Chapter 6: Twelve Thousand Likes
I called Patricia before I'd finished reading the caption.
"I see it," she said.
"She posted eight minutes ago."
"She didn't use my name."
"Not yet.
She's testing the reaction first." Patricia's voice was tight.
"If the post gets enough engagement, she'll add detail.
That's the pattern from Atlanta — she posted vaguely first, then named the housekeeper in a follow-up comment forty minutes later."
I looked at the post again on my phone.
The comments were already filling in.
*Disgusting.
These people should be prosecuted.
Name her.
We'll find her.*
"Patricia, I have twin three-year-olds.
If she posts my name to nearly a million followers—"
"I know.
I'm calling my editor right now.
We're moving publication to forty-eight hours." Her keyboard was loud in the background.
"The footage is authenticated.
I have your statement.
I have the Denver documentation.
It's enough."
"What about giving Diane the chance to respond?
You said that was journalistic standard."
"I sent her the formal request for comment twenty minutes ago, right before she posted.
She has forty-eight hours to respond.
If she posts your name before then, we publish immediately." A pause.
"Claire, I need you to stay off social media.
Don't respond to the post.
Don't comment.
Don't share it.
Nothing."
"Understood."
"And call a lawyer today.
Not for the story — for yourself.
If Mole files anything, you need someone in your corner."
I didn't have money for a lawyer.
I didn't say that.
After I hung up, I sat at the table while my daughters ate their cereal and watched their morning show.
Lily kept glancing at me.
She was three, but she had always been the one who noticed when something was wrong.
"Mama sad?" she asked.
"Mama's okay," I said.
"Eat your breakfast."
---
I called four law firms that morning.
Three didn't handle employment or defamation cases.
The fourth had a receptionist who took my name and said someone would call back within two business days.
I was about to put my phone down when it rang.
Number I didn't recognize.
Again.
"Claire?
My name is Donna Reyes.
I'm an employment attorney.
Patricia Voss gave me your number — I hope that's all right."
I straightened.
"Yes.
That's fine."
"I've been following Patricia's investigation for about three weeks.
She told me about your situation this morning." Donna's voice was direct, no warmth wasted.
"I want to be clear — I'm not offering charity.
I'm offering contingency representation.
If we win, I take a percentage.
If we don't, you owe me nothing."
"What would we be pursuing?"
"Wrongful termination.
The hotel fired you based on a false accusation.
We have footage proving the accusation was fabricated.
That's a strong case." A pause.
"Potentially also defamation, depending on what Diane Hartwell posts in the next forty-eight hours."
"Her lawyer already called me.
Richard Mole."
A short silence.
"Mole called you directly?"
"Last night."
"That's aggressive, even for him." Something shifted in her tone.
"He called you before filing anything?"
"Yes."
"He was trying to scare you off before the story ran.
Which means Diane knew about Patricia before last night." Donna paused.
"Claire, someone told her.
Either someone at the hotel, or someone close to Marcus."
I thought about Mr.
Delaney.
The way Marcus had lowered his voice before telling me about the manager's reaction to the footage.
"The hotel's general manager saw the footage yesterday morning," I said.
"He told Marcus not to share it."
"And Marcus gave it to you anyway."
"And to Patricia."
"Delaney may have told Diane — or Mole — that the footage existed and that Marcus was talking." Donna's voice was steady.
"That changes things slightly.
It means the hotel may be trying to protect itself by keeping you quiet, not just Diane."
My daughters had finished their cereal.
Lily was drawing on a piece of paper at the other end of the table, pressing too hard with the crayon the way she always did.
"What do I do?" I asked.
"You do nothing publicly.
You let Patricia's story run.
And you let me handle Mole if he files." A brief pause.
"Can you send me everything you have?
The USB footage, any texts, the timeline of events?"
"Yes."
"Good.
I'll review it today." Another pause, shorter.
"Claire — you didn't do anything wrong.
I want you to hold onto that, because the next forty-eight hours are going to be loud."
She was right about that.
May you like
At two-seventeen that afternoon, Diane Hartwell posted again.
This time, she used my name.
