Chapter 48
Chapter Forty-Eight
Rayne
The morning sun over the Bayside marina is mockingly warm and bright. Inside my office, the bare skin of my arms is cold and pebbled with goosebumps from a combination of the blasting AC and sheer nerves.
It’s almost ten. The boardwalk in front of campaign headquarters is clustered with reporters, cameras balanced on shoulders, and microphones ready in hand.
Curious residents linger near neighboring shops, and tourists heading toward the beach slow when they spot the news vans parked along the marina.
I look out at the waterfront sparkling behind them.
Boats bobbing gently in their slips. Anika suggested renting the community center and using a podium.
I wanted none of that. I wanted to stand here, in the open, without a barrier between me and the people I hope to serve, in a place I love and believe is worth protecting.
Anika appears by my side. “How are you feeling?”
“Nervous, but ready.” I rub my palms together.
“It’s a big moment, Ray.”
“Mhm. Not everyone is going to see me the same after today.”
“Nope, they won’t. But…” She takes me by the shoulders. “Fuck the haters. You are a strong, Black queen. Walk out there with your head held high and your crown on straight.”
I smile in spite of myself. The love surrounding me makes me feel less like I’m facing a firing squad and more like I’m walking into a battle fully armored.
I hold that close as I take the wireless mic from her and step outside onto the weathered boards I’ve known for nearly thirty-one years.
The noise from the crowd swells instantly, and a barrage of camera flashes blinds my eyes.
Drawing this kind of attention away from my campaign platform is exactly what I’ve tried hard to avoid.
I never wanted to make a headline that wasn’t strictly about Bayside.
I see my father standing in the front row.
His expression is one of calm comfort and assurance.
It’s the same look he wore when he encouraged me to get back on my bike after I scraped my knees on the pavement.
The same look he had when he told me Hollis never deserved me and that one day I would find someone who did.
The same look he wore when he handed me the pen to sign the paperwork to run for mayor.
My dad. My rock. Standing beside DK—the other steady force in my life.
If you start feeling overwhelmed, Loo-nah, find me. I’ll be right there.
Whew… I take a breath, waiting for the flashes to slow down and the noise to settle.
I see the boom mics lift to capture my every word and Channel 10 filming live.
It all becomes very real. I’m putting myself out here in the most vulnerable way.
To be judged and dissected. But before anyone else gets to tell my story, I’m going to tell it myself.
No notes. No podium. Just me.
I take another breath and look directly into the crowd.
“Good morning.” My voice echoes back, and I move the mic farther from my mouth. “Yesterday, my opponent’s campaign received an anonymous email containing deeply private photographs of me—stolen and accompanied by a fabricated story meant to defame my character and embarrass me.”
A collective murmur ripples through the press corps.
“I want to thank Mayor Diablo for recognizing the photos for what they were, and for acting with respect in informing me and keeping them private. Under Illinois law, the non-consensual distribution of private sexual images is a felony offense. Yet too often victims are expected to carry the shame instead of the people who actually commit the violation. I won’t do that.
” My shoulders square and I stand to my full height.
“I will not hang my head. I will not apologize for photographs I took for myself during a period of healing and self-acceptance. The shame here belongs entirely to the person who stole them and tried to weaponize them against me.”
I find DK. He slips me a smile, loving fuel to take me to the finish line.
“Sadly, this is a systemic issue that affects thousands of women who are targeted, silenced, and blackmailed by those they once trusted. If this has happened to you, it’s not your fault. You deserve dignity, privacy, and justice, just as I do.
“To that point, my campaign is launching the Bayside Digital Safety Initiative to support victims of digital theft and image-based abuse. Together, we will fight back. Thank you.”
The second I finish, the air erupts into a hectic flurry of overlapping questions. Too many to catch, but among the din, I hear:
“Candidate Webber! Was the sender an ex-partner?”
“Rayne! What exactly were in the photos?”
“Ms. Webber, are you accusing Hollis Brown of revenge porn?”
I don’t answer. I said what I came here to say. The rest belongs with the police. I turn on my heel and walk back into the campaign office.
All my people come through for me. Messages of support pour in from Lot, Aunt Belinda, Chaz, and Lexie. DK had told his family beforehand, too. We didn’t want them blindsided. I was afraid of what Gogo would think, but that concern was for naught.
“You think I would be ashamed of you, ntanami? Neze! I spit on the thief who entered your house and stole your property. Those pictures were for your own eyes, to see the beauty the Creator gave you.”
Dad sticks close, as protective as he is proud. DK sends texts filled with love and praise, and at noon, I get an anonymous lunch delivery and flowers from my boo.
Women Rising comes out in full support, standing strong with me. Politically, that kind of influence matters. But regardless, I’m at peace with my decision. Femme Magazine wants to dedicate space in the article to raise awareness, and the police open an investigation into my report.
Then the fallout begins.