Good. How long until it affects her credibility?
Already trending locally. Should hit her bottom line by week's end.
Perfect. Keep monitoring. If she stays on the show past episode 10, proceed with phase three.
I photograph the messages with my own phone, then keep scrolling. More threads, more evidence. Coordination with fakereview sites, payments to bot farms, even a conversation about potentially staging a health inspector "surprise visit" at Trinity's bakery with a paid-off official.
It's comprehensive. Professional. Vicious.
I'm about to close the phone when I spot another thread. This one with a producer named Garrett:
She's good for ratings. I can't just eliminate her.
You don't have to eliminate her. Just damage her enough that she eliminates herself. Depression. Anxiety. Public humiliation. Make her want to leave.
And my cut?
Same as discussed. 20% of Vanessa's endorsement deals for the next two years.
My hands tighten on the phone. Garrett. A producer I've met exactly twice, always smiling, always talking about "authentic storytelling."
Footsteps in the hallway. Derek's voice: "—absolutely unacceptable. That's the third incident this week?—"
I set the phone back exactly where I found it and exit through the side door just as Derek reenters. My heart's hammering, adrenaline singing through my veins. Not from fear—from rage.
They're trying to destroy her. Methodically. Professionally. For money and screen time.
I find Trinity in her dressing room, staring at her phone with hollow eyes.
"They're fake," I say without preamble. "All of it. Coordinated attack from Vanessa's agent and a producer named Garrett."
Her head snaps up. "What?"
I show her the photographs from Derek's phone. Watch her face cycle through shock, anger, betrayal.
"That absolute—he's paying people to ruin my business?"
"And getting a producer's help to do it."
"Why? What did I do to them?"
"You're winning. Authentically. Without manipulation or influence campaigns. That makes you dangerous to people who've built careers on controlling narratives."
She stands, pacing now, energy radiating off her in waves. "We have to expose them. Show everyone what they're doing."
"We will. But carefully. Right now, they don't know we know. That's our advantage."
"So what do we do?"
"We gather more evidence. Document everything. Then we go public in a way they can't spin or bury."
"How long will that take?"
"A few days. Maybe less."
She stops pacing, looks at me directly. "I can't wait a few days. My bakery can't afford it. Every hour this stays up, I lose customers, lose trust."
She's right. I know she's right. But rushing this, going public without airtight proof, could backfire catastrophically.
