“He offered me that money,” I said, my voice rising to fill the room, “to buy my silence. To buy my praise. To use my survival as a prop for his political campaign.”

“Emily, stop!” Thomas shouted, his voice cracking, barely carrying.

“Let me show you the family values of Thomas Higgins,” I said. I looked back toward the booth. “Parasite.”

Mark hit the button. My microphone cut out. The spotlights snapped off, dropping me into shadow.

A second later the forty-foot projector screen behind me flared to life, and a collective gasp ripped through two thousand people.

On the screen was a high-resolution scan of the document from Room 314, the title highlighted in aggressive yellow: VOLUNTARY RELINQUISHMENT OF PARENTAL RIGHTS.