“Yes, with enough source audio and access to the right software.
But the existence of software doesn’t prove that happened here.”
“What would prove it?”
“An original file, a source recording, transmission records, or some independent evidence showing the purported speaker couldn’t have made it.”
Alina nodded.
“I appreciate the distinction.”
She slid another photograph forward.
It showed a small portable audio interface on a wood desk, next to a pack of orange cough drops.
The device was common.
The candy was not evidence of anything.
But the desk looked familiar.
I had seen it in Derek’s garage when I returned his borrowed drill last summer.
“That might be his workbench,” I said.
“Whose?”
“Derek Vance’s.
I can’t identify it with certainty from this picture.”
Alina wrote down the qualification as carefully as the observation.
“You’re not under suspicion of holding Molly,” she said.
“But somebody appears to have used your home as a target in a coordinated attempt to frighten Gloria.”
I looked toward Mina.
“Does your client know about this?”
“We have reason to believe the client may be connected,” she said.
“I can’t disclose more without permission.”
That was another phrase I would come to respect.
The right to withhold a private story did not disappear because someone else found the story fascinating.
When I left the station, the sun had fallen behind the old paper mill.
Mina walked with me to my car.
“Would you be comfortable preserving the original equipment in your garage for a voluntary inspection?”
“If my daughter can still come over.”
“We can arrange that.”
I looked at my phone.
Tess had sent three messages asking whether the neighborhood was on the news.
“How did you hear about it?”
I typed.
She replied with a screenshot from a local Facebook group.
Someone had posted a photograph of Gloria grabbing me, with the caption AUDIO GUY CAUGHT HIDING RUNAWAY GIRL.
I felt a different kind of pain beneath my bruised cheek.
It was not just what Gloria believed.
It was how quickly strangers were willing to help her believe it.
The next morning the rumor had reached Tess’s school.
She called me before first period, struggling to keep her voice calm.
“Dad, somebody said you kidnapped Molly Vance.”
“That’s false.”
“I know, but they have a video.”
“The video shows someone attacking me.
It doesn’t show a kidnapping.”
“They cut off the part where the police came.”
I closed my eyes.
“I’m speaking with an attorney, and I’m going to ask the school to help stop the rumor.”
