Chapter 3 - The PR War
By the next morning, the Prescott damage control machine was running at full speed.
They didn't just hire a lawyer; they hired a crisis management firm.
Articles began popping up online. Blind items on local gossip blogs. Statements from "anonymous sources close to the family" claiming Emily had a history of substance abuse and erratic behavior.
They claimed Ethan was defending himself. They claimed my daughter was trying to extort them for a divorce settlement.
Emily sat in my living room at Fort Liberty, watching the news on her iPad. Her swollen eye had turned a deep, ugly purple.
“They’re going to make everyone hate me,” she whispered, tears slipping down her bruised cheeks. “They’re going to win, Mom.”
“They are playing their only card,” I said, taking the iPad away from her. “They rely on intimidation. But intimidation only works if the target gets scared.”
I poured her a cup of tea. “Are you scared, Emily?”
She looked down at her hands, then up at me. “I was. But I’m not going back to him. Never again.”
“Good.”
The doorbell rang. It was Sarah Jenkins.
Sarah wasn't just a lawyer; she was a former federal prosecutor who had specialized in high-level organized crime. I had hired her the moment I got Emily's first distress signal.
Sarah walked in, dropped a massive briefcase on the dining table, and smiled.
“The Prescotts are busy paying off tabloids,” Sarah said, opening her laptop. “Which is adorable. Because while they are busy managing public opinion, I’ve been busy managing federal subpoenas.”
Emily looked confused. “Federal?”
“Yes,” Sarah grinned. “When your husband’s family locked you in that guest house to force you to sign a post-nuptial agreement, they crossed state lines with their financial threats. And guess what? Brandon is the CFO of Prescott Industries.”
Sarah pulled up a document. “I didn’t just request the rest of your cloud data, Emily. I requested the security footage from the Prescott estate. I requested Brandon’s phone records.”
“They’ll delete everything,” Emily said, her voice shaking again.
“Let them,” I said. “Spoliation of evidence is a felony. The cover-up is always what catches them.”
My phone buzzed. It was an unknown number.
I put it on speaker.
“Colonel Hart,” a smooth, expensive-sounding voice said. “This is Arthur Sterling. Chief Counsel for the Prescott family.”
“Speak,” I said.
“We’d like to offer a settlement. Five million dollars, tax-free. Emily signs a non-disclosure agreement, retracts the police statement, and we handle the divorce quietly. No one gets hurt.”
I looked at Emily. She shook her head.
May you like
“Mr. Sterling,” I said. “Keep your money. I suggest you spend it on criminal defense attorneys for your clients.”
I hung up. The war wasn't in the press anymore. It was in the trenches.
