Chương 6 - Desperate Moves
The war was not over; it had merely moved from the shadows into the open.
By morning, the elite circles of Manhattan and Greenwich were ablaze with gossip. The story of Veronica Vale’s catastrophic public humiliation at the Grandview Club had spread like wildfire. But cornered rats do not die quietly—they bite.
At nine a.m., Harrison Vance arrived at my private penthouse office.
"She’s gone to the press," Harrison said without greeting, sliding a tablet across my marble desk.
I tapped the screen.
A notorious tabloid blog had just published an exclusive headline:
**"BILLIONAIRE HEIRESS TRAPS INNOCENT FAMILY: ADRIAN VALE’S MOTHER SPEAKS OUT ON CRUEL ABUSE AND ILLEGAL ASSET SEIZURE."**
Beneath the headline was a tear-stained photograph of Veronica Vale holding a battered suitcase outside the Martha's Vineyard home, claiming that I had lured her son into a fraudulent marriage, used my corporate billions to entrap his firm, and was now evicting an elderly, ailing widow onto the street out of sheer malice.
Even worse, the article featured a heavily edited five-second video clip from yesterday morning.
It was taken from Chloe’s phone. It showed only the moment I flipped the mahogany dining table, cups shattering, coffee flying, with Veronica screaming in terror in the background. The caption read: *The Real Clara Sterling: Unhinged Billionaire Attacks Elderly In-Laws Over Breakfast.*
"The comment sections are exploding," Harrison reported, adjusting his glasses. "Public sympathy naturally gravitates toward the supposed underdog. The narrative is painting you as a ruthless oligarch terrorizing a middle-class family who simply wanted to bond with their new daughter-in-law."
I scrolled through the venomous comments.
*She belongs in prison.*
*Rich people think they can treat in-laws like garbage.*
*Adrian should take half her billions and leave her with nothing.*
I set the tablet down and leaned back in my leather chair. "Where is Adrian?"
"He checked into the Carlyle under an assumed name," Harrison said. "His PR firm is advising him to hold a joint press conference with his mother at three o'clock today. If he confirms her narrative publicly, it could trigger a preliminary injunction in family court, delaying the asset recovery and tying our capital up in probate litigation for months."
"Call Adrian," I instructed.
"Clara, talking to him now might be risky—"
"Call him, Harrison. Put him on speaker."
Harrison dialed. The line rang four times before Adrian picked up, his voice raspy, breathless, and laced with panic.
*"Clara?"*
"Adrian," I said, my voice steady. "I saw your mother’s article."
There was a heavy, suffocating silence on the other end.
*"I didn't want her to do it,"* Adrian whispered, sounding half-mad with stress. *"I told her it was a mistake! But she’s desperate, Clara! She’s losing her home! Donald is facing federal wire fraud charges! They have nothing left! My mother says the only way to save ourselves is to fight you in the court of public opinion!"*
"And what do you say, Adrian?" I asked. "Are you going to stand on that stage at three o'clock and tell the world that I abused your family?"
*"You have to understand my position!"* he cried, his voice breaking into hysterical sobs. *"If I don't support them, they’ll turn on me! Donald will tell the feds that I directed the shell transfers! I’ll go to prison, Clara! Don't you see? You hold all the power! If you just drop the charges, return the Vineyard house, and give us a settlement, I will call off the press conference! We can sign an annulment quietly! Nobody has to get hurt!"*
I closed my eyes for a single heartbeat, feeling the final lingering shred of my affection for this man wither into dust.
Even now, faced with absolute ruin, he wasn't asking for redemption. He was attempting to extort me.
"Adrian," I said softly.
*"Yes? Clara, please, say yes—"*
"Make sure your tie is straight for the cameras at three o'clock," I said. "Because it will be the last time anyone ever points a lens at you."
I hung up before he could respond.
I looked across the desk at Harrison. "Do we have the security footage from Penthouse B yesterday morning?"
A cold, razor-sharp smile appeared on Harrison’s face. "Every high-definition angle. Visual and crystal-clear audio from the overhead dome cameras."
"Prepare a media release," I ordered. "Book the grand ballroom at the St. Regis for two-thirty p.m. Thirty minutes before their press conference. Invite every major business publication, every financial outlet, and every broadcast network in the tri-state area."
"And the footage?"
"Release the unedited video," I said. "From the moment Veronica sat down and demanded my assets, to Aunt Beatrice reading the rules of obedience, to the exact second Veronica tore my face out of that wedding portrait."
I stood up, buttoning my blazer.
"And Harrison?"
"Yes, ma'am?"
May you like
"Include the bank wire confirmations showing the exact dates and times Adrian transferred my firm’s credit into his mother’s personal offshore accounts. Let the world see what thirty pieces of silver look like in modern banking."
***
