Chapter 4 - What the Camera Missed
The next morning, I couldn’t look in the bathroom mirror.
I brushed my teeth with my eyes fixed on the sink.
Dominic stood outside the open door.
“I can call someone.”
“A stylist?”
“Whoever you want.”
I touched the uneven edge beside my ear.
“Later.”
By eight, Preston had posted his version.
The video was eleven seconds long.
It showed me making the cake joke.
Then it cut to me standing with the clippers already stopped.
No hands holding my arms.
No pulling.
No screaming.
The caption called it a prank that went too far after a waitress got paid to participate.
Underneath, strangers argued about my face.
Some said I looked angry enough to be telling the truth.
Others said I looked too calm.
Apparently, there was a correct expression for being humiliated.
I hadn’t worn it.
Dominic’s attorney, Rachel Kim, arrived carrying a laptop and a paper bag of breakfast sandwiches.
“Eat something,” she said.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I didn’t ask if you were hungry.”
I almost smiled.
Rachel watched the clip once.
“Edited,” she said. “And convenient.”
“Can you get it taken down?”
“We can send notices. First, we preserve it.”
She had already sent preservation demands to the club and contacted the investigator assigned to the assault.
I gave her every message.
Then I called Mia.
“Come here.”
“I don’t want charity.”
“Good. I need a witness who tells the truth.”
She arrived wearing yesterday’s sneakers and carrying an envelope.
Dennis had handed it to her when he fired her.
Inside was a separation agreement and a check for five thousand dollars.
Payment depended on her agreeing never to discuss “the incident involving a guest entertainer.”
I stared at the phrase.
“Guest entertainer?”
Rachel laid the paper flat.
“That’s new.”
Mia swallowed.
“They said there was paperwork.”
“What paperwork?”
“I don’t know. Dennis said you signed something when you started.”
I remembered the stack of onboarding forms.
Tax information.
Scheduling rules.
Uniform deductions.
Nothing about letting customers touch me.
Rachel’s phone chimed.
The club’s lawyer had responded.
Attached was a one-page consent agreement.
May you like
At the bottom was my signature.
Or something close enough to fool anyone who had never watched me write it.
