Cassidy sat silently in the crowded dining hall of the Millfield Community Center as her ex-mother-in-law dumped a bucket of ice-cold floor wash over her head.
It was two o’clock when my phone buzzed, vibrating insistently on the diner’s stainless steel prep table. I was peeling a mountain of potatoes, the sharp scent of earth and starch filling the small kitchen.
I pulled out my phone, wiping my hands on my apron. The notification was from “Millfield Matters,” the town’s sprawling Facebook group with over 1,400 members.
My heart gave a sharp, cold lurch.
A new post was at the top. It featured a blurry scan of what looked like a police incident log. The headline screamed: “Co-op Funds Embezzled? Former Employee Under Scrutiny.”
The text beneath claimed I had been fired from my old co-op job in 2021 for stealing $4,200. It detailed a fictional “internal investigation” and listed bogus incident numbers.
My fingers went cold. This was a complete fabrication.
I stared at the screen, watching as comments started pouring in, one after another.
“I always knew she was trouble,” someone wrote.
“Get her out of the diner! We don’t want thieves serving our food.”
“Blocking progress again, just like with Brendan’s family.”
My own name, “Cassidy Hollister,” was plastered across the doctored log. It looked official enough to fool most people in town.
I scrolled through the comments, a bitter taste in my mouth. Then I saw it.
One specific turn of phrase. “A known pattern of financial irregularities and public defiance.”
It was a phrase Jessica Palmer had used just last week, during an overheard conversation at the grocery store, when she was badmouthing me to Diane. The exact same phrasing.
Jessica, Brendan’s new partner. The one who had cheered as Diane dumped the bucket on my head.
A cold certainty settled over me. This wasn’t just random gossip. This was a coordinated attack.
Lyle Bramford, the smooth-talking outsider, was clearly behind this, using Jessica as his mouthpiece. They weren’t just trying to take my land; they were trying to ruin my life, my reputation, my livelihood.
I closed the app, the screen’s glow reflecting my tight jaw. The potatoes, usually a mundane chore, felt heavier in my hands. The digital poison was spreading through Millfield, and I knew exactly who had unleashed it.
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