly, wiping her swollen eyes with the sleeve of her yellow shirt. “But Grandma June knows me, right?”
“Yes,” I said, looking into her tear-filled eyes. “Grandma June knows exactly who you are. And so do I.”
I truly believed that night was the end of the nightmare. I believed that the humiliation on the patio had driven the vultures back into their corners.
I was dead wrong.
At seven o’clock the next morning, I woke up to the high-pitched chime of an urgent email notification on my phone.
It was from Dr. Aris Thorne, the Regional Director of the Vanguard Academic Fellowship.
The subject line read: URGENT: Status Review — Vivien Bennett.
My stomach dropped into a cold, dark pit before I even opened the message.
The email was brief, formal, and devastatingly cold. It stated that Vivien’s admission status had been temporarily suspended pending an emergency ethics board review. Attached to the email was a link to a video that had been uploaded anonymously to a popular local community forum at two o'clock in the morning and emailed directly to every member of the Vanguard selection panel.
My hands shook so violently I almost dropped the phone as I clicked the link.
The screen lit up.
There, sitting in what looked like a dimly lit bedroom, was a girl with Vivien’s face, Vivien’s dark brown hair, and Vivien’s distinct voice.
The girl on the video looked directly into the camera lens with a smug, mocking expression.
“Honestly, people think Vanguard is so hard to get into,” the voice on the recording said, popping a piece of chewing gum. “My mom literally bought the answer keys from a former judge online. I just memorized the talking points for the interview. The whole thing was just a show to get my Great-Grandma June to drop her estate cash into a trust for me before she kicks the bucket. Easy money.”
The video was forty-five seconds long. It ended with a cruel, mocking laugh.
I sat on the edge of my bed, unable to breathe, the room spinning around me.
A light knock sounded on my bedroom door. Vivien stepped in, holding her iPad. Her face was as white as a sheet.
She had seen it too.
“Mom...” Vivien whispered, her voice trembling so badly she could barely form the word. “I never said that. I swear on my life I never made that video. I don't even own a shirt like the one in that clip.”
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She fell to her knees beside my bed, grabbing my hands, tears spilling over her cheeks in a desperate flood. “They’re going to believe it, aren't they? They’re going to take my fellowship away. Grandma June is going to think I used her.”
“No,” I said, my shock instantly hardening into a wall of pure, unadulterated rage. “No, they are not. Get your coat, Vivien. We’re going to find an attorney right now.”
