26. Exposure #2
"What happens if people shout?" Riley asked.
Ava touched the purple headphones. "I put these on."
"And if we get separated?" I asked.
She pointed to Riley. "I find Riley."
"Or Dad," Riley added gently. "Or Uncle Donny. Or a security guard wearing the dolphin badge."
Ava's eyes brightened. "We get a badge?"
Donny pulled his laptop closer. "Apparently I've been promoted to director of tactical dolphins."
He searched images while Ava rejected a palm tree, a shark, and something that looked like an aggressive seahorse. She finally tapped a blue dolphin arcing over a wave.
"That one. Dolphins stay together."
Nobody spoke for a second.
I cleared my throat. "Dolphin logo it is."
By the time we finished, the plan covered two poster boards. Green routes. Red danger zones. Blue circles around safe adults. Ava drew tiny dolphins beside each exit and taped one to the inside of her bedroom door.
Riley stood beside me, shoulder brushing mine as we watched her.
"This won't stop everything," I murmured.
"No," she said. "But it gives her something fear took away."
"What?"
"A choice."
Ava turned from the poster and held out a dolphin sticker.
"For you," she said. "So you remember the plan too."
I peeled the backing off and pressed it to my phone case.
For the first time since the parking lot, I felt like her father again instead of the reason she needed protection.
The PR coach took one look at the resort conference room and shook her head.
"Too polished," she said. "People won't trust polished right now."
Ten minutes later, we were sitting on a low sofa in one of the private villas, sunlight slanting through the glass doors and the ocean moving quietly behind us. No podium. No branded backdrop. Just Riley beside me, her knee pressed to mine, and a camera pointed at our faces.
"Stop trying to sound untouchable," the coach said from behind the monitor. "Let them see what this cost you."
My jaw tightened.
My first instinct was to tell her the cost belonged to my family, not the public. Then Riley's hand found mine between the cushions.
Maybe telling the truth wasn't the same as surrendering what was ours.
A producer clipped a microphone to my shirt, then stepped away. Riley's hand found mine between the cushions.
"You ready?" she asked.
"No."
"Good. Me neither."
The red light blinked on.
The first questions were easy. How long had Riley worked for me? When had our relationship changed? Was she still Ava's nanny?
Then the coach leaned forward. "What do you want people to understand about her?"
Every prepared answer vanished.
I looked at Riley.
"She didn't chase my money," I said. "She barely tolerated me when we met."
Riley's mouth twitched.
"She showed up for my daughter when I was still figuring out how to show up for myself. She learned what made Ava feel safe. She paid attention when everyone else expected Ava to adjust to them."
The room went silent. I kept going before I could retreat behind something cleaner.
"I fell in love with Riley because she made our home feel like a place we could breathe again. Not because she wanted anything from me."
Riley's fingers tightened around mine.
The coach turned to her. "And Luca?"
Riley glanced at me, eyes bright. "He thinks protecting people means standing between them and every bad thing. He's still learning that sometimes it means standing beside them instead."
She'd taken our argument from earlier and stripped it down to the truth I hadn't wanted to hear. I lifted our joined hands and pressed my mouth to her knuckles.
"Still learning," I said.
The clip went live before sunset. I refused to read the comments at first. Then Donny walked in holding his phone.
"You should see this."
The cruelty hadn't vanished, but it was being drowned out by messages about Ava, privacy, and the line those photographers had crossed. Parents shared their own stories of sensory overload. The interview climbed past a million views.
Riley leaned into my side as I scrolled.
For the first time all day, strangers weren't writing our story for us.
They were listening.
The first blackmail email arrived at 11:47 p.m.
I was in the kitchen with Riley, both of us pretending tea counted as sleep preparation, when my phone chimed against the counter.
The subject line read: MORE PHOTOS TO COME.
Riley saw my face change. "What is it?"
I opened the message. No greeting. No name. Just one sentence.
Pay, or we publish everything.
Below it sat a link, a countdown clock, and a grainy thumbnail of Riley leaving the guesthouse in one of my shirts. The angle came from beyond the rear wall, where no camera should have had a clear view.
My stomach turned cold.
"What do they have?" she asked.
"I don't know."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
I forwarded the email to Donny and called him before the message finished sending. He picked up on the first ring.
"Tell me you didn't click anything."
"I opened the email."
"Did you open the link?"
"No."
"Good. Send me the full headers."
Riley leaned against the island, arms folded tight. "How much do they want?"
I scrolled lower.
"Two hundred thousand."
She let out a humorless breath. "Two hundred thousand? I'm offended on behalf of your reputation."
"Don't."
Her expression softened, but only slightly. "I'm trying not to panic."
"So am I."
That admission hung between us.
I hated the idea of more pictures. Not because of me. Because every image of Riley or Ava could be twisted into something ugly, stripped of context, sold to strangers who thought cruelty was entertainment. And whoever took this one had watched the house closely enough to know when Riley was alone.
My laptop rang with an incoming video call.
Donny appeared on-screen, jaw tight, another monitor glowing behind him.
"I found something."
I turned the laptop so Riley could see.
Donny hesitated. The pause told me before he did.
"The sender covered most of their tracks," Donny said, "but one of the accounts used to route the message connects to a digital promotion company in Vegas."
"Which outfit?"
His expression hardened. "One that handled digital campaigns for Jax Hale's last two fights."
Riley leaned closer to the screen. "Does that mean Jax sent it?"
"No." Donny answered immediately. "It means somebody connected to the promoter's operation used the same infrastructure. Jax might not know anything about it."
That fit the man who had stood in my gym and owned what he'd done instead of hiding behind excuses. Jax had wanted a fight once. He didn't strike me as the kind of coward who photographed women and children from behind walls.
"Can you narrow it down?" I asked.
"I'm already working on it."
The countdown continued across my phone, each second disappearing with a quiet digital pulse.
Riley's hand slid into mine. I closed my fingers around hers instead of pulling away to handle the threat alone.
"Whatever they have," she said, "we deal with it together."
I looked at the thumbnail again. Whoever had taken it knew our routines, our property, and exactly which pressure points to use.
Jax might have been connected to the server, but the photograph had been taken from beyond my rear wall.
Whoever sent the email didn’t just know the promoter’s operation.
They knew my home.