Henry dropped his eyes, the picture of wounded innocence. "Grace, let it go. Elmer's probably still angry with me."
Somebody on the streaming crew muttered under their breath, "That vet's a real piece of work. No wonder people online say the shelter lets in anyone."
Grace's hand closed around my wrist. Not hard, just enough to make me let go of the cage door. "Two minutes of filming. Don't blow this out of proportion."
Henry took the opening and hauled the puppy out. It thrashed against the pain, claws catching in his shirt cuff.
Distaste flickered in his eyes, and his fingers suddenly opened.
The puppy hit the marble floor hard. The sutures split, and blood welled up fast.
I dropped down and pressed on the wound, shouting to Director Shelton, "Gauze, epinephrine, now!"
Henry shrieked and stumbled back. The camera lurched wildly, and before the stream cut out, the comment feed had already filled with accusations.
Grace had gone pale, but her first move was to steady Henry. "Did it scratch you?"
Director Shelton came running with the first-aid kit, but the faint heartbeat under my hands had already stopped.
I looked up at her, hands soaked in blood. "Grace. It's dead."
She glanced at the blood on the floor, avoided my eyes, and lowered her voice. "Damage control first."
Half an hour later, Henry posted a long statement hinting that the shelter had mishandled things, that he'd only been an innocent bystander lending a hand.
The abuse poured in online. The shelter's phone rang off the hook.
I went to pull the security footage, but the computer showed the file was corrupted. The tech guy's face was grim. "Somebody accessed the system remotely."
Grace's call came right after. Her tone was even. "Elmer, you posted the statement, right?"
I gripped the mouse. "What statement?"
She was quiet for a moment, like she was coaxing someone who didn't know any better. "Henry's about to sign a major endorsement deal. There can't be anything negative attached to him. You take the fall on this for now."
I opened my work account and saw an apology posted under my name.
It said I'd been careless, that my training methods were rough, that I'd frightened the puppy and caused it to fall to its death.
Grace kept going. "Once this blows over, I'll buy you a big place downtown. The wedding goes ahead as planned, and I'll change the invitations back."
I hit record on the call and asked, "My account. You logged into it?"
She said, "Your password's one of the same few you always use. I posted it for you. It's more presentable than anything you'd have written yourself."
I let out a short laugh. "How thoughtful of you."
Grace thought I'd softened. Her voice eased. "Behave, and once this is over, your place as the man of the Gilbert family is still yours."
The uproar kept building. Someone set a funeral wreath outside the clinic, and a sign was stuck to the glass: DOG-ABUSING VET, GET OUT.
Director Shelton shielded me as we headed for the back door, his eyes rimmed red with panic. "Elmer, lie low for a while. I'll figure something out."
I wheeled my suitcase out, pulled the SIM card as I went, snapped it in two, and dropped it in the trash.
I'd bought the ticket to Lhasa a while ago anyway. It was as good a time as any to go see that highland wildlife rescue project Director Shelton had recommended.
The train gave a jolt, and the phone hooked into the car's public WiFi buzzed.
In the dark, someone using an unfamiliar account had sent me a high-definition video.
