Chapter 8: Live on National Television
The studio lights were blinding.
I sat on a curved white couch next to Robin Roberts. The cameras were rolling, transmitting my face to millions of households across America. Behind the cameras, the network producers were buzzing with frantic, electric energy.
"Evelyn," Robin leaned forward, her voice radiating empathy. "The video of your daughter, Sophie, has horrified the nation. How is she doing today?"
"She is incredibly brave, Robin," I said, my voice steady, though my hands were gripping my dress tightly. "She is resting. But the physical scars are only half the battle. The trauma of being attacked by her own uncle, and abandoned by her own grandparents, will take a lifetime to heal."
"Your father, Arthur Hayes, released a statement this morning," Robin noted, reading from an iPad. "He claims the video was taken out of context. He says Preston was suffering from severe wedding anxiety and a momentary mental health crisis, and that your family was handling the matter privately before you, quote, 'maliciously sought internet fame.'"
I let out a dry, humorless laugh.
"There is no context that justifies smashing an eight-year-old’s skull with a piece of heavy oak," I looked directly into the camera. I wasn't speaking to the audience anymore. I was speaking to my parents. "My family has always used money to redefine reality. When Preston failed out of college, they bought a new wing for the university. When Preston stole from Vanguard Financial three years ago, my father paid off the CEO to cover it up."
I heard a collective gasp from the studio crew behind the cameras.
"I sent the evidence of that embezzlement to the SEC an hour ago," I continued smoothly, dropping the bomb that would end Marcus Sterling's career. "My brother isn't sick. My brother is a monster created by two parents who taught him that other people are disposable."
Robin’s eyes were wide. This was live television gold, and she knew it.
"Evelyn, there are reports that the Chicago police are searching for Preston. Have you heard from him?"
"He has called me forty times," I admitted. "He is begging me to stop. But I want to say one last thing to my brother, right now."
I leaned closer to the camera.
"You told me I was an embarrassment, Preston. You told me nobody would ever believe me. You thought you were untouchable. Run as far as you want. But you can't outrun the truth anymore."
When the broadcast ended, a producer ran up to me, his face flushed.
"Evelyn, you need to see this," he panted, handing me a tablet. "It’s trending number one worldwide."
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I looked at the screen. The hashtag #ArrestPrestonHayes had over three million posts. But right beneath it was a new video.
It was shaky cell phone footage taken at Chicago’s O'Hare International Airport.
