Chapter 8: The Countdown Begins

Nine minutes. The studio hummed with a frantic energy I usually found exhilarating. Tonight, it felt like a trap closing in.

“We need to get him on tape,” I said, my voice low and urgent to Leo. “Admitting it. All of it.”

Leo’s eyes widened. He understood immediately. “How?”

I tore off my clip-on microphone, the tiny square I wore for the show. I knew its capabilities. It wasn’t just for picking up my voice for the broadcast; it had a short-range internal recorder for backup.

“Can you connect a receiver to this?” I asked, holding it out. “Something that can pick up the audio discreetly?”

Leo’s fingers flew across his tablet. “I can patch it through. If you talk to him, and he says anything incriminating, it’ll record directly to my device.”

He disappeared into a utility closet next to the green room, emerging moments later with a small, unassuming black box and a pair of earbuds. He connected the receiver to his tablet, tested the connection with a whisper, and nodded.

“Wear this,” he said, handing me the microphone. “Make sure it’s on. I’ll stay here and monitor.”

My hands were shaking as I clipped the microphone back onto the lapel of my glittering jacket. It felt heavy, a tiny weapon in an impossible war.

Richard. He had to be somewhere nearby, probably in his own dressing room, steeling himself. He knew I had the texts. He knew the game had changed.

But he didn’t know I was coming for him, not with a contract to sign, but with a microphone to bait him into confession.

My plan was simple: corner him, confront him with the evidence, and hope his arrogance, or perhaps his fear, would make him confess before he realized he was being recorded.

I pictured the soundproof hallway behind the main stage. It would be empty now, most of the crew already positioned for the broadcast. It was my only chance.

“Stay here,” I instructed Leo, my eyes scanning the corridor. “Don’t move. Don’t let anyone in.”

He nodded, his face a mixture of fear and determination. My fourteen-year-old son, acting as my co-conspirator, my tech support, my only ally in this nightmare.

The thought of facing Richard alone, knowing everything he had done, everything he still threatened, twisted my stomach into knots. But my mother. My mother was depending on me.

I pushed open the green room door, walking into the brightly lit, bustling backstage world, a predator in a sparkly dress.