I scanned the crowd, desperate for an escape.
A camera lens hovered inches from my face, capturing every twitch. The reporters closed in, their hot breath on my skin.
My father’s security team finally intervened, forming a protective barrier and guiding us toward the building.
Inside, the police waited.
"George Michaelson," one officer said, his voice firm, "you're under arrest for the alleged murder of Don Maxwell.”
My father’s face betrayed no emotion, but tension coiled inside him.
“You have the right to remain silent…” The officer recited the rights, and my father nodded, his movements slow, deliberate. I knew the evidence would clear him, but anxiety still gnawed at me as they cuffed his hands behind his back.
“Antonio,” my father said quietly as they led him away, “get Richard Langley. He has everything.”
I nodded, already dialing our family lawyer.
The scene outside was madness. Reporters swarmed as the police led my father away. Employees looked on, their faces pale with shock. Our family’s legacy, the company’s future, all hung in the balance.
I pushed through the crowd, phone to my ear. Richard answered on the first ring.
“Richard, it’s Antonio. Dad needs you now.”
"Antonio, I've seen the news," he replied, his voice firm.
“I’m already on my way.”
“No, meet us at the police station.”
“Understood. Fifteen minutes.”
Hanging up, I watched the police car drive away, the press chasing after it.
Anne was back in my face. “Antonio, what’s your response to the allegations?”
I ignored her.
***
Hours later, we stepped out of the police station. The tension that had gripped me all day finally began to ease. Richard nodded in approval. “It’s over. The evidence clearly exonerates him.”
As I pulled out my phone, I saw I’d missed eight calls from Kendra.
“Finally.” I muttered.
I wanted to call her back immediately, but I waited until we were outside the station.
Just as we reached the car, my father’s expression turned grim. “Antonio, there’s something you need to know.”
I turned to him, sensing the weight of his words.
“The tool Eve used to disseminate that incomplete piece of information... it was ABS Broadcasting Station.”
“It’s no wonder that crazy Anne lady was so hyper today. I’m sure she thought…”
“Actually…” my dad cut in, his face grim, “The journalist who leaked the recording…” He paused, his gaze locking onto mine. “…was Kendra Ryan.”.
My phone buzzed again, a shrill in the silence that had enveloped me.
