Chapter 7 - The Sister’s Vicious Smear Campaign Implodes on National Television
Even as the steel handcuffs locked around her wrists, Juliette Mercer was not ready to surrender. A lifetime of privilege, corrupt lawyers, and purchased media outlets had convinced her that reality could always be rewritten if you simply paid enough public relations firms.
"Call Preston Reed!" Juliette screamed at her personal assistant, who was cowering behind the floral archway clutching an iPad. "Call him right now! Get the emergency press team on the line! Tell them this is an extortion plot by an escaped psychiatric patient!"
Preston Reed was the most expensive crisis management operative in Manhattan. For a five-hundred-thousand-dollar monthly retainer, his firm specialized in destroying the reputations of corporate whistleblowers, silencing assault victims, and planting fabricated stories across major news networks.
Within minutes of my arrival at the Saint Aurelia, Preston Reed’s machine had already begun to move.
Across social media platforms, verified news aggregators suddenly began pushing breaking alerts: “TRAGEDY AT MERCER WEDDING: Deranged Former Patient Impersonating Late Heiress Caroline Mercer Attacks Bridal Party.” High-resolution photographs of my scarred face, taken from the church security feeds, were uploaded with captions questioning my mental stability and alleging that I was a disgruntled former employee who had stalked the Mercer family for years.
Douglas Mercer looked at his buzzing iPhone, seeing the rapid-fire headlines rolling across Bloomberg and CNBC. A faint glimmer of his old corporate arrogance returned to his eyes.
"Caroline," Douglas whispered, straightening his tie with trembling hands. "You think you’ve won, but the media narrative is already set. By six o'clock tonight, the public will believe you're a violent stalker. The board will issue a statement of support for Juliette, and the district attorney will have no choice but to delay any grand jury proceedings pending a psychiatric evaluation."
I looked at my father with profound pity. "You really are living in the last century, aren't you, Douglas?"
I turned toward the back of the ballroom.
Standing beside the main entrance was not just Marcus Vance, but a young woman in a modest dark blazer holding a professional broadcast uplink terminal. It was Maya Lin, an independent investigative journalist who had spent three years working with Marcus to document the Mercer family's offshore human trafficking and medical smuggling routes.
Maya raised her hand, giving me a clear thumbs-up.
"We aren't waiting for the six o'clock corporate news, Father," I said, pointing toward the high-definition lenses mounted on the pillars. "We’ve been live-streaming this entire wedding across thirty-two international platforms since the moment I walked through those double doors."
Douglas’s jaw dropped. "What?"
"Over fourteen million people are watching this feed right now," I said, my voice echoing with absolute finality. "They saw Juliette demand that security shoot an unarmed woman. They saw Julian hand back grandmother’s ring. They heard Juliette confess to using eighty million dollars in stolen insurance money to buy your company’s debt. And they heard her admit that she locked me in the North Wing."
At that exact moment, Preston Reed himself appeared in the doorway of the ballroom, his face gray as concrete, his cell phone pressed to his ear. He looked across the room at Juliette, who was staring at him with desperate, pleading eyes.
"Preston!" Juliette shrieked against the grip of the federal agents. "Tell them! Release the files! Tell them she’s an imposter!"
Preston Reed slowly lowered his phone. He looked at the federal agents, looked at the live broadcast cameras, and simply shook his head.
"My contract with Mercer Global has been terminated as of three minutes ago, Miss Mercer," Preston said, his voice completely flat. "The U.S. Attorney has served our offices with an obstruction of justice subpoena. I am advising all staff to cooperate fully with federal authorities."
He turned on his heel and walked out of the ballroom, leaving Juliette completely, irrevocably alone.
The silence that followed was absolute.
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The three hundred elite guests—the senators, the shipping magnates, the socialites who had laughed at my funeral and toasted Juliette’s rise—began filing out of the side doors with their heads down, desperately trying to shield their faces from Maya Lin’s cameras.
The Mercer empire hadn't just fallen; it had been pulverized on the world stage.
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