Chapter 8 - The Emergency Press Call
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By three o'clock that afternoon, a sea of news vans and reporters equipped with cameras had surrounded the glass entrance of Vanguard Architects.
The story of the brilliant female architect who had been systematically erased by her wealthy husband's family was custom-built for the modern news cycle. Social media clips of Leah walking into the boardroom in her charcoal suit were already generating millions of views online, tagged under #JusticeForLeah and #TheRealArchitect.
In a desperate attempt to contain the narrative, Eleanor instructed Julian’s remaining public relations manager to convene an emergency press briefing on the steps of the courthouse downtown.
Julian stood before a wall of microphones, wearing a hastily pressed navy suit. Eleanor stood directly behind him, her face stoic behind large dark sunglasses, trying to प्रोजेक्ट an image of unshakeable strength.
“Members of the press,” Julian read from a prepared statement, his voice quavering slightly. “The recent allegations brought against Vanguard Architects by my ex-wife, Miss Leah Sutton, are completely baseless and born out of personal bitterness following our recent divorce.”
He paused, attempting to project a warm, sympathetic smile toward the cameras.
“Leah was a valued member of our family, and while she contributed to early conceptual ideas, Vanguard has always operated under the highest ethical standards. We are confident that once the court reviews our internal records, our name will be completely cleared.”
A female reporter from the Seattle Times thrust a microphone forward. “Mr. Rhodess! If the allegations are baseless, why did Capital Horizon pull their forty-million-dollar funding this morning?”
“Capital Horizon is simply conducting a routine review—” Julian stammered.
“And what about the offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands?” another reporter shouted. “Did Miss Sutton authorize those transfers?”
Before Julian could answer, a sleek silver SUV pulled up to the curb directly behind the gathering crowd of journalists.
The driver door opened, and Marcus Kane stepped out, followed by Leah Sutton.
The media crowd instantly turned around, camera flashes exploding like strobe lights against the overcast sky. Reporters surged toward Leah, shouting questions simultaneously.
Leah walked up to the podium, her posture straight, completely unbothered by the media storm. She didn't shout. She didn't make a scene. She simply stood beside Marcus Kane as he set a portable tablet on the podium ledge.
“If Mr. Rhodess believes our claims are born out of bitterness,” Marcus Kane announced into the microphones, “we invite the public and the press to review the digital timestamps of the original Riverbend Commons CAD files, which have just been published open-source on the State Licensing Board server.”
Leah stepped up to the microphone. The wall of reporters went completely quiet, waiting for her to speak.
I looked directly into the central camera lens, knowing Eleanor was watching me from five feet away.
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“Architecture is about structural integrity,” I said, my voice clear and calm. “When a foundation is built on lies, it doesn't matter how pretty the walls are. Eventually, gravity takes over.”
I turned and walked back to the SUV, leaving Julian and Eleanor swallowed whole by the roaring mob of reporters.
