Chapter 8 - The Media Scramble And The Public Fall Of High-Society Royalty
By Tuesday morning, the front page of every major financial newspaper and celebrity gossip blog across the country had replaced their usual celebrity scandals with a single explosive headline.
THE GATSBY OF HANOI EXPOSED: How the Illustrious Hawthorne Dynasty Collapsed in Front of 200 Elite Guests.
Photos of Vanessa sprawled across the ballroom floor in her ruined wedding dress, clutching her torn veil while surrounded by spilled champagne, were circulating on social media with millions of views.
Memes mocking my father’s terrified expression when his credit cards were declined filled TikTok and Facebook Reels within hours.
I sat at my desk in the executive office on the fortieth floor, sipping black coffee while reviewing our quarterly real estate portfolio performance, when my private intercom buzzed.
“Miss Hawthorne,” my executive assistant said through the speaker.
“There is a reporter downstairs from the Financial Examiner requesting an exclusive interview regarding the restructuring of Hawthorne Heritage.”
“Tell them the company has no comment beyond our official press release,” I replied without looking up from my monitor.
“Understood,” my assistant paused for a second.
“Also… there’s a woman in the lobby claiming to be your mother, demanding to speak with you personally.”
“She says she won't leave until you give her access to her personal bank accounts.”
I sighed softly, resting my pen on the blotter.
“Tell building security to escort her off the premises and hand her the address of the storage unit where her personal belongings were delivered yesterday.”
“Yes, Ms. Hawthorne.”
I clicked off the intercom and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling glass window, looking out over the panoramic view of the city skyline.
For fifteen years, I had watched this skyline from a cramped basement office cubicle deep in the bowels of this very building, while my family took all the credit for the empire I maintained.
Now, the view belonged entirely to me.
My phone chimed with a private text message from an unknown number.
I picked it up and tapped the screen.
It was from Daniel Sterling.
“Claire. I know apologies mean nothing after everything my family put you through by association, but I want you to know I’m cooperating fully with the district attorney's fraud division regarding Vanessa's forged documents. She’s facing four felony counts of wire fraud and document forgery. I’m sorry I didn't see through her lies sooner.”
I stared at the message for three long seconds.
I didn't feel anger.
I didn't feel satisfaction.
I simply felt a profound, liberating sense of closure.
I tapped out a brief, professional reply:
“Thank you for doing the right thing at the wedding, Daniel. Let the legal system handle the rest.”
I locked my phone, tossed it onto the desk, and sat back down in my executive leather chair.
May you like
The past was buried.
The future was mine to build.
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