The business model of lies, gossip and misinformation about Jack and Lilly Sullivan on social media

In the wake of the ongoing investigation into the disappearance of six-year-old Lily Sullivan and her four-year-old brother Jack from rural Nova Scotia, social media has become a double-edged sword. On one hand, it has served as a tool to mobilize community support, circulate missing persons alerts, and offer comfort to a grieving family. On the other, it has become a breeding ground for misinformation, reckless speculation, and the outright exploitation of tragedy for views, followers, and profit.

Since the children were reported missing, numerous Facebook pages, YouTube channels, TikTok accounts, and Twitter profiles have emerged, dedicated entirely to the case. While some of these were created by genuinely concerned individuals seeking to help, a growing number of them have devolved into sensationalist outlets that amplify conspiracy theories, unsubstantiated rumors, and baseless accusations.

Videos and posts with clickbait titles like “Proof the Parents Are Hiding Something!” or “The Real Story the Media Won’t Tell You” routinely attract thousands, sometimes millions of views. These posts often rely on vague insinuations, manipulated photos, and out-of-context quotes to drive engagement. The more outrageous the claim, the more likely it is to be shared. And every share, click, and comment generates ad revenue and boosts the account’s algorithmic reach.

Behind this lies a business model that thrives on outrage and ambiguity. Social media platforms reward content that provokes emotional reactions — especially anger, fear, or suspicion. For creators willing to ignore ethics and truth, missing child cases like Jack and Lily’s present a lucrative opportunity. The absence of confirmed information leaves a vacuum easily filled by speculation. Viewers desperate for answers may mistake confidence for credibility, even when it’s rooted in fiction.

This monetization of grief has real-world consequences. Lily and Jack’s family have been subjected to invasive speculation and unfounded accusations. Photos of the children and their parents have been dissected by amateur sleuths who draw conclusions based on body language, background details, or the timing of social media posts. Entire livestreams have been dedicated to critiquing how the mother cried during a press conference or whether the father seemed “too calm.” These assessments often spread faster than verified news updates.

The emotional toll on the family is immeasurable. Already dealing with the unimaginable fear and anguish of a missing child case, they must now contend with strangers weaponizing their pain for internet clout. In some cases, individuals have even attempted to contact family members directly to confront them based on conspiratorial theories, further compounding their trauma.

Law enforcement officials have also voiced concern over the deluge of misinformation. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP), who are leading the investigation, have issued multiple public statements urging the public to rely only on verified sources. They warn that false leads inspired by online speculation can derail search efforts and waste crucial time and resources. Officers have confirmed that they’ve had to investigate claims made online that turned out to be entirely fabricated.

These trends are not unique to the Sullivan case. In recent years, other high-profile missing persons investigations, including those of Harmony Montgomery, Madeleine McCann, and Summer Wells, have seen similar waves of online exploitation. Often, the same accounts and creators migrate from case to case, bringing with them the same formula of fear-mongering, innuendo, and monetization.

Some content creators claim they are raising awareness or applying “citizen journalism.” But true journalism adheres to standards of verification, balance, and responsibility — qualities largely absent in many of these viral posts. The difference is not only ethical but also legal. Reputable journalists are subject to libel laws, editorial oversight, and accountability. Social media creators, on the other hand, often hide behind pseudonyms and disclaimers while profiting from harm.

What makes this phenomenon especially troubling is how difficult it is to stop. Social media platforms like YouTube and TikTok have policies against misinformation and harassment, but enforcement is inconsistent. Harmful content often remains online for days, even after being reported. In some cases, banned accounts simply reappear under new names. Algorithms continue to prioritize high-engagement content, regardless of accuracy or intent.

The public’s hunger for true crime stories adds fuel to the fire. There’s a natural human impulse to seek meaning and answers when something horrific occurs. But in the vacuum of verified facts, that impulse can easily be manipulated. People begin filling in the gaps with theories based not on evidence, but on emotion. And in today’s media landscape, attention equals income.

Experts say this environment creates a cycle that’s hard to break. The more people engage with misinformation, the more it’s amplified. The more it’s amplified, the harder it is for the truth to break through. Over time, the lies begin to shape public perception in ways that can be difficult to correct. This creates pressure not only on the family and investigators but also on journalists trying to report the case responsibly.

Some advocates are calling for stricter regulations around how missing persons cases are discussed online. Proposals include adding legal consequences for those who spread knowingly false information, restricting monetization on content that exploits active investigations, and creating rapid-response teams within social media companies to flag and remove damaging posts. But implementation remains difficult, especially across international borders and across multiple platforms.

In the meantime, families like the Sullivans are left to navigate an already devastating situation in the glare of an unrelenting digital spotlight. Their private grief has been transformed into public spectacle. Their pleas for privacy and understanding are often drowned out by the noise of speculation and sensationalism.

At its best, social media can bring people together in moments of crisis, spreading awareness, coordinating volunteers, and rallying support. At its worst, it can turn that same crisis into content — profitable, addictive, and utterly divorced from human empathy.

For now, Lily and Jack are still missing. That is the truth that matters most. Every piece of misinformation, every viral lie, moves the focus away from what is most needed: factual information, focused searching, and support for a family enduring every parent’s worst nightmare. There is no profit worth the cost of prolonging that pain.