Father’s face darkened, the veins in his temple bulging under the afternoon sun.

He didn’t look at the board member anymore.

He didn’t look at Chloe.

He only looked at the microphone in my hand.

A silence fell over the manicured lawn.

Only the low hum of the pool filter remained.

Then, I saw the first phone go up.

It was Mrs. Gable, holding her gold iPhone at chest level, the camera lens pointed directly at my face.

Beside her, two of Chloe’s tennis teammates did the same, their faces illuminated by the screens.

The small red recording dots on their displays seemed to glow in the bright afternoon sun.

“Put that down, Maya,” Father said again, his voice dropping to a low hiss.

He took two quick steps toward me.

His leather shoes squeaked on the damp patio stone.

“This is a family matter,” he said, looking at the phones out of the corner of his eye.

“You are making a fool of yourself.”

“I am telling the truth,” I said into the microphone.

My voice boomed through the speakers mounted on the cedar pergola.