We worked through the night.
Julian set up the infrastructure. Burner accounts on every platform. VPN chains. Encrypted email services. I organized the data. Screenshots. PDFs. Transaction records. Emails.
At 4 AM, we had a package. Complete. Documented. Explosive.
I looked at Julian across the desk. He looked as tired as I felt.
"You release it," he said. "I shouldn't be the one."
"Why?"
"Because if it comes out I was involved, it taints the evidence. She'll claim I fabricated it. Corporate sabotage. Family drama. Better if it comes from nowhere."
"You want me to be the nowhere."
"I want you to be the person who has nothing to lose."
I thought about it. He was right. I was already dead. Already viral. Already a character in this story. Releasing the data wouldn't make me more of a target.
"Fine."
I started uploading. The first drop went to Twitter. An anonymous account with no history. Just a single post: "Sloane Parrish isn't a victim. She's a thief. Here's the proof."
Link to a document host. Password protected. Password: Sloane.
Then Reddit. The same post. On every influencer gossip subreddit.
Then TikTok. A video compilation. Sloane's crying video side by side with the emails. The offshore account. The data sales.
Then Instagram. Stories. Shared from burner accounts.
Then Facebook. Then YouTube. Then every platform I could think of.
At 5 AM, it started hitting.
Comments first. On the Reddit threads.
"Wait, she was selling data?"
"Two million dollars??"
"Those are her followers she sold. Her actual fans."
Then Twitter. The post got shared. A thousand retweets. Ten thousand. Fifty thousand.
Then TikTok. The video went from zero to a million views in an hour.
By 7 AM, Sloane was trending. Not "Sloane victim." Just "Sloane." With crying emojis. And thief emojis. And clown emojis.
I checked her accounts. She'd gone silent. No new posts. No comments. Her last video was still up. Thirty-five million views now. Comments flooding in.
"Explain this"
"Data thief"
"You sold us"
"I followed you for two years and you sold my info??"
"Girl you're done"
I looked at Julian.
"It's working."
He nodded. Didn't smile. Just watched the screens.
At 8 AM, Sloane's PR team released a statement. Through her management company. "Ms. Parrish is aware of the allegations and is consulting with her legal team. She denies any wrongdoing and looks forward to clearing her name."
The internet laughed.
"Denies? The emails have her signature"
"Legal team = panic"
"She's done. So done."
At 9 AM, Julian's phone rang. He looked at the screen. Didn't answer.
"Who is it?"
"My mother."
"Going to answer?"
"Not yet."
At 10 AM, the competitor issued a statement. "We are reviewing the allegations and will cooperate fully with any investigation. We have no comment on specific business relationships."
Translation: they were running.
At 11 AM, Sloane posted. A single image. Black screen. White text. "I will address this. Soon. The truth is not what it seems."
Comments: "The truth is you sold us lol"
At noon, my phone buzzed. Dorian.
I answered.
"Mara." His voice was different. Broken. "Mara, what did you do?"
"Which part?"
"She's getting death threats. People are outside her building. She can't leave."
"Good."
"Mara—"
"She told you to film me, Dorian. She commented 'lol' on my death video. She sold her followers' data for two million dollars. She's not the victim."
Silence.
"I didn't know," he said finally. "About the data. I didn't know."
"You knew she was using you. You knew she was playing victim. You just didn't care."
"I cared."
"You left me to die."
More silence. Then: "I'm sorry."
"You're sorry."
"I am. I know it's not enough. I know nothing is enough. But I'm sorry."
I looked at Julian across the desk. He was watching me. Expressionless.
"I have to go, Dorian."
"Mara—"
"Don't call again."
I hung up.
Julian raised an eyebrow.
"He's sorry."
"Everyone's sorry. After."
He nodded. Looked back at the screens.
At 2 PM, the first journalist picked it up. A real one. From a major outlet. Tweeted: "Working on a story about influencer Sloane Parrish and allegations of data trafficking. Sources confirm federal authorities have been notified."
Federal authorities.
I looked at Julian.
"Did you?"
"No. But someone did."
At 3 PM, Sloane's building was surrounded. News vans. Cameras. Crowds. We watched it on live stream from someone's phone. She didn't come out.
At 4 PM, her management company dropped her. Statement: "Due to recent events, we have mutually agreed to part ways with Sloane Parrish. We wish her well."
Translation: we're running too.
At 5 PM, her PR team quit. All of them. One tweeted: "I was not aware of the extent of the situation. I have resigned."
At 6 PM, the first federal agent was seen entering her building.
I leaned back in my chair. Looked at the ceiling. Forty-eight hours. No sleep. No food except coffee and sandwiches.
Julian stood up. Walked to a small fridge. Pulled out two bottles of water. Handed me one.
"You did it," he said.
"We did it."
"She's done."
"Looks like it."
He sat down across from me. Studied me again.
"What now?"
I thought about it.
"Sleep. Shower. Real food."
"And after that?"
"After that, I figure out who I am now. The woman who died and came back. The one who took down an influencer. The one who—" I stopped.
"The one who what?"
"The one who doesn't have a husband. Or a house. Or a job. Or anything except a sister with three cats and an ex-boyfriend's sweatpants."
He almost smiled again.
"If you need a job, I know a place."
"I just spent forty-eight hours in your office. I think I've already worked for you."
"Then consider this your first week. You're hired."
I looked at him. "You're serious?"
"I'm always serious. Head of Security. Your byline on the new encryption protocol. Salary negotiable."
"I haven't slept in two days. I'm wearing dead man's clothes. I'm technically a viral meme."
"All qualities I look for in an employee."
I laughed. Actually laughed. The sound surprised me.
"Let me sleep on it."
"Take all the time you need. Forty-eight hours. That's my standard offer."
I stood up. Grabbed my bag. Headed for the door.
"Mara."
I turned.
"Thank you."
I nodded. Left.
The elevator was fast. The lobby was empty. The guard nodded as I passed. Outside, the air was cold. The city was dark. Somewhere, millions of people were still talking about me. About Sloane. About the data. About everything.
I got in an Uber. Gave Willa's address.
My phone buzzed. A notification. Sloane's last post, now with fifty million views. Comments still flooding in.
I swiped it away.