Chapter 7 - The Smear Campaign
By eight o'clock the following morning, Penelope had already launched her desperate counter-offensive.
I sat in the kitchen pouring a fresh cup of coffee—brewed myself, with water I had unsealed personally—while the morning news broadcast played quietly on the wall-mounted television.
The screen flashed a photo of me and Sophie taken two years ago at an architectural gala, alongside a breaking news banner: FAMILY DRAMA IN HIGH SOCIETY: STERLINGTON DYNASTY IN TURMOIL.
A prominent high-society blogger and news contributor appeared on screen, her voice dripping with dramatic theatricality.
“Sources close to the Sterlington family report a tragic situation unfolding at the family’s estate,” the anchor announced. “Penelope Sterlington, beloved philanthropist and matriarch of the Sterlington empire, was reportedly forced off the property yesterday after attempting to intervene in what sources describe as an increasingly unstable domestic environment. Allies of the family claim Nicholas Sterlington’s young wife, Sophie, has been struggling with severe mental health issues, leaving the family matriarch devastated and seeking legal protection for her newborn grandson...”
I stared at the television screen, entirely unbothered.
It was Penelope’s classic playbook: leak a half-truth to her media contacts, frame herself as the grieving, noble victim, and plant the narrative of Sophie’s "instability" in the public eye before any official police reports could surface.
My phone buzzed on the counter. It was the Chairman of the Board at Horizon Global.
“Nicholas,” Chairman Vance said, his tone tight with corporate anxiety. “What the hell is going on with the press? The Sterlington name is tied directly to our upcoming five-billion-dollar merger with Vance Logistics. If your family drama spills into the financial pages, our stock is going to take a five-percent hit by noon.”
“It’s not family drama, Chairman,” I said smoothly, taking a sip of coffee. “It’s a criminal investigation.”
“A what?” he gasped.
“My mother has committed multiple federal felonies against my immediate family,” I replied, my voice steady as steel. “By tonight, she will no longer be associated with the Sterlington name, the foundation, or my estate. Advise the board to short any personal stock holdings linked to her charitable funds.”
“Nicholas, think about the public relations fallout!” the Chairman pleaded. “Can’t you handle this quietly in a private settlement?”
“Silence,” I said, “is how this happened in the first place. I’m done being quiet. Tell the board to watch the news at nine o'clock tonight. It’s going to be an educational evening.”
I hung up the phone and walked back to the master bedroom.
Sophie was sitting up in bed, dressed in a soft cashmere sweater, her color slowly returning. She had a tablet in her lap, looking at the news articles spinning up online about her supposed breakdown.
She looked up as I entered, but this time, the paralyzing terror was gone. In its place was a quiet, burning indignation.
“She’s telling everyone I’m crazy, Nick,” Sophie said, her voice stronger than I had heard it in months. “She’s using her publicists to ruin my reputation before I even get a chance to speak.”
I sat beside her, gently sliding the tablet out of her hands.
“Let her talk, Sophie,” I said softly. “Let her tell the world how crazy she thinks you are. Because tonight, you and I are going to the Grand Regency Hotel.”
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Sophie looked into my eyes, realizing what I was planning. A slow, powerful smile—the smile of the brilliant, fearless architect I had fallen in love with years ago—spread across her face.
“What are we wearing?” she asked.
