She strolled over with practiced ease and took my hand.
"See? Would it have killed you to just cooperate from the start? Why did you have to push things to where they went last night?"
"I already sent the bracelet out for restoration. I promise it'll come back looking exactly like it did before."
She pulled out a folded sheet of paper and pressed it into my hand.
"Just read this when you get up there. It'll be over before you know it. After the wedding, I'll come home and spend time with you, okay? And later, I'll buy you a plane ticket. You can go abroad for a few years, lie low. Three years. Then I'll come find you, and we'll get married."
I glanced down at the paper. Every line was a confession, detailing how I'd been consumed by unrequited love and jealousy, how I'd orchestrated the harassment of Eustace Simmons out of spite.
If I read this aloud, I'd be finished. My reputation would be obliterated. I'd become a pariah no one would touch.
I ripped the paper to shreds and flung the pieces in her face.
White scraps fluttered through the air, framing the ugly shock twisting her expression.
I strode up the steps to the stage and signaled the technician I'd already paid off to play the backstage surveillance footage from that day.
I faced the crowd and raised my voice.
"Ladies and gentlemen! I am indeed here to set the record straight!"
"But what I'm about to clarify is this: who is the REAL person responsible for what happened to Eustace Simmons!"
