Chapter 13 - Blood Money and Broken Crowns
By two o'clock in the morning, the penthouse suite of the Montgomery Manor was bathed in the harsh, blue glow of three television monitors.
Margaret paced across the Italian marble floor, barefoot, her couture dress discarded on a sofa like a heap of dirty rags. She held an ice-cold tumbler of scotch in one hand and her phone in the other. Her hair, normally sculpted into pristine elegance, fell in wild, disheveled strands across her face.
Every news channel was running the same loop.
*CNN: "SHAME OF THE CENTURY: PHILANTHROPIST MARGARET MONTGOMERY EXPOSED AS DAUGHTER RECEIVES NATION’S HIGHEST MILITARY HONOR."*
*FOX NEWS: "TASK FORCE 187: THE GHOST WARRIOR WHO SAVED 40 SOULS PUBLICLY REJECTS ARISTOCRATIC FAMILY."*
*BLOOMBERG: "MONTGOMERY DEFENSE STOCKS PLUNGE 28% IN PRE-MARKET TRADING AMID ETHICS INVESTIGATION."*
"Answer the phone, David!" Margaret screamed into the receiver. "I pay your firm four million dollars a year to manage my press! Buy the networks! Threaten them with defamation lawsuits! Bury this story!"
"Margaret, listen to me," David Cole, her chief crisis PR consultant, said through the speaker. His voice was frantic, laced with panic. "We can't bury this. You don't understand what happened tonight. Captain Claire Montgomery isn't just a veteran. The White House just issued a formal press release. The President himself called her 'the bedrock of American courage.' You called her a disgrace on live television. Twitter has six million posts calling for your arrest."
"Arrest?!" Margaret shrieked, hurling her scotch glass against the fireplace. It shattered into a thousand sparkling shards. "Arrest me for what?! Speaking to my own ungrateful child?!"
"The Pentagon just initiated a full-scale audit into your charity foundations," David replied, his voice chillingly cold. "And the Board of Directors of Montgomery Defense Systems just convened an emergency midnight session. They are invoking the morality clause in your contract, Margaret."
Margaret froze. The room seemed to tilt beneath her feet. "What did you say?"
"They’re stripping you of your chairmanship," David whispered. "By nine o'clock tomorrow morning, you will be completely removed from the building. The security badges for you and your staff have already been revoked."
"They can't do that!" she wailed. "It's my name! The company has my name!"
"Your name is radioactive, Margaret," David said bluntly. "Nobody wants to be within ten miles of you. And there's one more thing."
Margaret held the phone to her ear, her breath trembling. "What?"
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"Navy SEAL Marcus Vance? The man who saluted Claire on that stage?" David paused, taking a ragged breath. "He’s the only son of Senator Vance—the chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee. The Senator just signed off on a federal subpoena for every private email, contract, and balance sheet you've signed for the last five years. You're not just ruined, Margaret. You're going to prison."
***
