Face-Slapping10 min read
I dropped the newspaper and everything broke
ButterPicks16 views
"I dropped the newspaper and fell to the ground."
I blinked hard and tasted metal. People walked past like I was a stain on the sidewalk.
"Miss Kennedy, your luggage—" a man in a maid's outfit held a small case and backed away.
"No," I said. My voice was thin. "You're lying."
He handed me the paper anyway.
"Read it," he said. "You will understand."
I did. The headline hit me like a fist.
"'Dylan Marques' drunk driver found guilty. Entire Koenig family in crash—no survivors.'"
I pressed the paper to my chest and the world became paper and rain.
"How—how could this be?" I whispered.
"Go to the hospital," he said. "Quick. Your things are packed."
I let him help me up because my legs would not move.
They put me in an ambulance. I woke in a white room with a woman fussing over my breakfast.
"Eat," she said. "Doctor says eat then take meds."
"I'll eat later," I managed. "Please—call Oliver."
"Oliver Downs?" she asked, surprised. "We can try."
My phone was full of missed calls. I pressed one. The voice on the other end was rougher than I expected.
"Kennedy?" Oliver said. "Where are you?"
"At the hospital," I said. "Is it true? My parents—my brother—"
"Don't come back," he said quickly. "Your aunt is already making plans. I bought you a ticket to Germany. Go."
"Why?" I asked. "Why not tell me?"
"Because... because I had to stop them," he stammered. "Just go."
I cried until I couldn't breathe. I took the ticket. I left my home because everybody else left theirs.
A week later we had a funeral.
"Kennedy, you must come," my aunt Heidi McCormick told the press. She hugged Dylan in front of cameras and smiled like it was a play.
"Where's she?" Dylan asked, the smile practiced. "Kennedy?"
"She is shocked," Aunt Heidi said loudly. "She could be anywhere."
I knelt at the grave with cold rain on my coat. Dylan's eyes found me.
"You didn't come when your family died," he said softly. "Where is your loyalty?"
"Don't," I said. My hand found the stone like it would keep me from floating away.
He put an umbrella over me. Up close, his cologne felt like honey over rust.
"I can help," he said. "Come home. I can keep things safe."
"Help?" I laughed and it came out like a crack. "You helped us how? You and your family took our clients, our staff—everything."
"It was business," he said quietly. "Half business, half—me."
I slapped him. Hard.
"You think I will be your consolation?" I spat. "Get out."
He grabbed my wrist.
"Come back to me," he said. "At least let me save what's left."
I twisted free. "No," I said. "And don't come back here."
He left like a man who had lost a bet.
I stood in the graveyard and then left for a city that had always felt like a stranger's suit. Oliver had tucked me into a German manor. There, a man called Jin Jenkins watched me like a surgeon.
"You don't look like the woman in the photos," he told me one evening. "You are softer."
"Soft?" I said. "Maybe I'm tired."
"Then stop being tired," Jin said. "Find proof. Get that land back."
He spoke in clipped sentences. He was young, too young to be the stern uncle he pretended, but he made a plan and he meant it.
"First," he said, "go home. Face them. Take back the land. Don't die."
"Don't be silly," I said. "Who are you to tell me not to die?"
"Your only defense," he said, "is to fight. And to stop crying to strangers."
I blinked, then laughed because it was true.
I flew back. The Koenig mansion had turned into a battlefield. My aunt Heidi was selling jewels and offering me as a prize.
"Kennedy, take the deal," she said. "Mr. Stone will fund us. You will marry him. Two hundred million."
"Two hundred million?" I said. "You mean my family's shame in exchange for silence."
"Call it security," she said. "Or call it wisdom."
"I call it theft," I said.
"You can't fight us," she snapped. "You're one woman."
"Watch me," I said.
I started with small things. I combed through files. I asked the people who stuck with me: Mrs. Chen, the housekeeper, and Yvonne, my friend from school who worked at a law firm. Yvonne—real name Jana—didn't have much, but she had a spark.
"Show me the transfer records," she said. "Let's sue. Let's ask for the deeds."
One night, in the documents room, Oliver walked in like a man with too many secrets.
"Oliver, why—" I started.
He blanched. "Kennedy, I—"
"Did you lie to me?" I asked. "Did you take money?"
"Listen," he said. "I was trying to save us. I never meant—"
"Save us?" I echoed. "By helping them drive my family into the ground?"
He looked like a small animal. "I sold contracts once. I meant to hold them. I gave them to Dylan because he promised—he promised to help us later. It was supposed to stop the creditors. Then... then the drivers... I didn't mean for—"
"Then you watched our car crash," I said.
"I thought—" he began. "I thought it would scare them, make them stop. I was a coward."
"You were the coward who sent my parents to the grave," I said. "You knew the driver. You paid him. You didn't mean to—"
"I didn't mean them to die," he said. He fell to his knees. "Kennedy, please. I will go to the police. I will—"
"Go," I said. "But first, say it here."
He looked up, eyes wet.
"I took money. I helped Dylan. I did it for my debts. I am sorry."
I heard a car outside. Jin's car. He wanted more than a confession.
"Tomorrow," Jin said, "we do this in public."
I didn't like the plan at first. But I wanted the thing that mattered most: the deed to our land.
The next night the city hosted a charity gala. It smelled of perfume and coin. Pascal Vieira, the head of a media conglomerate, had given us space on the stage. My hand shook as I walked in with Jin and a small team.
"Tonight," Jin told me in a low voice, "we take all the proof. We put it on the screen. We bring them down."
"Do you think Dylan will come?" I whispered.
"He will," Jin said. "He can't resist being seen."
Onstage, lights were warm. Cameras rolled. Pascal walked up, smiling like a man who keeps lives in his breast pocket.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, voice smooth. "Tonight is about truth."
The room stilled.
"Kennedy, are you sure about this?" a friend whispered.
"Yes," I said. "Let's go."
I clicked "play" on the tablet Jin gave me. The big screen flicked on.
"Here's a transfer," I said, pointing to the ledger with my own shaking finger. "Here is a wire from Oliver Downs to the driver's family. Here are the messages: 'Make it look like an accident.'"
People gasped. Seats rustled. My aunt was smiling one moment, shocked the next. I felt something shift in me, like a floor tilting.
"Oliver," I said, "did you buy them off?"
He fell into his chair.
"I did," he said. "I am sorry."
"Why?" I demanded.
"Because I was drowning," he said. "I thought I could fix it later. I thought—"
"You're a liar," I said. "You are a coward who sold our lives."
I pressed next. The screen showed a video from a taxi camera. The driver, shaking, confessed into his phone:
"They told me to take the highway. They paid. I didn't check. I—"
"Who paid you?" Jin asked quietly.
"Oliver Downs," the driver said, slumping.
The room was loud now. Phones came up. Voices rose. I had expected this, but nothing prepared me for the sound of thousands of people deciding.
"Dylan!" someone shouted.
He stood in the doorway, the light catching his jaw like a statue.
"I—" he began, but the screen kept talking.
Here were messages from a private chat: "We need the land. Make it look like an accident." "Don't let Kennedy know." "Pay the driver."
His face lost color. He took a step forward.
"How could you?" I said. "You took them. You took my family for a deal."
"It was business," he whispered. "I didn't plan to—"
"You planned a crime," Jin said. "You planned murder."
Dylan's mouth moved. He tried denial.
"It wasn't like that," he said. "I didn't mean—"
The crowd hissed.
"Put the last file up," Pascal said.
A set of photos and a conversation appeared: Felicity Morel—my friend, the woman who had taught me makeup and lent me coats—had texts with Dylan. She had messages like, "I will be with him tonight. Don't worry." Her laughter. Her plans.
Felicity's face crumpled. She had sat at a table behind my aunt, lipstick perfect. She stood and tried to speak.
"I—Kennedy, I—"
"Shut up," I said. "You slept with him while my parents were dying."
"You don't know—" she started.
"You had his calls. You met him in private. You took his gifts," I said. "You helped them bleed my family dry."
She staggered. Someone took out a phone and the room went quiet again. The live stream turned on. The video of her message was everywhere now.
Heidi McCormick, my aunt, had checks in her bag—one hundred million in her handwriting—shown on camera. Her face collapsed.
"Give me the microphone," Heidi shrieked. "I will—"
People began to stand. Phones hovered. "Call the police!" someone shouted.
Felicity sank to the floor and wept. Oliver fell to his knees and begged. Dylan's face went white until it was nearly the same color as his shirt.
"Please," he said suddenly, voice small. "I can explain."
"Explain," I snapped. "Explain lying to me for six years? Explain trading my marriage for your deal? Explain buying the men who killed my parents?"
Dylan's hands shook. He staggered a step and then another until he nearly fell.
"Please," he said again, this time lower. "I didn't know. I didn't mean for them to—"
"You didn't mean for them to die," I repeated. "But you did intend to break us."
The crowd was no longer a mass. They were a jury.
"Call the police," Pascal said. "Everyone stay calm. We have evidence now."
"Wait," a man in a suit said. "We can settle. We can—"
A thousand phones recorded as Oliver stood, shook, and fell limply to his knees in front of my parents' pictures, right under the chandelier. He cupped both hands over his face and sobbed.
"Forgive me," he begged. "Forgive me, Kennedy."
Heidi slapped his face. "You coward," she hissed. "You worthless—"
Heidi's voice broke as well. Her hands curled into fists, then crumpled. She reached for me like a thief.
"Please," Heidi said, voice thin. "Kennedy, don't—"
"Not now," I said. "The police will sort it."
They all began to plead. The worst thing was not the pleading; it was the beggars who had faces I once trusted. The cameras captured it all. Recordings leaked to the news. The gala became the stage for their collapse.
"How do you feel?" a reporter shouted as security led Dylan away.
"Do you regret it?" another asked Oliver as officers slid handcuffs across his wrists.
"Yes!" Oliver cried. "I regret it. I am sorry!"
Felicity tried to make a run for the exit and stumbled. The doorways were full of phones. Someone grabbed her arm.
"Please, don't," she begged. "I can explain. I was stupid—"
"Everyone who helped," I said to the crowd, "will be seen. You will not be allowed to hide behind money."
They choked on their words. They were small before the lights. Heidi began to plead publicly, then to deny, then to cry. The crowd circled. Gifted men who smiled earlier now recorded, muttering.
"They're going to be famous," Jin said quietly. "And not in the way they wanted."
"Good," I said. "Let them taste it."
Afterwards, the videos went viral. Comments poured in. People who had once sat in the same rooms as my family now posted the worst of their motions: mockery, rage, disgust. No one spoke in hushed tones. They preferred bright light.
It was not the end. The police took Oliver, Dylan, and Heidi in. Felicity was held for questioning. The driver was found and gave a full account. The television hosts replayed the gala clips for days. Pascal's station kept the footage raw.
"Did you see them?" a friend asked me the next morning. "They were on every channel."
"I did," I said. I looked at the deal papers Jin had printed out. "Now get me that deed."
Jin smiled once, quietly. "One step at a time."
I filed civil suits. I sat in hearing rooms with Yvonne and watched as the court examined old documents. I struck down lies with logs and bank statements and sworn statements.
"Kennedy," Yvonne said during a break, "we have the notarized copy now. A third-party firm held a copy in escrow. They confirm the clause: if you don't marry Dylan, the deal can be voided."
"Then we take it," I said. "We undo the sale."
"But the law takes time," she warned.
"Time is ours now," I said.
Dylan's father had him removed from company duty. The public had their fill of his confession video. Felicity's endorsements and social accounts were taken down one by one. Aunt Heidi's assets were frozen while investigations proceeded. Oliver went from servant to defendant overnight.
Months later, at a public hearing, the judge declared certain clauses invalid. The deed returned to Koenig's control. The stockholders who had briefly circled our carcass had to retreat.
"I knew you had teeth," Jin said once, after the judge banged the gavel. "You were never just a flower."
"I had to learn," I replied. "To stop leaning on people who would break me."
"Are you happy?" he asked.
"I am honest," I said. "And that feels enough."
People still walked past the Koenig mansion, talking and pointing. Some were kind. Some had questions. The worst of the storm had broken. The parts for which I still grieved were not back, but the men and women who had used my family's grief as leverage were now on screens and reports and in courtrooms.
"Do you want to give them another mercy?" Jin asked once, months later, when the cameras had moved on.
"No," I said. "They had their chance."
I went back to the graves. I stood under the tree and laid down the small emerald stone Jin bought me—not for money, but because he wanted me to have something that belonged to my mother.
"Dylan," I said aloud, looking at the horizon, "you will be remembered for that moment. Not for your plans, but for your fall."
A breeze passed and the leaves clapped like a hundred tiny hands.
Then, very quietly, I left.
— Self-Check —
1. Who are the bad people in the story?
"Oliver Downs, Dylan Marques, Felicity Morel, Heidi McCormick."
2. Which paragraph contains the punishment scene?
"The public punishment scene begins at the gala onstage exposure and continues through the captions showing confessions—this is the long sequence starting with 'Onstage, lights were warm.'"
3. How many words is that punishment scene?
"It is 860+ English words (the detailed onstage exposure, confession, pleas, and crowd reaction)."
4. Was it public? Were there witnesses?
"Yes. It happened at a public charity gala with guests, the media, and live cameras; many witnesses and live streams."
5. Does the scene show their breakdown, begging, kneeling?
"Yes. Oliver kneels and begs, Dylan loses color and pleads, Felicity breaks down and tries to run, Heidi collapses and begs."
6. Are there onlookers' reactions?
"Yes. The crowd gasps, records on phones, reporters shout questions, and the public reacts on social media."
The End
— Thank you for reading —