Chapter 14 - I Walked Into the CamerasThe next morning, I walked through the front entrance of corporate headquarters.
No private garage.
No side door.
No security tunnel.
Front entrance.
Dozens of reporters stood behind barricades.
The second they saw me, microphones rose like weapons.
“Claire!”
“Did you assault your husband?”
“Were the leaked emails authentic?”
“Are you under federal investigation?”
“Did you manipulate company records?”
I stopped.
Victoria had advised against speaking.
Corporate legal had begged me to issue only a written statement.
Public relations wanted seventy-two hours.
I gave them none.
I looked directly into the cameras.
“My name is Claire Bennett.”
The shouting quieted.
“I will not try this case on television. I will not release private evidence simply to win an argument online. But I will say three things.”
Every microphone moved closer.
“First, I am cooperating fully with law enforcement regarding an ongoing stalking, fraud, unauthorized systems access, and extortion investigation.”
A ripple moved through the crowd.
“Second, portions of the material released yesterday have been manipulated, stripped of context, or obtained illegally.”
More shouting.
I lifted one hand.
“Third—and most importantly—I will not be intimidated into silence by someone who believes fear is the same thing as control.”
Then I walked inside.
No tears.
No dramatic accusations.
No naming Preston.
Just facts.
By noon, the narrative began shifting.
Not completely.
The internet never moves in one direction.
But legitimate journalists started asking questions.
Why was Rebecca Sloan missing from Preston's story?
Why had she surrendered to authorities?
Why were federal agents investigating shell companies linked to him?
Why did a former fiancée have an old police complaint?
Why had Preston left the state after his annulment?
The cracks widened.
Then Natalie did something none of us expected.
She went public.
Not anonymously.
Not through a lawyer.
She appeared on a local news interview with her full name and face.
“I stayed silent eight years ago,” she said. “I won't do it again.”
She described Preston's abuse.
His financial targeting.
His rules.
His threats.
His family's payoff.
Charles Hale watched the interview beside us.
When Natalie described receiving fifty thousand dollars, he lowered his head.
Then he called the same station.
“I paid her,” he admitted on camera.
“It was wrong. My son hurt her. I helped him avoid consequences. That decision taught him something terrible: that his family would clean up whatever damage he caused.”
It was the first thing Charles had done that I respected.
By evening, two more women contacted police.
Neither had married Preston.
Both had dated him briefly.
Both described early financial questions and escalating control.
The public story changed again.
But Preston was still missing.
And the stolen corporate data remained in circulation.
At 9:15 PM, Julian called me into a secure office.
“We found how he got the archive.”
“Rebecca?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
He turned his screen.
An employee photograph.
Douglas Mercer.
Our CEO.
I stared.
“No.”
“Not Douglas himself.”
“Then?”
“His personal laptop.”
Someone had installed remote access software through a fake board document.
Weeks earlier.
The phishing email came from an address resembling mine.
Preston had used Douglas to access the corporation.
But something bothered me.
“Why Douglas?”
“Maximum privileges.”
“No. Why could Preston design a board-level phishing message that convincing?”
Julian understood.
“He had internal information.”
“Rebecca?”
“She knew plenty.”
“But the email referenced a private board discussion Rebecca wasn't in.”
Julian's face changed.
There was another accomplice.
We reviewed access.
Board members.
Executive assistants.
Legal.
Finance.
Then one name surfaced.
Nathan Cole.
Chief Operating Officer.
My strongest supporter during the Managing Director promotion.
The person who had urged Douglas to select me over Rebecca.
I wanted Julian to be wrong.
He wasn't.
Nathan had exchanged encrypted messages with Rebecca for months.
When federal agents arrived at his home, he tried to delete his phone remotely.
Too late.
His motive was simple.
Debt.
Gambling.
More than two million dollars.
Rebecca had promised him a portion of the stolen Graystone funds.
In exchange, Nathan supplied private corporate information.
The conspiracy now had its missing bridge.
Nathan was arrested.
Rebecca formally entered a cooperation agreement.
And Preston became the only major participant still free.
That should have made him weaker.
Instead, it made him dangerous.
He had lost Rebecca.
Nathan.
His father.
His sister.
His public story.
Every support system.
Men like Preston didn't respond to isolation with reflection.
They responded with escalation.
At 11:34 PM, Detective Torres called.
“We found the marina boat.”
“Did he board?”
“No.”
“So it was bait.”
“Yes.”
“Anything useful?”
“One fingerprint.”
“His?”
“No.”
“Whose?”
Torres hesitated.
“Yours.”
My stomach dropped.
“I've never been on that boat.”
“We know.”
“Then how?”
“Something containing your prints was placed aboard.”
I immediately thought of the safe.
Documents.
Jewelry.
Objects Rebecca stole.
Preston was building evidence.
“For what?”
“We don't know.”
Then Torres received another call while I was still connected.
I heard her speaking in the background.
Her voice changed.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“You need to come downtown.”
“Why?”
“A body was just discovered near the marina.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“Who?”
“We don't have identification yet.”
My voice barely worked.
“And my fingerprint?”
May you like
Torres exhaled.
“It's on the knife.”
