Chapter 8 - The Media CircusWhen billionaires fight, they don't use weapons. They use the press.
The next morning, Amy woke up to the sound of her phone ringing incessantly. She glanced at the clock—it was 6:00 AM.
It was Claire’s preschool teacher.
"Amy, I’m so sorry to call this early, but you need to turn on the news," the teacher said, her voice tight with panic. "And don't bring Claire to school today. There are men with cameras everywhere."
Amy’s blood ran cold. She grabbed the remote and turned on the television in the living room, keeping the volume low so Claire wouldn't wake up.
Every major morning gossip show was running the same headline, splashed in bold red letters across the bottom of the screen:
THE STOLEN HEIR: Is Daniel Harrison's Ex-Wife Holding His Daughter Hostage?
The screen flashed a highly edited, paparazzi photo of Amy looking angry outside the bookstore, juxtaposed with a picture of a glamorous Eleanor Harrison looking heartbroken outside a New York charity gala.
The news anchor’s voice was slick with manufactured outrage. "Sources close to the Harrison matriarch claim that Amy Harrison has completely isolated little Claire from her rightful family, demanding exorbitant sums of money for visitation rights. Eleanor Harrison is reportedly filing for emergency emergency custody..."
"It’s a lie," Amy gasped, stepping back from the television. "It’s a complete lie."
Eleanor hadn't just declared war. She had launched a nuclear strike on Amy’s reputation. She was trying to paint Amy as an unstable, extortionist mother to manipulate the family courts into granting her custody.
A heavy knock at the front door made Amy jump. She grabbed a heavy brass candlestick from the mantle, her heart pounding, and crept to the window.
It was Hayes.
She threw the door open. Hayes stepped inside quickly, locking the deadbolt behind him. He looked furious.
"There are three paparazzi vans parked at the end of your street," Hayes said, his chest heaving as if he had run all the way there. "They’re harassing your neighbors. The bookstore is completely surrounded."
"Eleanor leaked a fake story," Amy said, her voice shaking as the reality of the situation crushed down on her. "She’s trying to prove I’m an unfit mother who is exploiting the Harrison wealth. If the courts believe her, they could force Claire to move to New York."
"They won't," Hayes said firmly, gripping her shoulders. "You have the divorce decree. You have the visitation logs."
"You don't understand how these people operate, Hayes!" Amy cried, the old trauma flaring up. "Truth doesn't matter in their world. Only perception does! They will bury me in litigation until I run out of money, and then they will take her."
The sound of tires screeching outside cut through the living room.
Both of them rushed to the window. A sleek black town car had blown past the paparazzi vans, violently swerving onto Amy’s lawn to avoid the cameras. The driver’s side door flew open.
It was Daniel.
He didn't look like a CEO. He looked like an executioner. He wore a dark, wrinkled suit, his tie was missing, and his eyes were completely bloodshot from a sleepless flight.
As the paparazzi swarmed the car, flashing their cameras and shouting questions, Daniel didn't flinch. He grabbed the nearest photographer by the collar of his jacket and slammed him against the hood of the car.
"Get off her property," Daniel roared, a terrifying, primal sound that made the entire press pool freeze. "If a single one of you points a lens at this house again, I will buy the publications you work for and fire you before lunch. Move!"
The photographers scrambled back, terrified by the raw, unhinged fury of a billionaire pushed to the edge.
Daniel let the man go and marched up to Amy’s front door. Hayes opened it, and Daniel stormed inside.
He looked at Amy. He didn't look at Hayes.
"Pack a bag," Daniel ordered, his chest heaving. "For you and Claire. We are leaving."
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"I am not running away, Daniel!" Amy shot back. "That’s what your mother wants!"
"We aren't running, Amy," Daniel said, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a chilling, absolute certainty. "My mother wants a public spectacle? Fine. We are going to New York. And we are going to burn her empire down."
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