Chapter 8 - The Press Conference
The lobby of Purely Petals HQ was packed to capacity. Cameras lined the back wall, reporters held microphones high in the air, and the murmur of anticipation was deafening. I stood behind the podium wearing a simple, elegant ivory suit, looking out at the sea of flashing lenses.
To my surprise, the back doors of the lobby swung open just as I approached the microphone. Julian pushed his way through the crowd of reporters, flanked by two of his corporate attorneys. He didn't say a word; he just crossed his arms and leaned against the marble wall, his eyes fixed intently on me. He wanted to see what my play was.
"Good morning," I said into the microphone, instantly silencing the room. "Over the past twenty-four hours, my name, my business, and most importantly, my three five-year-old children have been dragged through the mud by individuals who claim to value family above all else."
A reporter from The NY Daily News shouted out, "Ms. Vance, did you hide the children to extort a settlement from Julian Vance?"
"I hid my children to save their lives," I replied firmly, looking straight into the camera lenses. "Five years ago, I underwent an emergency C-section at twenty-three weeks. While my triplets fought for their lives in incubators, I attempted to contact my husband twelve times. I was told he was unavailable. Instead of my husband, I received a visit from a corporate attorney hired by my mother-in-law, demanding I sign away my rights."
The room erupted into shouts and questions, but I raised my hand, silencing them.
"Yesterday, Ms. Victoria Sterling stated on television that she is heartbroken over the deception that kept a father from his children," I continued, tapping the screen of my tablet hooked up to the lobby's sound system. "I think it’s time the public, and Mr. Vance, hears exactly what happened the night I called my husband for help."
I pressed play.
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Through the surround-sound speakers of the lobby, a static hiss filled the air, followed by the unmistakable, arrogant voice of Victoria Sterling, recorded five years ago in the hospital room:
"Oh, Clara, stop crying like a pathetic child. Julian isn't coming. He’s at a gala with me, where he belongs. He doesn't want you, and he certainly doesn't want three premature burdens dragging down his legacy. The Vance family doesn't do damaged goods. Sign the papers and disappear, or we will take the remains of your reputation and bury it so deep you'll never work in this city again."
