Chapter 3: The Internet Turns Cruel

She fumbled with her coat, glancing at him for approval, her voice trailing off into a whimper. It was like watching two actors in a cheap play, only the stakes were my wife’s life.

The man waved his hand. “I think you should pay two million. For a guy like you, that’s nothing.”

His eyes flicked to my car, then back to me. He grinned, revealing yellowed teeth, and spread his arms wide. "You can afford it. Don’t be cheap."

My mind exploded.

I felt the blood rush to my head, vision swimming. Two million? They thought I was made of money, that I’d just roll over and let them bleed me dry. My fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms.

Anyone could see the two of them were in on this together.

It was so obvious now—the way they played off each other, the practiced routine. I cursed myself for not seeing it sooner. But I couldn’t let them win. Not tonight.

On this dark, rainy night, while my wife was suffering in labor in the car, I ran into these despicable scammers.

The universe couldn’t have picked a worse time. I could feel the last threads of my patience snapping. My vision narrowed, the world shrinking to the sound of Savannah’s cries and these two grifters blocking my path.

The anger I’d been holding back finally burst out.

My jaw tightened, and I fought the urge to scream. My hands shook, and I could taste bile at the back of my throat. I was done playing nice.

“Babe…”

Savannah suddenly rolled down the car window, poking her head out.

Her hair was plastered to her forehead, eyes wide with pain and fear. "Dylan?" she gasped, voice barely audible over the rain. Her desperation was palpable, and it snapped me out of my rage for a moment.

Because of the intense pain, her once gentle features were twisted and distorted, her face ashen and covered in cold sweat.

She looked like a ghost—my beautiful wife reduced to a trembling, broken shell. Tears mingled with the rain on her cheeks. I felt my heart shatter all over again.

I forced myself to hold back my rage.

I took a deep breath, forcing my voice to steady. I knew I had to get us out of this, no matter what. I couldn’t let these people ruin us.

“Look, my wife is about to have our baby. If we’re delayed any longer, can you live with that? Besides, big transfers get flagged by the bank.”

I tried to keep my voice steady. “If you need, I can Venmo you two hundred thousand right now—or we can call the cops.”

I tried to sound reasonable, even as my insides twisted with fury. I held up my phone, thumb hovering over the screen, praying they’d take the money and let us go.

“Fine, call the cops.” The man saw I was in a rush and just got more arrogant. He spread his hands, “I’ve got all night. I’m just worried your wife doesn’t.”

He leaned back, smirking, the rain running in rivulets down his face. He was enjoying this, savoring my desperation. It made me want to punch him even more.

Following his gaze, Savannah’s face grew paler, the cold rain lashing her through the open window.

She whimpered, clutching her belly, her eyes pleading with me. The sight broke me. I couldn’t let her suffer another second.

Rage surged up again.

My vision tunneled, and I saw red. I didn’t care about consequences anymore. All that mattered was getting Savannah to safety.

I lunged forward and punched the man’s smug grin, then shoved the old woman away from the car, opened the door, started the engine, and floored it to the hospital without looking back.

The impact of my fist was strangely satisfying, a release of all the anger and fear I’d bottled up. I barely registered the old woman’s shriek as I pushed her aside. I slammed the door, jammed the car into drive, and peeled out, tires screeching on the wet pavement. I didn’t care about the rain, the shouts behind me, or the laws I might be breaking. I just needed to save my wife.

But I was still too late.

The sterile hospital lights burned my eyes as I paced the waiting room. My clothes clung to my skin, soaked and cold. The minutes dragged on, each one heavier than the last. When the doctor finally emerged, his face told me everything before he spoke.

Our child couldn’t be saved.

The words echoed in my head, over and over. I felt the world tilt, the ground falling away beneath me. Savannah’s sobs echoed from her hospital bed, haunting and hollow.

Because we were delayed getting to the hospital, Savannah suffered massive bleeding. Her uterus was removed, and she lost the ability to be a mother.

I sat on the bench outside the maternity ward, clutching my hair in agony.

My fingers tangled in my hair, pulling until my scalp burned. I rocked back and forth, staring at the linoleum floor, wishing I could turn back time. The hospital smelled like bleach and despair. I was alone, surrounded by strangers who looked away, pretending not to notice my pain.

I hated myself for not getting Savannah to the hospital sooner. I hated those evil scammers even more—they were the ones who stole my child’s chance at life.

I replayed the night again and again, searching for a different outcome. If only I’d fought harder. If only I’d called for help. If only… The guilt was suffocating, a weight I couldn’t shake.

“That’s him! He’s the one who hit me!”

A familiar male voice echoed in the hospital corridor.

The sound jolted me from my daze. I looked up, heart pounding, as Randy Miller swaggered in, flanked by two police officers. His mother, Mary, trailed behind, milking her limp for all it was worth.

I looked up suddenly, my eyes red, and charged at him, desperate to tear him apart, but the police stopped me.

They grabbed my arms, holding me back as I lunged at Randy. My vision blurred with rage and tears. I shouted, cursed, begged them to let me go, but all I got was a cold, hard stare.

The scammer’s name was Randy Miller, and the old woman was his mother, Mary Miller.

They stood side by side, a picture of false innocence. Mary dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, while Randy glared at me with smug satisfaction. I could see the lie in every gesture, every word.

According to them, that night I knocked Mary down with my car. Randy came to reason with me, but not only did I not apologize or take them to the hospital, I even beat them up.

Their story was rehearsed, every detail twisted to make me the villain. The officers listened, scribbling notes, their faces unreadable. I wanted to scream that it was all a lie, but I knew how it looked.

To get Savannah to the hospital quickly, I’d taken a shortcut. That intersection was a surveillance blind spot, and the heavy rain had already washed away all the brake marks.

I cursed my luck. Of all the nights, of all the places, I’d picked the one spot where the truth would vanish without a trace. The evidence was gone, and all I had were my words against theirs.

I told the police about Randy and his mother’s staged accident, but with only our words and no evidence, it was a deadlock.

They asked me the same questions, over and over, looking for cracks in my story. I could see doubt flicker in their eyes. I felt helpless, trapped in a nightmare with no way out.

The police tried to mediate, but Randy insisted that Mary was hospitalized because of my beating and demanded a million in compensation.

He leaned back, arms crossed, a smug grin on his face. "You want this to go away? Pay up. Or we’ll see you in court." The threat hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Looking at Randy’s smug face, I ground my teeth nearly to dust.

I wanted to wipe that grin off his face, to make him feel even a fraction of my pain. But I knew I couldn’t let him win. Not now.

“No! I won’t give you a single cent! I’ll see you in court. Because your scam cost my wife and child, I want you in prison!”

My voice shook with fury, but I stood my ground. I stared Randy down, daring him to try me. I wouldn’t back down. Not this time.

I glared at Randy, my eyes nearly bursting with fury.

For a moment, he looked uneasy. But then he smirked, confident I was trapped. The officers exchanged glances, and I realized just how alone I was.

At the time, I never imagined how twisted the truth could become.

I thought the worst was over. I thought I could fight back. But I had no idea how deep the rabbit hole went, or how many more ways the world could break me.

"Mr. Foster, come to the office."

My boss had always been kind, but now his voice was cold as ice—like a call from HR before a standard layoff.

The voicemail was short, clipped. No pleasantries, no small talk. My stomach twisted with dread. Something was very, very wrong.

Before I could respond, he hung up.

The abruptness was a slap in the face. I stared at my phone, willing it to ring again, but the silence was deafening.

Something urgent must have happened at work.

I tried to convince myself it was just a formality, a misunderstanding. But deep down, I knew better. The walls were closing in.

I rubbed my temples and dragged my exhausted body to the office, only to be handed a termination letter.

The HR manager wouldn’t meet my eyes. My boss stood by the window, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. The letter felt heavy in my hands, the words swimming before my eyes. The severance package was standard—two weeks’ pay, COBRA info, and a cold handshake goodbye.

“Look at this.”

The boss frowned, pushing his phone toward me.

His hands trembled just a little as he slid the phone across the desk. I braced myself, knowing whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good.

On it was a video less than a minute long.

The screen showed a blurry, rain-soaked scene. My heart dropped as I recognized myself, fists flying, rage etched on my face. The audio crackled with the sound of my shouts, the old woman’s screams, and the man’s taunts.

It showed me, on that dark, rainy night, furiously punching Randy, dragging Mary away from the car, then speeding off.

The video was cut to make me look like the villain—a heartless brute attacking the helpless. There was no context, no sign of Savannah’s agony, no hint of the scam.

Water splashed from my car, drenching them both and making them look utterly pitiful.

The camera lingered on their soaked, shivering forms, the old woman clutching her side, the man shouting after me. I could almost hear the collective gasp of every viewer.

The video’s title was even more sensational: Businessman Assaults Elderly Woman and Flees Scene.

The headline flashed in bold, red letters. My name was everywhere—on Twitter/X, Facebook, even local news. The comments scrolled by too fast to read, but I caught words like "monster," "coward," and "abuser."

“Boss, let me explain—the truth is…”

My voice cracked, but I tried to tell my side. I reached for the phone, desperate to show him the full story.

I hurried to speak, but he waved me off.

He wouldn’t meet my eyes. He just shook his head, lips pressed tight. The room felt colder by the second.