Chapter 7 - The Currency of Truth
Within forty-eight hours, the internet did what the internet does best: it devoured Jessica Vance alive.
The two-minute clip of her live stream had not disappeared when she panicked and shut off her phone. A viewer had screen-recorded the entire exchange—from Dad’s voice calling out the stolen surgery fund to Jessica’s shriek about her twenty-thousand-dollar skincare deal—and posted it to TikTok with the caption: *“Influencer’s dad exposes her on her own live stream. Absolute king.”*
By Monday morning, the video had fourteen million views.
By Tuesday afternoon, the skincare brand had issued a formal public statement: *“We have severed all affiliations with Jessica Vance effective immediately. We do not condone fraud, elder abuse, or familial theft.”*
Her follower count plummeted from sixty-four thousand to less than twelve thousand in three days, and those who remained were only there to leave thousands of clown emojis and demands for her arrest in the comments of every photo she had ever posted.
I didn't watch the videos. My friend Maria from the hospital showed me the first one during our lunch break on Tuesday, but I gently pushed her phone away.
"I lived it, Maria," I said, peeling the foil off my sandwich. "I don't need to watch it with background music."
"Your dad is a legend, Sarah," Maria said, her eyes wide. "People are literally making fan edits of him putting his wedding ring in the glass of sweet tea."
I smiled faintly, but my heart was heavy. The internet saw a fifteen-second triumph of justice. I saw forty years of a good man’s life reduced to a punchline in a courtroom.
On Wednesday, the legal hammer fell.
Dad’s attorney, a razor-sharp estate lawyer named Robert Sterling, filed the formal divorce petition in the county circuit court. Attached to the petition was a forensic accounting report spanning thirty-eight pages, documenting over two hundred and forty thousand dollars in misappropriated funds, forged signatures, and undisclosed debts run up by Susan and Jessica over a five-year period.
Because of the clear evidence of fraudulent concealment, the judge granted an immediate emergency injunction freezing Susan’s personal bank accounts and issuing a temporary restraining order barring both Susan and Jessica from entering Dad’s construction shop, the town home, or the lake property.
Dad called me that evening from his shop.
"They tried to contest the car," Dad said, the background noise of his circular saw winding down. "Jessica’s lawyer—some ambulance chaser she found in Nashville—called Sterling claiming the SUV was a 'verbal gift.' Sterling sent him the original lease contract and the signature card with the LLC tax ID. The lawyer withdrew from the case twenty minutes later."
"Where are they staying?" I asked, looking out my apartment window at the parking lot below.
"A cheap motel off the bypass," Dad said. "Your mother called my brother Mark crying, begging for a room. Mark told her that since I threatened to repossess Tyler’s dirt bike over the fourteen grand he owes me, he couldn't afford to be associated with her. Snakes turning on snakes, Sarah. It’s what they do when the garden runs out of mice."
"And you, Dad?" I asked quietly. "How are you holding up?"
There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
I heard the sound of sandpaper against wood. Dad was working late, as he always did when his mind was troubled.
"I’m eighty thousand dollars in the hole to my suppliers, Sarah," he said, his voice quiet. "I’ll have to sell two of the backhoes and the big flatbed trailer to clear the commercial debt before the end of the month. The shop will be lean for a couple of years. But..." He paused, and I heard the faint rustle of paper. "I looked in the mirror this morning while I was shaving. And for the first time in ten years, I didn't see a coward looking back at me."
"You were never a coward, Dad."
"I was, Sarah," he said firmly. "I chose peace over truth. I let your mother run roughshod over you because I didn't want the screaming. I didn't want the cold dinners. I didn't want the divorce. But peace bought with a lie isn't peace. It’s just surrender on an installment plan."
"Dad," I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I have four thousand dollars saved in my credit union. It’s not much, but it’s yours. Take it for the suppliers."
Dad laughed—a real, deep belly laugh that I hadn't heard since I was a teenager.
"Keep your money, Sarah," he said warmly. "Buy your son some decent shoes and put the rest in a sock. Your father has two good hands, twenty-five years of goodwill in this county, and five clients who called today to pay their retainers early because they saw that TikTok video and wanted to shake my hand."
He cleared his throat.
May you like
"Pack Jacob’s overnight bag this weekend," Dad added. "The weather’s going to be sixty-eight and sunny. We’re going to fix that dinosaur. And I’ve got something else out in the shed he needs to see."
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