CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
SOPHIA
“Ugh, Dad’s being so weird on Instagram again,” Madison mutters from the sofa, scrolling through her phone. We’ve been back from Milford Sound for a few hours, and I’ve been pretending to read the same page of my book for the past twenty minutes, my mind still replaying the day’s events.
“What’s he done now?” I ask, grateful for the distraction from my thoughts about Jack.
“Just posting about his ‘entrepreneurial journey’ or whatever. The usual crypto stuff.” Madison continues scrolling, her expression growing increasingly disgusted. “#financialfreedom #alphamindset…so cringe.”
I make a noncommittal noise and pretend to return to my book. Troy’s social media presence has grown increasingly bizarre since our divorce, but I stopped following him years ago. The only updates I get are Madison’s occasional reports or his insufferable texts about her “nutrition plan.”
“Oh my God,” Madison suddenly sits bolt upright. “Mom! Look at this!”
“What?” I look up, alarmed by her tone.
She turns her phone toward me, a TikTok video already playing.
It’s some kind of viral supercut where multiple creators have taken clips of Troy wearing a serious expression in a black t-shirt, talking dramatically about being “canceled by the woke mob.” Each creator has added their own mocking commentary, effects, or reaction shots, transforming Troy’s self-important monologue into something ridiculous.
“This is so embarrassing,” Madison groans, her face flushing. “He’s gone viral in the worst way possible.”
I watch in horrified fascination as Troy’s face contorts dramatically on screen, his voice overlaid with cartoonish sound effects while text captions mock his expressions.
The original video shows him complaining about “censorship” and how “certain powerful interests” don’t want men to speak the truth about “biological realities,” but it’s now buried under layers and layers of internet mockery.
“When did he post this?” I ask, taking the phone from her to see better.
“The original video? I don’t know, a week ago? But this supercut thing is getting millions of views.” Madison sinks deeper into the sofa. “I’m going to die. What if someone from school recognizes him as my dad?”
An uncomfortable knot forms in my stomach as I watch more of the supercut. “What was he ‘canceled’ for exactly?”
“I have no idea,” Madison says, reclaiming her phone. “Probably just being his usual cringey self. But now he’s the ‘hostage video guy’ on TikTok.” She scrolls through comments. “People are saying he looks like he’s being held at gunpoint while reading a ransom note.”
Despite myself, I feel a surge of vicarious embarrassment.
Even after everything Troy had put me through, there is something deeply uncomfortable about seeing him become an internet laughingstock.
And beneath the embarrassment lurks a more troubling thought—what would have prompted Troy to make the original video in the first place?
“The comments are brutal,” Madison continues, grimacing. “Someone said he looks like ‘Jordan Peterson if he ate nothing but alpha male podcasts and protein powder.’”
“Madison, maybe that’s enough internet for today,” I suggest, suddenly not wanting to see any more of Troy’s humiliation, regardless of how deserved it might be.
She nods, looking relieved to have an excuse to stop watching. “It’s just so weird. Like, I’m used to Dad being embarrassing, but not…internet famous embarrassing.”
I consider whether to pursue this topic further…but looking at Madison’s genuinely disturbed expression, I decide against it. Whatever Troy has done, dragging Madison further into it would only cause her pain.
“Let’s forget about that,” I say, rising from my chair. “We should start getting ready for dinner at the main house.”
Madison looks grateful for the change of subject. “Emma says she’s going to show me more rugby techniques after dinner.”
“That sounds fun,” I say, forcing enthusiasm I don’t entirely feel. The thought of Madison engaged in a high-contact sport wasn’t exactly comforting to my maternal instincts, but her excitement is infectious.
As Madison disappears into her room, I can’t help but think about the irony of my situation. Here I am, still reeling from Jack’s deception about his wealth, while simultaneously wondering what Troy has done that led to his “cancelation.” The universe certainly has a twisted sense of humor.
◆◆◆
At the main house, Madison gravitates immediately to Emma, the two of them deep in rugby strategy by the time I arrive in the sitting room. Jack is nowhere to be seen, which is both a relief and, strangely, a disappointment.
“Red or white?” Lily asks, appearing beside me with two glasses of wine.
“Red, please,” I say gratefully. After the day’s events—the miraculous and terrifying childbirth on the boat, the unwelcome reminder of Troy’s existence—alcohol seems necessary.
“You look preoccupied,” Lily observes, her keen eyes studying my face. “Still processing the excitement from Milford Sound?”
“Partly,” I admit. “It’s been a…full day.”
“Did Jack tell you the mum and baby are back at Queenstown and both doing splendidly?”
“He didn’t mention it,” I say, surprised to realize Jack hadn’t texted me with the update.
“He’s trying to respect your boundaries,” Lily says gently. “Even when it means not sharing good news he knows you’d want to hear.”
Before I can respond, Madison’s voice rises above the quiet conversations. “Mom, Emma says I have natural talent for rugby. She thinks I could make a high school team back home if I wanted.”
“That’s wonderful, sweetie,” I say, forcing enthusiasm I don’t quite feel.
“Troy would hate it,” Madison adds with a hint of teenage defiance. “He thinks girls should stick to ‘aesthetic’ sports.”
Emma’s eyebrows shoot up. “Did he actually say that?”
“Yeah, like last month when I mentioned wanting to try out for the football team.” Madison rolls her eyes. “He said soccer was fine for girls because it was ‘flowing and graceful,’ but I shouldn’t play anything where I might get bruises or ‘look unladylike.’”
Emma’s expression darkens. “Sounds like Troy has some…interesting views on women in sports.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” I mutter, taking a sip of wine.
“Men, right?” Emma says with a significant look my way.
“Speaking of men with opinions,” I say, lowering my voice as Madison becomes distracted by Lily showing her something on her phone, “Madison just showed me a viral video of Troy having a meltdown about being ‘canceled by the woke mob.’ Any idea what that’s about?”
It is meant as a casual comment, a moment of shared exasperation between women, but Emma’s reaction is anything but casual. Her face drains of color, her eyes darting toward Madison to ensure she wasn’t listening.
“You…you don’t know?” she asks, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“Know what?”
Emma hesitates, then sets down her wine glass. “Come with me. We should talk privately.”
Alarm bells ring in my head as I follow Emma down a hallway and into what appears to be a small study. She closes the door behind us, her typically vibrant demeanor replaced by uncharacteristic seriousness.
“What’s going on?” I ask, suddenly apprehensive.
Emma runs a hand through her short hair, looking deeply uncomfortable. “Look, Sophia…I don’t know if now is the right time to get into this. You’re already dealing with so much with Jack and—”
“Emma,” I interrupt firmly. “Whatever it is, I need to know.”
She sighs heavily. “Okay, but first, listen. Sophia, you’re whānau now. Family. No matter what happens with Jack. Madison’s incredible, and you’re already part of us. That’s why I’m telling you this. Not as Jack’s sister. Just…as someone who’s got your back.”
Her uncharacteristic hesitation only increases my anxiety. “Just tell me.”
“It’s about Troy. His online presence.” Emma meets my eyes directly. “What I’m about to tell you is going to be upsetting. Really upsetting.”
“I can handle it,” I say, falling back on the calm I’d cultivated through years of ER crises.
Emma takes a deep breath. “Troy has been posting truly vile, misogynistic content online for months, possibly years. Real ‘redpill’ stuff—demeaning women, describing them as property, objects for men to use.” She pauses. “And it gets worse when he talks about daughters.”
The room seems to tilt slightly. “How do you know this?”
Emma opens a drawer in the desk. “Because Jack had our security consultant document it.”
She pulls out a folder and places it on the desk between us, looking deeply conflicted.
“I shouldn’t be showing you this. Jack would probably be furious with me.
But after hearing Madison talk about Troy’s attitudes toward her sports activities…
I think you need to know what you’re really dealing with. ”
“Jack was investigating Troy? When? Why?” My voice sounds distant, even to my own ears.
“After you mentioned those controlling texts about Madison’s nutrition,” Emma explains. “Jack was worried about Troy’s influence. He asked our family security consultant—Rawiri, ex-Special Forces—to look into Troy’s online presence.”
With trembling fingers, I open the folder. The first page is a profile screenshot showing a gym selfie of Troy, his face partly obscured but unmistakable to me, with a bio that reads: “Unapologetic Male. Financial Dominance. Traditional Values. Escaping the Matrix.”
As I flip through the pages, each screenshot is worse than the last. Post after post of Troy expounding on “female nature,” how women were “built for submission,” how feminism had “destroyed Western civilization.” Some posts detail his sexual exploits in degrading terms. Others discuss “strategies” for manipulating women into compliance.
My stomach lurches when I reach posts specifically about ex-wives and daughters.
“…ex-wives are usable goods at best, damaged beyond repair at worst…”
“…women hit the wall at 35, their only value after that is what they’ve produced for you…”