“Did anyone notice the acrostic in her caption?
It spells out… I AM A COPYCAT.‘”
Olivia deleted the video quickly, but it was too
late. It had been downloaded, shared, and
reposted everywhere.
That was my gift to her. If she’d bothered to
watch the video before posting, she would have noticed. But she’d been so desperate to beat
me to the punch, so afraid I’d post first, that
she hadn’t checked the details.
The background music was a notorious “murder ballad,” a song written by a convicted killer,
glorifying violence against women. The caption, a subtle acrostic, was my final, petty revenge.
The backlash intensified. Olivia’s agency forced her to do a live stream to explain. I tuned in. Over 100,000 people were watching, the
comments scrolling at warp speed, filled with
vitriol.
Olivia, pale and sweating, stammered that she
hadn’t known about the music, that it was her
team’s fault. She apologized profusely,
promising to be more careful.
Then, a series of comments cut through the
noise.
“She’s lying! We had nothing to do with this
video. She posted it herself!”
“She’s throwing us under the bus!”
“Ever since her viral videos, she’s been doing
everything herself. She wouldn’t let us
contribute. Called us idiots!”
“She’s abusive to her assistants. I’ve seen it
firsthand. Ask anyone on her team!”
More and more people came forward. Olivia
tried to ignore it, but eventually, she shut down
the live stream.
<
The next day, her account was suspended.
Then, Ethan and Olivia called.
63
“Jenna, you did this on purpose! You knew!” Ethan roared.
“Olivia’s getting death threats! How could you be so cruel?”
“Jenna, I’m so sorry. Please help me. I’ll give
you $200,000 if you say you created the video for me.”
I laughed.
“$500,000! Please, Jenna!”
I stayed silent.
“$800,000! That’s all I have!”
I glanced at Michael, who was busy at his
<
computer, a mischievous glint in his eye.
