The Prize Giant Pumpkin Broken In The Autumn Frost Patch
CHAPTER 3: THE SCREEN GOES COLD
Bianca stood on the gravel apron beside the patrol cruiser, her manicured fingers clawing at the screen of her iPhone as notifications began pinging like machine-gun fire.
Her live broadcast was still running, but the viewer count had crossed seven hundred and fifty thousand. Across the chat window, the scrolling text was a blur of condemnation, memes, and corporate boycott tags:
#CANCELBIANCA
HER HEEL KICKED A $3,200 PUMPKIN.
TOTAL CLOUT CHASER DESTROYS FAMILY FARM.
LOOK AT HER CRYING TO THE DEPUTY.
A loud, distinct three-tone chime echoed from Bianca’s pocket.
She opened the notification. It was an urgent, automated push alert from the brand management platform of Kinetix Talent Group, her digital agency in Manhattan.
Dex walked up beside her, holding his phone in a trembling hand. “Bianca… look at your email.”
Bianca snatched the phone. The email was from the Vice President of Global Partnerships at Autumn Ridge Apparel, the high-end outdoor fashion brand that paid Bianca forty thousand dollars a year to wear their designer puffers and boots on social media.
The message was brutal, formal, and devastating:
“Dear Miss Sterling: In light of the verified livestream broadcast depicting deliberate trespassing and criminal destruction of agricultural property at Callahan Farm in Warwick, New York, Autumn Ridge Apparel hereby exercises our immediate right of termination under Section 12 (Moral Turpitude and Illegal Conduct) of your Ambassador Agreement. All pending sponsorship payments are canceled, and our legal team has been instructed to seek indemnification for brand reputation impairment. Please remove all brand tags from your social media profiles immediately.”
Bianca gasped, dropping the phone onto the gravel. “No… no, no, no! They can’t do this! That was my primary winter contract!”
A second notification flashed: Nordic Skin Care has unlinked their affiliate account.
A third: Hudson Valley Tourism Board has revoked your press pass.
“Dex, turn off the stream!” Bianca screamed, lunging at the cameraman with her hands clawing for the phone. “Turn it off right now! Turn it off!”
“It’s already off, Bianca,” Dex said quietly, taking half a step backward and unhooking the microphone receiver from his belt. “I ended the feed thirty seconds ago. But it doesn’t matter. Over sixty thousand people screen-recorded the kick. It’s the number-one trending video on TikTok right now.”
Dex unzipped his heavy camera bag, pulled out a small black plastic protective case, and opened it. Inside were two high-speed SanDisk extreme memory cards containing the uncompressed 4K raw video and dual-channel directional audio from the shoot.
Dex walked over to Deputy Brennan, who was writing out the formal appearance ticket on the hood of his patrol car.
“Deputy Brennan,” Dex said, his voice steady, though his hands shook slightly. “My name is Dexter Miller. I am an independent freelance videographer hired by Kinetix Talent. I want to voluntarily surrender the raw, unedited camera files as primary state evidence. The audio tracks contain Miss Sterling explicitly reading the private property warning sign before she entered the enclosure, and her discussion about provoking a confrontation with the landowner to boost her algorithmic metrics.”
Bianca let out an ear-splitting shriek of pure betrayal. “Dex! You traitor! I hired you! I paid for your train ticket!”
“You paid me five hundred dollars to shoot a fall foliage reel, Bianca,” Dex replied coldly, without looking at her. “You didn’t pay me to be an accomplice to a felony property crime. I’m not going to jail for your follower count.”
Deputy Brennan took the memory cards, sealed them inside a plastic evidence envelope, and had Dex sign across the tamper-evident adhesive.
“Thank you, Mr. Miller,” Brennan said. “You’ll be listed as a cooperating witness on the incident report.”
Brennan turned back to Bianca, handing her a pink carbon-copy appearance ticket and an official order of protection.
“Bianca Sterling, you are formally cited for Criminal Mischief in the Third Degree, Penal Law 145.05, and Criminal Trespass in the Third Degree, Penal Law 140.10. You are ordered to appear before the Town of Warwick Justice Court on Thursday morning at nine-thirty AM. If you set foot on Callahan Farm again, you will be taken into custody immediately without bail.”
Bianca took the slip of paper, her mascara running in black streaks down her cheeks, staring at the ruined pumpkin lying lifeless in the black dirt.
