Chapter 29 Jess
Jess
I’m halfway through Ben’s math worksheet when my phone buzzes with the kind of notification that makes your stomach drop straight through the floor.
Amara: You need to see this. Now.
Never good. Right up there with “we need to talk” and “I have bad news.”
The link takes me to Instagram. A reel. Posted two hours ago.
The video opens on Ben in that school hallway. The one from yesterday. The early pickup. She’s mid-meltdown, curled on the floor with Frederick, tears streaming down her face. Until my stern face appears, blocking the view.
The parent filming adds a voiceover dripping with concern: “This is what happens when children don’t get proper care. This sweet girl clearly needs help, and instead her family hides her behind money and security guards.”
My face goes hot. Then cold. Then hot again.
When you realize your worst-case scenario just went viral.
The caption is worse: “When you witness a child in distress and the ‘nanny’ prioritizes optics over care. Praying for this baby. Someone needs to call CPS. #ProtectChildren #SchoolSafety #WealthDoesntEqualParenting”
Three thousand likes. Eight hundred comments. Climbing fast.
When someone weaponizes a five-year-old’s panic attack for engagement farming.
When you recognize your own former playbook and want to crawl into a hole.
My hands are shaking. I set the phone down before Ben notices.
I should have let Jag take her fucking phone.
Shit shit shit.
“Jess?” She’s looking at me with those big brown eyes. “You’re making the worried face again.”
“Just thinking about dinner,” I lie. Force a smile. “What does Frederick want? Pasta or sandwiches?”
“Pasta of course. Always pasta. Daddy makes it so good.” She goes back to counting shells on her worksheet.
I pick up my phone and text Amara back: Saw it. What’s the move?
Three dots appear immediately. Sabrina’s already drafting takedown language. She wants to loop you in. Conference call in ten?
I’ll be there.
I finish Ben’s math lesson on autopilot. Get her set up with Rosa for dinner. Then I head to the smallest guest room and close the door.
The call connects at exactly five thirty. Sabrina’s face fills my screen. She looks calm. Professional. Like she eats crisis management for breakfast.
“Okay,” she starts without preamble. “Here’s what we’re dealing with. The post has been up for two hours. It’s gaining traction fast. Comments are split between people defending you and people calling for intervention.”
“Great.” My voice comes out flat. “So I’m either a hero or a child abuser depending on the algorithm.”
“Basically.” Sabrina’s mouth quirks. Not quite a smile. “But here’s the thing. We’re not engaging with the noise. We’re going surgical. Takedown based on privacy, dignity, and minors off-camera.”
Amara’s voice cuts in from audio-only. “I’ve already drafted the language. It’s clean. No accusations. Just facts. The child is identifiable. Consent wasn’t obtained. The post violates privacy standards.”
“Will it work?” I ask.
“Depends on how fast Instagram acts,” Sabrina replies. “I’ve already got in touch with my contact at Meta. Should be down within the hour.” Another pause. “Jess, are you holding up okay?”
Am I holding up okay?
Let’s see. I’m trapped in my boss’s house during a media siege. A parent just posted a video of his traumatized daughter and implied I’m neglectful. My face is currently being dissected by thousands of strangers.
“I’m fine,” I lie. “Just focused on protecting Ben.”
Sabrina makes a sound that suggests she doesn’t believe me but won’t push.
“Okay,” Sabrina says. “Amara, you’re on legal backup if the parent pushes back.”
“What about Marco?” Amara asks. “Does he know?”
My stomach twists. “Not yet.”
“Jess.” Sabrina’s tone sharpens. “You know that as his PR Consultant, I’m contractually obligated to tell him, right? If you don’t...”
“I will.” I’m already dreading it. “Just give me some lead time.”
“Why?”
“Because you know what he’ll do. He’ll want to mobilize his entire legal team. Destroy this person. He’ll turn it into a war instead of a surgical strike.”
Sabrina’s quiet for a beat. “I suppose you’re not wrong.”
“He’s going to find out eventually,” Amara points out. “His security team monitors this stuff.”
“I know.” My face heats up. “But by then hopefully we’ll have the takedown processed.”
Sabrina nods slowly. “Surgical response. No feeding the drama. Kind of a good idea.”
“Plus,” I add, trying to keep my voice steady, “I sort of understand where this parent is coming from.”
Both of them go silent.
“Not the posting part,” I clarify quickly. “Obviously that’s violating. But the impulse? The concern-trolling masked as care? I used to do that. I used to farm engagement off other people’s pain and call it community building.”
When you recognize yourself in the villain.
Again.
“That was different,” Amara says firmly. “You never went after kids.”
“Didn’t I though?” The question sits heavy in my chest. “Every time I posted about family-friendly restaurants without asking permission. Every time I filmed in public spaces where children were visible. Every time I prioritized content over consent.”
Sabrina’s expression softens. “Jess. You’re spiraling.”
She’s right. I am.
“I just don’t want to destroy this person,” I tell them. Like I was destroyed, essentially. “I want the video down. I want Ben protected. But I don’t want to ruin someone’s life over a mistake I probably would have made myself a year ago.”
“That’s very mature of you,” Sabrina says carefully. “But if they don’t take it down voluntarily, or Meta doesn’t do it for us, we proceed with enforcement. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
The call wraps. I sit on the edge of the bed staring at my phone.
The video is still up. Still climbing. Now at five thousand likes.
My finger hovers over Marco’s contact. I should tell him. Right now. Get ahead of it.
But I know what happens if I do.
He’ll call Elena. Elena will escalate. Filepe will start documenting everything. And within an hour, this parent will be dealing with the full force of Fiore Hospitality Group’s legal apparatus.
Which might be deserved.
But also might be overkill.
My phone buzzes. Luis in the security chat: Added Instagram post to monitoring queue. Flagged for takedown tracking. Filepe notified.
So they know. Of course they know.
Already.
That means Marco knows by now, too.
It must be what, all of five minutes since the call?
My door opens. I look up.
Marco’s standing in the hallway. His expression is carefully neutral but I can see the tension in his jaw.
“When were you going to tell me?” His voice is quiet. Too quiet.
Here we go.
Wait, how does he even know I knew?
“Are you monitoring my phone?” I ask.
“No,” he replies. “But my team monitors social media. We saw the post. Elena called her contact at Meta, who said she already received a takedown notice from one Sabrina Taylor-Maxwell. Your friend. So of course you knew.”
“I was going to tell you,” I say quickly. Meeting his eyes even though my face is burning. “But I was handling the situation.”
“It’s a video of my daughter having a panic attack.” His voice stays level but I can hear the rage underneath. “Posted by someone who has no right to film her. And you didn’t think I needed to know?”
“I knew what you’d do.” The words come out sharper than I intend. “You’d want to go nuclear. Lawyer up. Destroy this person. And yes, maybe they deserve it. But escalation makes it worse.”
His jaw tightens. “So you decided to manage me instead of trusting me?”
“You’re over-reacting,” I counter. “I just learned about it myself. I only finished talking to Sabrina like five minutes ago, and I was on my way to tell you everything. Look, I decided to protect Ben first. Get the video taken down. And I did that.”
He’s quiet for a long moment.
“Only five minutes ago?” he says finally. “Maybe I’m being too hard on you. Still, you should have told me right away, before calling Sabrina. Ben’s my kid. My kid.”
“You’re right.” I nod. “I should have. I’m sorry.”
Another silence. This one heavier.
Then his phone buzzes. He reads the screen and his expression shifts.
“Elena received written confirmation from Meta on the takedown request. She’s also contacted school admin, who will issue a warning to the parent.
” He pockets his phone. Looks at me. “And for the record? I wouldn’t have gone ‘nuclear.’”
Liar.
But I don’t say it. Just nod.
He turns to leave, then pauses in the doorway. “Jess?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For putting her first.”
My throat goes tight. “Always.”
He leaves. I sink back onto the bed and stare at the ceiling.
My hands are properly shaking now.
When you stay calm during the crisis and fall apart after.
I pull out my phone. Check the video one more time.
Still up. Six thousand likes now.
I do a refresh.
And there it is.
404 Not Found Error.
Gone.
I exhale in relief.
My phone buzzes. Amara: You did good. Really good.
I type back: Doesn’t feel like it.
Three dots. Then: That’s how you know it was the right call.
I set the phone down and do the breathing thing Ben and I practice. One, two, three. Smell the cocoa. Blow the steam.
My hands are still shaking.
The video’s gone. Ben is safe downstairs with Rosa.
And Marco is... placated.
Even if I should have told him first before acting.
It’s true that I wanted to protect the influencer, strange as that might sound. But I guess a part of me also wanted to prove my worth to him. To show him I can take care of Ben, too, in times of crisis.
It’s too bad the crisis is partially my fault.
Should have taken the parent’s phone away.