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The reply arrives at three in the morning, a simple, unadorned message containing only a set of coordinates and a time, tomorrow at 2 PM.

The coffee shop Kevin selected is loud and bustling, a chaotic symphony of grinding beans, steamed milk, and dozens of conversations. It is the perfect urban camouflage, a place where two people meeting will not draw a second glance, where security cameras capture too many faces to be of any real use. I arrive early, my nerves a tangled knot in my stomach. I order a coffee I know I will not drink and take a seat in a corner booth that offers a clear view of the entrance. He slides into the seat across from me exactly on time, without a word of introduction. He is in his mid-twenties and so unremarkable that he is remarkable, the kind of person you would forget moments after passing on the street. I realize the anonymity is his armor, a carefully constructed defense against a world that never forgets a face.

“You are Nicky Chang,” he says, his voice a low, steady monotone. It is a statement, not a question. “The psycho ex-girlfriend.”

“That is what they call me,” I reply, my voice tight.

“Is it true?” His eyes are sharp and assessing, seeming to peel back the layers of my carefully composed exterior. “Are you unhinged, obsessive, all the things he claimed?”

“No.”

“Prove it.”

I slide my phone across the table, the screen unlocked. I have prepared for this moment, organizing everything into a single, protected folder. The real screenshots, unedited and timestamped, show Louis’s messages to three different girls during our relationship. The emails reveal his premeditated plans to lie and deceive. The texts show him coaching his friends on what to say if I ever asked questions. Kevin scrolls through the evidence, his expression a careful, unreadable blank. When he finishes, he pushes the phone back toward me.

“Louis Cole,” he says, a flicker of something dark and ancient crossing his face. “It is a small world.”

“You know him?” I ask, surprised.

“Our paths have crossed.” Kevin’s voice remains steady, but his knuckles are white where he grips his paper cup. “I have been tracking him for over a year, waiting for an opening. Your video was that opening.” He leans forward slightly. “About eighteen months ago, Louis was brought in as a marketing consultant on a software project I was developing. He saw its potential, and he stole it. The code, the concept, my documentation. He claimed it as his own work and sold it to a company called DataTrace Analytics. When I tried to fight back, he did to me what he did to you. He destroyed my reputation in every tech community that mattered, painting me as a jealous, unstable contractor.”

Can I trust this person? The question screams in my mind. He could be anyone, another manipulator trying to use my desperation. “How do I know you are telling the truth?”

He pulls out his own phone and shows me a series of faded photographs of a younger, more optimistic version of himself standing next to a smiling Louis at a tech conference. Then he shows me the legal letters, the cease and desist orders from DataTrace’s lawyers. “I lost everything because of him,” Kevin says, his voice laced with a cold fury that mirrors my own. “That is how you know you can trust me. This is not just your fight anymore.”

My hands are shaking. “So you will help me?”

“I will partner with you,” he corrects. “This is not charity. I want him dismantled as much as you do. But you must understand what you are agreeing to, Nicky. This is not about posting another tearful video. This is digital demolition. We will take apart everything he has built, piece by piece, until nothing remains but the truth.”

“I want that,” I say, the words feeling more real than anything I have said in months.

“Do you?” His gaze is intense, unwavering. “To defeat someone like Louis, you must think like him. You must manipulate narratives, plant information, and use people. Your first video failed because you were honest and emotional. The internet does not reward honesty. It rewards strategy.”

The old me, the Nicky from before the video, would have hesitated. That version of me believed in justice and the inherent power of truth. That Nicky is gone, buried under an avalanche of digital hate.

“Teach me,” I say, my voice firm and clear.

Kevin studies me for a long moment, a silent assessment passing between us. Then he nods. “First lesson is to forget what you think you know about social media. It is not about being right. It is about controlling the story. Louis understands that online, perception becomes reality. He did not prove you were lying. He made you seem unreliable and unstable. Once he planted that seed, the evidence no longer mattered.”

I think of Louis’s manufactured smile, his sponsorship deals, and his millions of adoring followers. I think of my destroyed career and my ghost-like existence.

“Yes,” I say. “I am ready.”

“Good.” Kevin stands, his movements economical and precise. “Go home. Tomorrow, your education begins.”