The studio lights are barely on when Harvey walks in. He doesn’t sit down. He stands there, jaw tight, veins visible in a way that says this isn’t performance. “Welcome to the show, at least on my part. I want to disclose to everybody that my blood is boiling over Donald Trump’s 1.776 billion dollar slush fund that could go to compensate January 6th rioters who injured police officers and were convicted.”

He takes a breath. The producers are already texting each other. This isn’t a bit.

“So, I want to disclose that and then say that our colleague in Washington, D.C., Charlie, seems to also be upset enough to ask Ted Cruz questions about it.”

The control room cue light flashes. Charlie’s face fills the screen. He’s standing somewhere on Capitol Hill, and the light is that ugly fluorescent buzz that makes everyone look like they haven’t slept in three days.

“I am going to go ahead and take credit for this,” Harvey says, pointing at the monitor. “Because I came in with my blood boiling and called Charlie on my way in and said, ‘You need to find people on the hill.’”

The co-host interrupts. “I called Charlie and said, ‘I got it.’ And I didn’t know you called him. I called Charlie, too.”

Harvey doesn’t acknowledge the competition. “What is happening—if this taxpayer money ends up going to January 6th rioters, it is outrageous. So Charlie set about doing exactly that.”

The footage rolls.

Charlie’s voice is calm. Professional. The kind of calm that comes from knowing you’re about to step into a buzzsaw. “Senator Cruz, how are you, mate?”

Ted Cruz looks at the camera. That familiar smirk. The one that says he’s been doing this dance since before Charlie graduated high school. “I’m doing great. It’s good to see you.”

Charlie doesn’t wait. “Hey, I’m a little concerned that January 6th rioters, violent January 6th rioters who were convicted and then pardoned, I’m a little worried that they’re going to be entitled to taxpayer money. That money’s going to come out of my pocket and go into their pockets. Do you think violent, convicted, and then pardoned January 6th rioters should be eligible for this sort of slush fund?”

Ted Cruz doesn’t blink. “You know, I’m not surprised you’re worried about that, but I’m curious—were you worried at all when Joe Biden was weaponizing the Department of Justice?”

Charlie’s voice tightens. “I don’t want to talk about Joe Biden, sir.”

“I know you don’t. I understand you got a political agenda.”

“No, I don’t. I just don’t want to pay January 6th rioters.”

Cruz leans in. The smirk is gone. “Look, I get you get to ask questions. I get to give the answer. I’m giving you my answer.”

“Okay.”

“Which is that you were not remotely concerned when Joe Biden weaponized the Department of Justice to go after his political opponents, to prosecute them, to go after Donald Trump. Trump was indicted not once. Four separate times. It was the greatest abuse of the rule of law in our nation’s history.”

Charlie holds his ground. “Do you think January 6th rioters should be eligible for this money? Yes or no?”

Here’s the hinge. The moment where everything pivots.

Cruz shifts. “I think what the Biden Justice Department did is they prosecuted people who engaged in peaceful protest. I believe—”

“I’m not talking about Biden,” Charlie says, “but you know—”

“If you want me to answer, I’ll be answering. Okay, sure. I believe people who engage should be prosecuted and face consequences. I believe people who engage in peaceful protest are protected under the First Amendment. And I think the Biden Department of Justice deliberately targeted people who engage in peaceful protest. So—”

“Yes or no to my question?”

“By the way, I wrote an entire book on this entitled ‘Justice Corrupted: How the Left Weaponized the Legal System.’”

“Answer my question.”

“And why are you not concerned about the abuse of—”

“Because I’m concerned about this today. Today.”

Cruz’s voice rises. “So you won’t answer the question. Your political agenda is outside—”

“Are you going to answer the question, sir?”

Cruz exhales. Looks away. Then back. “I have answered—”

“You didn’t. Do you think the January 6th rioters are eligible for the slush fund?”

Beat.

“Thanks, Ted.”

The footage cuts back to the studio. Harvey is shaking his head. “There you go. Now, what is fascinating about this is that Ted Cruz did say in the middle that violent protesters should be prosecuted and face consequences. But then Charlie kept saying, ‘Okay, should they get money?’ And he would never answer it. He kept going back to Joe Biden, which is a deflection.”

The co-host nods. “I think he accepts the premise that these violent offenders who were convicted and then pardoned are going to be eligible for it.”

“What does he mean by ‘face the consequences’? The consequences would have been they were convicted and they were sentenced.”

“But there were no consequences because they were pardoned.”

Harvey leans forward. “No, no, but he said they should be convicted and face consequences. Correct.”

“Well, he also said Biden targeted peaceful protesters.”

Harvey waves his hand. “Charlie’s not talking about them. Charlie’s talking about violent protesters. He is talking around it, but he doesn’t want to say they shouldn’t get money. He does not want to say that. And it’s telling.”

“Which is exactly it. It heralds exactly what is going to happen. And we all know it’s going to happen. And I was so angry about this this morning that I thought—I’ve never done this before—but I am going to write a sternly worded letter to my congressman. And then we start talking about it, and I realized my congressman can’t do anything about this, because this was a settlement between the president and the IRS. Congress has no oversight over it. They have no say in who’s going to get the money. That’s going to be decided by a five-member commission where the members are picked by the acting attorney general.”

The number sits there. 1.776 billion dollars.

Not a coincidence. July 4th, 1776. The number is a dog whistle wrapped in a flag. And everyone in the room knows it.

“Well, the eligibility will be up to that five-member body, though. So there is a gatekeeper for who gets the money.”

Harvey isn’t buying it. “And who are those commission members? They’ll be appointed people who are sympathetic to him. He pardoned them already. He pardoned them because even the violent ones he said were unfairly prosecuted and targeted. So we know what’s going to happen.”

The co-host jumps in. “What’s upsetting to me is the violent ones. If you want to say that people in the gray area were peacefully protesting, okay, you can make that argument. But the people who are very clearly violent on camera—that we all watched live that day—they are now going to get taxpayer money on top of the fact that they were pardoned.”

Harvey nods slowly. “Well, Ted’s laying down a marker that he doesn’t want the violent ones to be compensated. But I got to say—Jacob in Washington, D.C., found Representative Randy Fine and was more specific. He said, ‘What about violent protesters on January 6th who injured police officers?’ And he still wouldn’t say no. He wouldn’t say they shouldn’t get it.”

“I don’t know why this is so difficult.”

“Because they don’t want to cross the aisle.”

“This should not be partisan. This should be absolutely bipartisan. Everyone, regardless of party, believes that if you are assaulting police officers or damaging public property at the Capitol and threatening the lives of Congress members, you should not be paid.”

Harvey looks at the camera. “It’s the same people who won’t say that Biden won the election. They have to toe the line.”

The co-host tries to pivot. “Some of the things Biden did—he targeted people.”

“But that’s a deflection to say he weaponized the Justice Department. I agree there is evidence that he did do that. But that’s not about this. We’re asking about January 6th rioters. And it’s like—who are you going to believe? Trump or your lying eyes?”

The room goes quiet for a second.

“The bottom line is that we can’t find a Republican so far. We got other Republicans, and nobody would say they shouldn’t get money. And part of this is today there is a primary where Donald Trump is going after Representative Massie, who voted against him on Epstein. And he has done everything he can, including sending the Secretary of Defense to campaign against him.”

“So that’s where we are in this country.”

Harvey lowers his voice. “And I got to tell you—I talked to somebody yesterday who said, ‘Yeah, give all these people who committed violence against cops money, and boom, Donald Trump creates his own militia.’”

The co-host’s eyes widen. “Oh, jeez. That’s the next step. These people will fight for him. That’s what this is. To set up your own militia. Independent of the U.S. military.”

“I’m just saying. They’ve been pardoned. Why do they need money? So they’ll take up arms for it.”

Harvey doesn’t back down. “It’s, ‘Hey, I got your back.’ I’m just saying this is what people talk about right now. Why is he bending over backwards to give money to these January 6th rioters? Trump will not say no to that. Why is he doing that?”

“And why deal with the political consequences of that unless you have a larger ambition in mind?”

The co-host points at the number on the screen. “By the way, did we mention how much the fund is? 1.776 billion dollars.”

A caller jumps in. Kristen from Dayton, Ohio. Her voice is shaking. “We have to stop acting like Harvey is wrong. This is completely to fund his militia. At the end of the day, these were people who—all of them were violent. There was no non-violent January 6th-er. Everybody was there to create violence, whether it was at the hands or it was the mindset of violent people. This man is working to become a king. This is his militia, and there is no more real government. We’re no longer protected. If these people get money, that’s to empower them to be able to do it again, and they’re going to do it even larger because now they have the funds.”

Harvey lets the silence stretch. “Can you imagine? When people are struggling to afford gas, when they’re calculating where they can drive because it’s too expensive right now, when people who make money are paying a lot to the federal government—and where is that money going? This. Into the pockets of potentially violent offenders.”

“I’d like to say there’s still a chance it’s not going to happen.”

“Please.”

“But I’ve seen this movie.”

“You’ve seen this movie. And I got to tell you—we are in troubled times right now.”

The cue light flashes. Coming up, a very different kind of story. But the camera lingers on Harvey for a second longer than it should. His jaw is still tight. His blood is still boiling. And somewhere in Washington, Ted Cruz is probably already on another show, deflecting another question, smiling another smile.

The machine doesn’t stop.

The screen changes. “A very popular influencer and a singer who had a child together seven years ago. Gabby Gonzalez. She is the travel influencer. Jack Avery is the singer. He used to be in a boy band called Why Don’t We. Big boy band. They had a daughter together seven years ago. Well, now Gabby has been arrested in a murder-for-hire plot.”

The co-host reads from the screen. “She’s been arrested for hiring—conspiring with her father, allegedly—to hire a hitman to kill Jack. And the father, by the way, also arrested. Francisco Gonzalez arrested, Gabby Gonzalez arrested, conspiracy to commit murder against Jack Avery.”

“And this has been going on for about five years. Law enforcement has been working on this case, and they’ve just now made the arrests.”

Harvey shakes his head. “This goes back to 2021, and according to police, there was a custody dispute between Gabby and Jack. Gabby’s family, as one witness put it, was obsessed with getting full custody of their daughter, Lavender. And things got worse and worse. At some point, there is a conversation where the father allegedly said it would just be cheaper if he were dead—referring to Jack.”

“So they set about trying to dirty up Jack. They had a private investigator tailing him, trying to find information that would help them win the custody case. That apparently didn’t pan out. So at some point, they start talking about how they could possibly have him killed. Allegedly.”

The co-host pulls up documents. “There was this guy, Kai, who was described as a friend of Gabby’s. Francisco was communicating with him and transferring, according to cops, $10,000 to him to have him find someone to have Jack killed.”

Ten thousand dollars.

That’s the number. Not 1.776 billion. Not a dog whistle. Just ten grand. The price of a used Honda Civic. The price of a father-in-law’s desperation.

“I talked to someone close to this investigation,” the co-host continues. “A nanny who was a friend and roommate living with Gabby back in 2021 heard about all this. She was privy to all this information. When she found out that they were trying to have him killed, she went to the FBI back in 2021.”

“So she goes to the FBI. The FBI does this big investigation. Actually, Gabby gets married in the middle of all this to a different guy who had no idea this was going on. Three months after they get married in 2022, the FBI raids Gabby and this guy’s home in Hawaii. They take electronics. They interview a bunch of people.”

Harvey interrupts. “So why did it take so long for them to arrest?”

“I’m being told the FBI did a whole investigation, interviewed everyone back in 2022, and have been working on this case. And they didn’t feel like they had enough to charge anyone.”

“Wait a minute. So my understanding early this morning was that there was some alleged middleman who was going to hire a hitman, and the middleman was working with the police. And the would-be killer was actually an officer who had a conversation—”

“They got Francisco, the dad, on the phone. He thinks he’s talking to the hitman they’re going to hire. And it’s actually a federal agent getting all the information from him.”

“So what year is this?”

“This is back in 2021.”

Harvey’s eyes narrow. “So you’ve got a guy on the phone talking to the killer saying, ‘I’ll give you $10,000.’ And why did it take five years?”

Here’s the part that doesn’t make sense. The part that makes people type in all caps.

“According to the person I’m talking to who’s close to this investigation, the FBI, for whatever reason, thought they didn’t have enough to charge anyone. So a year ago, the lead detective brought the case to L.A. County. So they brought the case because his house is in L.A. So the L.A. County Sheriff’s Department then opens up their own investigation this last year, start interviewing everybody, and they build a case. And they’re essentially the ones who arrested them.”

“But why wouldn’t the FBI have done what the L.A. County Sheriff’s did?”

“That’s the only thing we don’t know.”

“It’s just weird.”

The co-host nods. “So during this interim, does Jack know he’s a marked man?”

“He did an interview in September where he talks about it. We should play some of this.”

The footage rolls. Jack Avery, sitting on a podcast set. His voice is steady, but there’s something underneath it. The thing you can’t fake.

“Two agents show up, they drop their badges, and they’re like, ‘We’re the FBI. We would like to talk to Jack if we can.’ And my mom, she’s like, ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa. Is everything fine?’ And they’re like, ‘No, no, Jack hasn’t done anything wrong. We think he’s a victim of something.’”

The interviewer leans in. “So someone hired someone to kill you.”

“I can’t speak on a lot.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Yeah, I’m actually afraid for you. I’m also afraid that Lavender can grow up without a dad. That’s another thing I had to fight for for a long time. Me and her baby mama—we’ve been pretty good recently. It took us a while, but we’re getting there. I’m not trying to put shame on Gabriella. She is a great mom. I won’t lie. She’s an incredible mom. She put her life on hold to have a kid.”

The studio is quiet.

“He says, ‘I can’t talk about it,’” the co-host says. “Meaning he knows things. Now, the question is—because now he’s saying Gabby and I are getting along well now—did he know about her? It feels like he knew about her father and not necessarily her. Or he’s just saying she’s a good mom aside from wanting to kill me.”

Harvey frowns. “Hold on, he didn’t say anything about anyone who—he’s not revealing that. He just filed documents, a restraining order against her, and is trying to get full custody of their daughter.”

“The only thing that makes sense to me is he knew the father was out to get him, at least allegedly, but he must not have known about Gabby because the way he’s talking now is, ‘Oh, we get along now that she doesn’t want to kill me anymore.’”

“But that was in September last year. That was three years after 2021.”

“Right. So it’s like—how are you now ‘we’re getting along fine’ now that you don’t want to kill me?”

Harvey shakes his head. “It is kind of crazy and wild. She’s going to be in court later today, and I’m sure there’s going to be a lot more details coming out.”

A caller from Sydney, Australia, Johan Lanter, chimes in. “Absolutely one of the most interesting things that has happened in recent times. It’s just unbelievable what’s happening in this matter, particularly the pace. It just doesn’t make sense why it took so long for the FBI to bring this case, why it needed to go to Los Angeles. The timeline just doesn’t gel. It makes no sense.”

Harvey looks at the co-host. They both have the same expression. The one that says they’ve been doing this long enough to know that the official story is never the whole story.

“God, I’m so jealous of your beard,” the co-host says suddenly, completely off-script.

The tension breaks. Laughter.

“Can you just like twirl it? I always see that in the movies. I love it.”

“Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it. But yeah, wild story, right? Completely taken everyone by surprise.”

“Coming up. Taylor and Travis are tying the knot this summer.”

The screen fills with photos of Travis Kelce and Taylor Swift. The control room lights shift. This is the palate cleanser. The thing that reminds you that not every story is about murder-for-hire plots or 1.776 billion dollar slush funds.

“Taylor and Travis are tying the knot this summer. I’m sorry, Taylor What’s her name? I forget the last—”

“All right, Travis Kelce. Right, right.”

“They’re tying the knot this summer. And they are very wealthy people. She is worth $2 billion, that’s the estimate. He’s worth only $90 million. So a lot of money is on the line. And we know that most celebrities—not all of them, but most—get prenups. People that wealthy, before they tie the knot.”

“So the question is—if they get a prenup—the way the law works is that if you sign a prenup, it’s almost always put in there that the law of the state where you sign it is going to govern, regardless of where you end up living. And that’s relevant because there are certain states that will really strictly enforce prenups, and then there are other states where they’ll say, ‘Eh, not so fast. Maybe it can be challenged.’”

“So the question is—where did Travis and Taylor decide to sign if they indeed do have a prenup?”

The co-host grins. “They have a lot of options because they own a lot of different properties. You got to minus California. We’re told that California’s not happening. So the five states you have left are Tennessee, Kansas, Missouri, New York, and she has that house in Rhode Island as well.”

“So out of all those, the one that’s going to benefit Taylor the most—because she’s the one coming in with the most money—is going to be Rhode Island. Because they tend to strictly enforce these prenups. New York is the least desirable because they can often be challenged.”

“And that’s what they’re looking for. Both sides kind of want the states where prenups are enforced. Because they both have agreed—their lawyers would have agreed—that this is what’s best for both of you in case of a breakup. Which would never happen.”

“Right. Which would never happen.”

There’s a pause. The kind where everyone knows they’re lying.

“There’s also a dilemma,” the co-host says. “A prenup kind of takes the romance out of the relationship a little bit. It’s a hard discussion to have.”

“It’s not about romance. It’s about—”

“But you’re saying, ‘Look, if we break up, if this ends in divorce, here’s how I’m going to get out of this thing.’”

“People do it every day. But the rub here to me is like Jen and Ben. I could see her saying, ‘Oh, this is going to be forever.’ Even though it’s the second time they were engaged.”

“She’s had three marriages before, and he’s had one. ‘Oh, this is a forever marriage. So what’s the point of having one?’”

“But they both thought this was it because they had come back together after so long.”

Harvey leans in. “Does Taylor Swift view this as a forever marriage?”

“Absolutely. Definitely. And I would say he doesn’t want to talk about that.”

“So is it possible—because remember, what they bring into the marriage is still theirs. It’s separate property unless it’s marital. So is it possible that they would say to each other, ‘You know what? You’ve got your $2 billion, I’ve got my $90 million. What we make from this point forward is ours. We’re going to live together forever in happiness, and we’re not going to have a prenup.’ Is it possible?”

“No way.”

“His father isn’t going to let him—”

“Taylor’s father doesn’t control Taylor.”

“I know he doesn’t control her, but he’s an advisor. And there’s no way that he would—he’d say, ‘I love Travis. He’s great. I’m sure you guys will be together forever. You don’t want this hanging over your head.’”

Harvey shakes his head. “She’s a romantic. She writes about it. She’s written about it since she was a kid. And this is her fairy tale romance and forever husband.”

“She’s also been a business woman for a long time. And she has been screwed over in business deals.”

“Yes. She’s going to have a prenup.”

A caller from Oregon, Liz, jumps in. Her voice is fast, like she’s been waiting for this moment. “No matter what state they file in, I hope there is some kind of Swifty clause in their prenup. Because Taylor’s fans are notoriously protective, and if they divorce and if he does her dirty, they are going to come for him so hard. And I don’t think there’s a prenup in the world that can protect him from that.”

Harvey laughs. “He would want—his lawyers would say, ‘If we break up, you must make a public statement to the Swifties asking them to leave Travis alone.’”

“That’s the only clause he wants.”

“Take all the money, but protect me from the Swifties.”

The room laughs. But underneath it, something real. Because the Swifties aren’t a joke. They’re a force of nature. And everyone knows it.

The screen changes again. The tone shifts. This one is heavier.

“A young woman who was 17 at the time crashed in her car as she was driving with two friends. The two friends were killed. She survived. And she is now serving two life sentences for the murders of her friends.”

The co-host reads from the screen. “Her father, Steve Schirripa, was suspended from his job. Steve is joining us now.”

Steve’s face appears. He looks tired. The kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix.

“Well, a new Netflix documentary has a lot of people taking a closer look at this infamous case from 2022. The case of Mackenzie Schirripa. The documentary is called ‘The Crash.’ And this is about a young woman who was 17 and crashed her car while driving with two friends. The two friends were killed. She survived. And she is now serving two life sentences.”

“In the documentary, there are a lot of people speaking about Mackenzie and what led up to the crash, including her father. And the day after the documentary came out this past weekend, on Monday, her father, Steve Schirripa, was suspended from his job. He is an arts and digital media teacher at a Catholic school in Cleveland. And they have suspended him because of things he said in this documentary.”

“Steve, welcome.”

Steve nods. “Hi.”

“Steve, in the documentary, there is a lot about marijuana. Your daughter had used marijuana, and you—at least the way it was portrayed—didn’t have a problem. And that may have contributed to the crash. Because she apparently didn’t even try to apply the brakes, and she was going extremely fast. On the marijuana side, which seems pretty relevant, what do you say?”

Steve’s voice is measured. Careful. “In the documentary, that is part of a longer answer. That was one part of—and I can’t remember what the question was because the documentary people had interviewed us for two days straight and then came back and did more interviews. So there was a lot of questions answered. My answer wasn’t in support of marijuana. I wasn’t saying I’m smoking marijuana. What I was saying is that who am I to say who can smoke and who can’t smoke? Now, I never allowed my daughter to smoke marijuana. How was I stopping her? I can’t lock her up in her room. I’m not quite sure where there’s a problem with what I said. It was never, ‘Hey, everybody go smoke marijuana.’ I don’t understand why the documentary felt the need to put that in there. I don’t know what the relevance was to my daughter in this accident she was in.”

Harvey interrupts carefully. “We should also say that this is made clear in the documentary—at the time of the crash, there was no evidence of marijuana or any other drugs in her system.”

Steve shakes his head. “That’s not necessarily true. They found some traces of marijuana in her system. There were three markers for it. Two of the markers were inactive, and the third one could have said something else. That’s in the detective notes, in the discovery that we saw. And when we found out that they did not want to charge her with OWI, they wanted to charge her with murder.”

Here’s the hinge. The moment where a father’s love runs into a wall of facts.

“Can we go back to something you said earlier?” Harvey asks. “Which is ‘who am I to say what my daughter can and can’t smoke?’ But she was 17 years old at the time.”

Steve doesn’t flinch. “Have you ever smoked? I have, yeah. When you were younger? Yeah. I’m not with my daughter all the time. All I can do is tell my daughter don’t do it. Don’t do this. I told her many times. Now, I had no idea she was smoking in the car like that from the videos. That was new to me. I knew she did it, but I couldn’t stop her. What am I supposed to do? Lock her up in a room?”

The studio is quiet.

“I’m curious, Steve,” Harvey says. “This case obviously got a lot of attention at the time. Her trial did. I’m sure you were speaking out in her defense at that point. What changed? What did the school say to you? What did they see specifically in the documentary?”

Steve exhales. “The school said that the diocese—this came from the diocese. They got inundated with some phone calls from concerned parents. And they decided to put me on administrative paid leave until they did an investigation. That’s what I’ve been told. They’re supposedly doing an investigation. That’s all I know.”

“Have they spoken to you?”

“They have not spoken to me. I’ve called the diocese asking for a conversation. I would hope they would support me like I’ve supported that school for the past seven years. I don’t know why they didn’t speak to me first or bring me in and have a conversation with me. That’s their decision. I’m just one of their teachers.”

Harvey leans in. “So this is clearly not just the events and the prosecution of your daughter, but the documentary itself. It must have turned your life upside down.”

Steve’s voice hardens. “I think it’s more what I said about the marijuana. That’s where it’s going. I’ve seen a lot online—people saying, ‘Okay, it’s okay to smoke marijuana. You can go smoke marijuana, and I smoke marijuana.’ If the diocese wants to test me every day, they can test me. I won’t have any marijuana in my system. I can promise you that.”

“When you watched back the documentary—you said you sat for two days with the producers—was it a fair depiction?”

Steve chooses his words. “There’s more to it than just the four, five, six sound bites they had of us. Unfortunately, we had no editing control. They did what they saw fit. This is their product. They were very upfront with us when they spoke to us. Am I completely happy with how it came out? There’s some things I like and some things I don’t like. We’ve gotten a lot of support for her and her innocence in this.”

“Her innocence. Explain that. Because to most people, she was behind the wheel, and there was no braking.”

Steve’s voice rises. “There is zero evidence of intent and prior calculation in this case. There’s no evidence. The only evidence the prosecution actually has is 4.74 seconds of black box information. Your car has a black box like airplanes, but it doesn’t record cabin sound. It’s mechanical, and it’s non-linear. What our car expert said happened was that the car—I can’t explain the speed. Nobody’s ever going to know what happened in that car. It’s not that the car was going fast. It’s not that the car crashed. It’s why. There’s no explanation of why. And the prosecution, even in this documentary, says, ‘Look, I turned over every rock. I looked at everything, and I couldn’t find anything. So it’s murder. She did it on purpose.’ This prosecutor, in my opinion, is lazy. It’s like the wife dies and they instantly think it’s the husband. There’s so much in this case. So much omission of evidence and changing of evidence and illegally changing evidence.”

“Are you suggesting there was something wrong with the car?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible.”

“But the black box would have shown that.”

Steve shakes his head. “I think what you’re saying is this sounds more like vehicular manslaughter than murder.”

“It is vehicular homicide. It should have never left the juvenile court. There’s so much more to this than what the prosecution put forth. There’s contradictory evidence about things that were said in court. But there’s nothing that says prior intent or prior calculation. There’s no intent.”

Harvey looks at the clock. “We’re out of time, but we hear your point. You need to show intent to prosecute somebody for murder, and you’re saying this feels like the most they could show is reckless vehicular manslaughter. We really appreciate you coming on.”

Steve nods. “I hope you look into more of my daughter’s innocence. Go to the Free Mackenzie Shirilla page or Crime Circus.”

“Thanks, Steve.”

The screen fades. The cue light flashes. Coming up, Kathie Lee Gifford’s $100 million estate. But the room is still processing what they just heard. A father defending his daughter. A school suspending a teacher. A documentary that may have cost a man his career.

And underneath it all, the question nobody can answer: what happened in those 4.74 seconds?

The screen fills with photos of a sprawling Connecticut estate. “Kathie Lee Gifford. $100 million. That is what she is asking for her Connecticut estate.”

Harvey grins. “But what you got to do is—what did she buy it for? That’s the key.”

“She bought it for $7.4 million.”

“When did she buy it?”

The co-host doesn’t miss a beat. “In 1834.”

Laughter explodes. Harvey throws his hands up. “Wow. That’s rich coming from you. By the way, you know Kathie Lee Gifford is younger than you.”

“I’m kidding. It’s beautiful. It’s an amazing estate. This is in Greenwich, Connecticut, which is the hoitiest of toitiest areas.”

“Right on the sound. Wow.”

“Not a fan of the sofa, but everything else is beautiful.”

“How many acres?”

“About three acres. Right on the water. Dock, recording studio, pool, spa, fitness center, tennis courts. Private beach.”

Harvey does the math. “You know, if you did this in a different area of the country, this would be a $4 million estate.”

“What area of the country are you talking about?”

“I’m not going to bite the bait.”

They both laugh. Because they know exactly which area. And they know saying it out loud would start a fight.

A caller, Diamond the Entertainer, jumps in. “The fact that the house is $100 million is not the biggest shocker for me. The biggest shocker is that the house has been sitting empty for years, and Kathie Lee lives in a whole other state. She’s owned it for 32 years.”

“Right. She lives in Nashville.”

“Why sit on it for this long? Why didn’t she sell it?”

“She probably has no mortgage on it. She bought it forever ago. It’s just her house.”

The co-host grins. “By the way, we left out the one feature that is probably the most expected feature in a Kathie Lee Gifford home. Wine cellar.”

“There is a wine cellar. Hoda, you listening?”

The screen changes again. Kim Kardashian. “Pill junkie.”

The co-host clarifies quickly. “Vitamins. Supplements.”

“She was on Amy Schumer’s Good Hang podcast, and she went through her health regimen. Take notes.”

Kim’s voice fills the room. “There’s so much stuff that we have to now take. It’s a lot. Supplements. I take probably 35 supplements a day. I just spread them out three times a day. And I thought, okay, I can’t do this fish oil right now anymore. I have pill fatigue. I had to stop the fish oil, and I got my blood work in, and it was so evident that I stopped that I had to start again. But it is tough to take fish oil because you taste it for a long time. And pills are just so big. I know. I wish there was like an IV drip I could do every day, and I would just do it on my way to work.”

The co-host looks at the camera. “I don’t take fish oil. I’m not at that age yet.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Laughter.

“When you take fish oil, even though you don’t bite into it, do you perhaps burp it up later?”

“No.”

Harvey shakes his head. “I Googled this. Taking 35 supplements every day is highly risky and generally considered a bad idea. You can get nutrient overload. It’s dangerous.”

“She has a cauldron of doctors.”

“35 every day. How many pills is that a year?”

“Like 10 supplements.”

“I’m this close to getting one of those little pill sorters.”

“Zinc. I take magnesium.”

“What’s that for?”

“Cramps. Magnesium. I take vitamin C. And I take the one that’s instead of wine.”

“Instead of wine?”

“Yeah, there’s a wine pill. Resveratrol.”

A caller, Shelby from New York, jumps in. “I’m kind of with you guys. As a former junior Olympian, the whole body technology vitamin thing isn’t news to me. The question really is—is Kim Kardashian an athlete? She’s 45 years old running a billion-dollar industry. I’d be more surprised if she wasn’t taking supplements to sustain her body.”

“What do you mean you’re a junior Olympian? What sport?”

“I was a junior Olympic shot putter.”

Harvey grins. “Harvey used to do that, right?”

The co-host laughs. “See you.”

The final segment. The one that makes everyone feel something other than outrage.

“Billie Jean King is one of my heroes in life. I love her so much, and she did something so awesome.”

The screen fills with photos of Billie Jean King, then and now.

“In 1961, she was a student at a college in Los Angeles that is now Cal State L.A. And she had dropped out because she became a professional tennis player—top of the world. And she just got her degree. 65 years later.”

“She can’t graduate based on the curriculum from when she was going to school. It has to be now.”

“She probably had to go for quite some time. But I think it’s just so great. It’s funny because yesterday we saw Shaq getting another degree. This just shows that sometimes when you go later in life, it is even more meaningful because you’re not doing it just because your parents told you.”

“You’re really trying to learn something.”

Harvey nods. “It’s not that you didn’t learn anything when you were going because your parents wanted you to go. You still learned.”

“Did you?”

Laughter.

“I learned plenty. I think.”

The screen fades. The logo pulses. And somewhere in America, someone is typing a comment about Ted Cruz, or the 1.776 billion dollars, or a father who lost his job defending his daughter.

The machine doesn’t stop. It never stops.

But for a second, there was Billie Jean King. 65 years later. Holding a degree she earned not because she had to, but because she wanted to.

That’s the thing underneath all the noise. The thing that makes you keep watching. Not the fights. Not the scandals. Not the 35 supplements or the $100 million estates.

The thing that makes you keep watching is the possibility that somewhere, somehow, someone is still trying to do the right thing.

Even if no one can agree on what that is anymore.