Chapter 6 - The Media Storm
The DNA results took less than twenty-four hours to return. The probability of paternity was listed as 99.998%.
But by the time the legal documents arrived at my apartment, the medical data was already irrelevant. The media storm had broken over Portland with the force of a category-five hurricane.
The headline on the front page of the Portland Tribune read: THE BILLIONAIRE’S SECRET MELODY: TECH MOGUL LAWSON FLETCHER FACES CUSTODY BATTLE OVER SCHOLARSHIP PRODIGY.
Within hours, our quiet, run-down apartment building in North Portland was surrounded by media vans, satellite dishes, and aggressive journalists holding microphones. Every time I tried to open the blinds, cameras flashed from the street below. Ruby couldn't go to school; Westridge Prep had temporarily suspended her attendance "for her own safety and privacy," a polite corporate way of telling us we were currently a liability to their high-paying donors.
I sat at the kitchen table, watching the local noon news broadcast on my small television screen.
"...Sources close to the Fletcher family indicate that a massive internal rift has formed between Lawson Fletcher and his wife, Fiona Laurent, heiress to the Laurent luxury hotel chain," the anchor reported, a glossy photo of Lawson and Fiona at a charity gala appearing on the screen next to a grainy, zoomed-in photo of Ruby walking out of the Westridge recital. "Fletcher Technologies' stock dipped three percent this morning amid concerns over a prolonged, high-profile custody and asset battle that could impact the company's upcoming public defense contracts..."
"Mom?" Ruby walked out of her bedroom, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She was holding her laptop. "Look at what people are writing on the school forum."
I took the computer from her hands. The comments from the Westridge student directory were brutal:
“So she only got the scholarship because her mom had a kid with Fletcher? That’s so unfair to the kids who actually worked for it.”
“She’s probably just trying to get a payout. Look at where they live.”
“My mom says Fiona Laurent is going to sue them for extortion.”
I slammed the laptop shut, a deep, primal rage burning away the last of my fear. My daughter had spent five hours a day practicing on a broken piano, skipping meals, and working herself to the bone to earn her place at that school, and these silver-spoon monsters were turning her genius into a corporate scandal.
My phone rang. It was an unknown number. I answered it, prepared to scream at another reporter.
"Clara. It's Lawson."
His voice sounded different. The polished, media-trained veneer was gone, replaced by a raw, grinding exhaustion.
"What do you want, Lawson?" I snapped. "Your lawyers got their blood. Your wife got her scandal. Now leave us alone."
"I didn't leak it, Clara," Lawson said, his voice desperate. "Fiona’s father called the press. He wanted to force my hand into signing a secondary postnuptial agreement to protect their hotel assets before the stock fluctuated any further. I refused. I kicked Fiona out of the house last night. We're filing for divorce in the morning."
I sat down, the anger leaving my body, leaving me feeling entirely hollow. "Lawson... this is destroying Ruby. She can't go to school. She's reading comments from kids calling her an extortionist. She didn't ask for any of this. She just wanted to play the piano."
"I know," Lawson said, a heavy pause on the line. "And that's why I’m calling. There’s a press conference at the Fletcher Technologies headquarters at two o'clock today. The board wants me to issue a boilerplate statement denying any immediate family adjustments until a formal legal settlement is reached. They want me to protect the stock."
"And what are you going to do?"
"I’m going to tell the truth," Lawson said softly. "But I need you and Ruby to be there with me. I need the world to see that she isn't a corporate asset or a scandal. She's my daughter. Please, Clara. Trust me. Just this once."
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I looked across the room at Ruby, who was sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring at her secondhand piano like it was a lifeline that had been snapped in half. I knew that if we stayed hidden in this apartment, the press would hunt us forever. The only way out of the shadow was to walk directly into the light.
"We'll be there, Lawson," I said. "But if you do anything to hurt her on that stage, I will take her so far away from you that all your billions won't be able to find a single trace of us."
