Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 329

Of course, someone must have paid off those social media accounts. Otherwise, why would every influencer suddenly be parroting the exact same talking points? And there’s no way this could have shot up the trending charts so fast without someone spending good money to make it happen. After all, none of them are even remotely famous—things like this don’t go viral overnight unless someone’s pulling the strings.

Now that Emma and Larson had been branded with the labels of “trust-fund brat” and “wage slave,” the internet’s sympathy for the working class exploded. The whole comment section was filled with people calling Larson and Emma heartless, out-of-touch elites.

It went further: Some people even started calling for a boycott of the Rossi Corporation’s expansion into Cresthaven, accusing them of being foreign investors here to suck the place dry.

Renee said a few of their classmates tried to defend her in the comments, but their words were instantly drowned out by a tidal wave of angry replies. It was like shouting into a hurricane.

Emma scrolled through the comments, her expression calm as she spotted all those anonymous, zero-follower accounts posting the exact same long-winded rants. She knew right away—someone had paid for bots to stir things up.

When Larson got home, he found her glued to her phone. His first instinct was to snatch it away.

Emma quickly held it out of his reach, refusing to let him take it.

So, he already knew.

“You found out and didn’t tell me?” she shot him a deliberately accusatory look.

Larson just smiled. “Kids shouldn’t be looking at this toxic stuff.”

Emma: …

“I want to see it. In fact, I’m sending it to Theodore.” She hit forward without a second thought.

A moment ago, she’d been anxious—what if Theodore dug his heels in and refused to get a divorce tomorrow? But now, after all this, would he even have the nerve?

Larson saw she was unfazed, and finally relaxed. “I was only worried you’d be upset.”

Emma shook her head. Did he think she was some delicate flower, wilting at the first storm? This was nothing.

Somewhere else, Theodore’s phone buzzed.

He glanced down—Emma had sent him a message.

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