Chapter 1

My dad rescued a troubled girl by the river, and got smeared for it—accused of being a dirty old man.

The girl's mother brought a mob to block the entrance of my dad's workplace, demanding $600,000 in compensation.

My mother broke down and begged me to admit fault and settle privately.

"Your dad can't afford this kind of disgrace."

My dad's students cut all ties with him.

The leaders at the design institute urged my dad to resign on his own.

Everyone told us to just let it go.

I didn't argue. I accepted the summons.

At the hearing, I played the footage from the dashcam.

It was the whole thing—my dad pulling that girl out of the river.

Every single one of them got slapped in the face, hard.

"Your daughter jumped into the river herself."

"It was my dad who saved her."

"Now it's our turn to sue for damages."

1

My mom sent me a message:

"Someone's making a scene at your dad's workplace! They're even calling him a dirty old man!"

I froze.

My dad? A dirty old man?

A local news alert popped up on my phone:

"Aiden Head, senior engineer at Broadbridge Design Institute, harassed by a troubled young girl, lost his temper and shoved her into the river!"

A photo was attached below.

My dad had his arms around the waist of a girl in a school uniform.

The girl had heavy makeup and bleached hair—the troubled-girl look.

The comments section had already exploded.

"Old wage slave loses it and gropes a young girl in his old age. Absolutely disgusting."

"Aiden Head? The guy who's always on TV reviewing bids? What a hypocrite."

"Old bull grazing on tender grass. That's a real crime."

"Just execute him and save the old man his coffin money."

I grabbed a cab straight to the design institute where my dad works.

A red banner with white lettering had been strung up over the main gate:

"Aiden Head, a beast in human clothing, an old bull grazing on tender grass, who shoved a girl into the river—justice for my daughter!"

A dozen or so men and women stood nearby, all strangers.

A middle-aged woman in a red coat stood at the front, wailing:

"$600,000! Not a penny less!"

"If he doesn't pay, I'll put him in jail! I'll ruin his good name in his final years!"

"He'll carry this crime with him into his coffin!"

Onlookers held up their phones filming, packed several layers deep.

I pushed through the crowd and found my dad.

He was standing right in front of the revolving door, his whole face gone gray.

I squeezed in beside him and grabbed his arm.

"Dad!"

He looked up at me.

"Sonia..."

"I was saving her!"

"I was fishing, and I saw a girl about to jump into the river, so I ran over and pulled her back."

"I said a few words to her, and I thought that was the end of it."

"I don't know how anyone got that photo, or how it turned into all this..."

An old guy nearby holding up his phone shouted:

"Saving her? Then why were you grabbing her around the waist?"

I was furious. Is there a proper way you're supposed to hold someone when you save their life?

Nobody believed a single word my dad said.

I knew what he was thinking.

My dad had lived his whole life with dignity.

For years the wall of his study had held an "Exemplary Teacher" plaque, and the students he'd taught still texted him every holiday.

He was retiring next year, with a pension of $12,000 a month.

He'd been planning to take my mom down south for a month-long trip.

But now this had happened, and it shattered everything.

From the local forums to the short-video apps, the headlines got more vicious by the one.

The hashtag "Troubled girl harassed by old man" had climbed to number four on the local trending list.

The woman in the red coat was named Clara Norris, the mother of that "troubled girl," Jemima Norris.

She let out another howl:

"Your whole family is shameless! If you don't pay up, I'll sue you into bankruptcy!"

There were no surveillance cameras along that river.

The exact spot where my dad had been fishing was a blind spot.

No one could prove his innocence.

And in this day and age, a single word from a fifty-nine-year-old man counts for less than a photo with the beginning and end cropped off.

Then it hit me—last month I'd installed a dashcam on the little electric cart my dad drives out to go fishing.

He hadn't been home at the time, and I'd forgotten to tell him about it.

I hurried to check the dashcam footage, and only then did I feel relieved.

Clara Norris, the girl's mother, took a couple of steps after me and shouted at my back:

"Not paying?"

"The summons will be at your house tomorrow! You just wait!"

"$600,000 to buy back your dad's good name in his old age—you're getting off cheap!"

The dashcam had captured it all, clear as day: my dad rescuing the girl, and the girl walking away on her own.

Fine. This summons—I'll take it.

But the charges of extortion, insult, and defamation—those you'll be taking too.