Chapter 8 - The Press Conference
The flashbulbs were blinding.
Over fifty journalists and news crews were packed into the museum's grand lobby.
I stood at the podium with perfect posture.
I was wearing a pristine white suit that screamed power and control.
Behind me, the shattered twelve-million-dollar display case was still cordoned off with yellow police tape.
I wanted the world to see exactly what Grant cared about.
The room quieted down as I leaned into the microphone.
"Good morning," I started, my voice steady and clear.
"For the past forty-eight hours, my estranged husband has waged a campaign of lies."
I looked directly into the main television camera.
"He claims I am unstable."
"He claims he is a devoted father."
I held up the silver USB drive containing the security footage.
"The world has already seen the truth of his parenting."
A reporter in the front row raised his hand eagerly.
"Mrs. Bennett, Grant claims the video was taken out of context!"
I offered a small, sad smile.
"There is no context that justifies throwing a seven-year-old child into a wall."
The reporters furiously scribbled in their notepads.
"But today, I am not just here to talk about my daughter's assault."
I signaled to Harrison, who was standing by a large projector screen.
He clicked a remote control.
The screen lit up with bank statements, wire transfers, and lease agreements.
The journalists gasped collectively.
"My husband has been embezzling millions of dollars from the Bennett Foundation's charity fund."
I pointed to the highlighted red numbers on the screen.
"Money meant for children's hospitals and art programs was stolen."
I paused for dramatic effect.
"It was stolen to fund his lavish lifestyle with his twenty-five-year-old mistress."
The room erupted into absolute pandemonium.
Reporters were shouting questions all at once.
"Who is the mistress?" someone yelled from the back.
"Her name is Chloe Evans," I announced loudly.
"And she is a former employee of this very museum."
I looked at the cameras with cold, calculated precision.
"Grant Bennett is not a victim."
"He is a thief, a liar, and an abuser."
"As the sole controlling trustee of the Bennett Foundation, I have officially filed civil charges against him."
I leaned closer to the microphone.
"I will not rest until he is sitting in a federal prison."
I stepped away from the podium.
The journalists were practically climbing over each other trying to get one last quote.
Harrison escorted me through a side door into a private corridor.
He looked at me with genuine awe.
"Clara, you just destroyed his entire defense in five minutes."
"I know," I said smoothly.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
It was a text message from an unknown number.
"You ruined my life."
It was from Grant.
May you like
I typed a quick reply.
"I haven't even started."
