Chapter 279

The studio lights glared, casting a surreal glow as the cameras began to roll. My heart pounded like a drumbeat, resonating through my chest. I found myself seated across from Bette Frieman and could barely keep my hands and legs from shaking. Her warm smile was reassuring amidst the sea of faces in the live audience.

"Evie, it's a pleasure to have you here today," Bette greeted me, her demeanor radiating warmth and ease.

My throat tightened, and for a fleeting moment, I felt frozen in place. The weight of the live audience's expectant gazes bore down on me. I struggled to compose myself, battling the overwhelming sensation of being under a microscope.

"Bette, thank you. I'm honored to be here," I managed to reply, my voice betraying the nerves coursing through me.

Bette leaned in, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Let's dive right in, shall we? The Erickson case has been making headlines on and off for a while now. Can you shed some light on your involvement and the intricacies of the case?"

The mention of the Erickson case brought forth a torrent of memories and emotions. I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves. "It was a complex case involving corporate malpractice and ethical breaches. My role was to uncover the truth and seek justice for the affected parties, seeing as I was one of the ones affected."

Bette nodded, encouraging me to delve deeper. "And how did you navigate the challenges in pursuing this case?"

As I recounted the research process, my confidence grew. Bette's probing questions drew out the details, and I found myself speaking more freely about the complexities of the legal battles and the emotional toll it took.

Then, with Bette's gentle nudging, I found myself unexpectedly sharing personal aspects of my life. "It wasn't just about the case. There were personal struggles too—like my mom's abandonment and the conflicts I faced with the Fitzgeralds."

Bette leaned forward, her eyes filled with empathy. "Evie, would you care to elaborate on those conflicts?"

My heart raced at the prospect of revealing these personal layers on live television. I hesitated for a moment, weighing my words carefully. But Bette's understanding demeanor coaxed me to open up.

"I... I had a tumultuous relationship with my mother. She left us when I was young, and it left a void in my life," I admitted, my voice quivering with raw emotion.

Bette nodded sympathetically, prompting me to continue.

"And the Fitzgeralds... they're a powerful family with whom I had professional dealings. I’m sure you all now about my case against Mr. Fitzgerald, who was Timothy’s hockey club leader at the time.”

There was a collective hum amongst the audience, some people nodding in recognition. I felt a flicker of pride, knowing how far I’d come, though I seemed to have wound up right back under that man’s thumb.

“But there were clashes, misunderstandings, and struggles to find common ground," I continued. “And given my past home life, I somehow knew how to navigate them.”

The weight of my confession hung heavy in the air, a vulnerability I hadn't intended to expose.

"Bette, the Fitzgeralds are corrupt," I declared, the words spilling out with a mix of conviction and apprehension. "Mr. Fitzgerald and his colleague, Mr. Kamran Hayes, have tampered with the justice system, attempting to soil my name and manipulate the truth."

Bette's eyes widened slightly, recognizing the gravity of the accusation. The studio audience murmured, caught in the sudden turn of events.

"They're no different from Mr. Erickson," I continued, my voice unwavering. "Powerful men using their influence to crush the weak, all in the name of protecting their own interests."

I hesitated for a moment, debating whether to delve into the tragedy of Stella's death, but I held back, choosing to focus on the immediate issue at hand. Accusing them of corruption was enough of a challenge.

My heart raced, my mind a whirlwind of emotions. Despite my resolve, concern gnawed at me. Timothy hadn't answered my calls, and my thoughts lingered on whether he was watching the show, despite being at work. I rationalized that he must have been too busy to answer, hoping he'd catch a glimpse of the interview somehow.

As I continued to speak out against the Fitzgeralds, there was a sudden disturbance among the audience. Murmurs and gasps filled the studio as people reached for their phones, their expressions a mix of shock, curiosity, and skepticism.

Bette, sensing the tension, tried to steer the conversation, but the atmosphere crackled with an electrifying intensity. The spotlight was on me, and the weight of my words hung in the air like an impending storm.

I glanced around, trying to gauge the audience's reaction, and saw a spectrum of responses—a few nodding in agreement, some in disbelief, and others exchanging whispers, unsure of what to make of my accusations.

A surge of anxiety gripped me. Had I said too much? Were my accusations against the powerful Fitzgeralds too bold? My mind raced with doubt and apprehension, but it was too late to retract my words. The truth had been spoken, and I stood by my convictions.

Bette tried to redirect the conversation, but the disruption in the audience persisted. The energy in the studio was charged, emotions running high, and the unexpected turn of events had sparked a fervor among the audience members.

Just as I attempted to regain my composure, a sudden commotion rippled through the audience. Murmurs rose, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of phones being retrieved from pockets and bags. I glanced around, perplexed by the sudden disturbance.

Bette's poised expression faltered momentarily as she glanced at the audience, her brow furrowed with confusion. "Is everything alright?" she inquired into her earpiece.

The spectators wore expressions of mixed emotions—some held their phones aloft, capturing the moment, while others regarded me with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. The sudden shift in the atmosphere sent a chill down my spine, an unsettling feeling of being scrutinized, judged.

"What's happening?" I whispered to Bette, my voice trembling with apprehension.

Bette’s eyes widened in alarm as she scanned the audience, her expression mirroring my unease. "I don't know, Evie. Something's not right."

Before I could react, Bette effortlessly continued her line of questioning. I struggled to maintain my composure, my mind oscillating between the ongoing conversation and the disturbing disturbance amongst the audience. The mere thought of Timothy's absence loomed over me like a dark cloud, an unspoken fear gnawing at the edges of my consciousness.

In the midst of our discussion, a stage manager darted out, whispering into Bette's ear. Bette's demeanor remained surprisingly composed as she nodded in response, seamlessly continuing the conversation. But I noticed a subtle shift in her expression, a fleeting glimpse of concern that mirrored the turmoil within me.

"Evie, tell us about your future plans in law. Where do you see yourself heading?" Bette's voice cut through the studio's atmosphere, urging me to respond.

The weight of the question coupled with the audience's piercing stares made it hard to concentrate. "I... I want to make a difference, to fight for justice," I replied, my voice faltering slightly.

Finally, as the segment drew to a close, Bette guided me offstage, her reassuring presence offering a brief moment of relief. I exhaled a silent sigh, grateful for the reprieve from the scrutinizing audience.

Unable to contain the mounting anxiety any longer, I turned to Bette, desperation etched in my voice. "What's going on, Bette? Something's not right."

Bette's expression softened, a trace of sympathy flickering in her eyes. She hesitated for a moment, choosing her words carefully before delivering the crushing blow.

"Evie, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but... Timothy has been arrested for the murder of Stella Fitzgerald."