Chapter 3 - The Press Conference
The lobby of the Ashby Capital Tower was packed with over fifty journalists, their camera flashes creating an oppressive, strobe-like glare against the marble walls.
Evelyn Vance stood behind the mahogany podium, flanked by two members of the city council and a representative from the district attorney's office. Behind them, a massive LED screen displayed the paused, grainy image of six-year-old Bea reaching into James Ashby’s pocket.
"What happened yesterday in Kellerman Square," Evelyn announced into the cluster of microphones, her voice echoing with rehearsed indignation, "is a horrifying symptom of a lawless city. When a titan of industry—a man who has poured tens of millions into municipal development—can be targeted by coordinated juvenile distractors while suffering a life-threatening medical emergency, we must ask ourselves: where is the accountability?"
A reporter raised his hand high. "Ms. Vance! Has Mr. Ashby identified the children? Are pressing criminal charges being filed by the estate?"
"We are cooperating fully with law enforcement," Evelyn replied smoothly, a practiced, solemn smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "While we deeply regret that young children are being weaponized by organized crime rings in our public parks, Ashby Capital will take a zero-tolerance stance to ensure public safety—"
CLANG.
The heavy glass entrance doors of the lobby swung open, rebounding off the brass stops with the crack of a gunshot.
The room went dead silent. Cameras spun around in unison.
Walking down the center aisle, flanked by four towering security officers who clearly did not answer to Evelyn Vance, was James Ashby.
He was not wearing his signature tailored navy suit. He wore a simple, unpressed coat, his collar open, his face haggard and hollowed out by pain. But as he walked, the crowd instinctively parted before him. The shear weight of his presence sucked the oxygen right out of the room.
Evelyn’s face drained of color. "James... you’re supposed to be in the ICU—"
James didn't say a word to her. He stepped up to the podium, brushed her aside so forcefully she nearly lost her footing, and grabbed the edges of the wood to steady his trembling body.
He looked directly into the blue light of the lead network camera.
"My name is James Ashby," he said. His voice was quiet, but through the high-grade microphones, it resonated like thunder through the silent hall. "And everything you have been told over the last twelve hours is a disgusting, shameful lie."
The room erupted into a chaos of shouted questions, but James slammed his palm down on the podium.
"SILENCE!" he roared.
The room fell instant, terrifyingly quiet again.
"Yesterday morning, I suffered a massive heart attack in Kellerman Square," James said, his breath coming in ragged, painful hitches. "Dozens of adults walked past me. Men in suits like mine. People on their phones. People who looked at a dying man and decided that helping was too inconvenient for their schedule."
He turned and pointed a finger directly at the massive LED screen displaying the grainy image of Callie and Bea.
"These two children—Beatrice and Callie Grant—did not rob me," James said, his voice thick with an emotion no one in that building had ever heard from him before. "They stopped. They stayed. When my body gave out, Beatrice used my thumb to unlock my phone and dialed 911. Callie held my hand. She held it and told me she wasn't going anywhere."
He looked directly at Evelyn, whose jaw was trembling.
"My communications team, acting without my consent and driven by absolute corporate cowardice, took a act of pure, miraculous humanity and twisted it into a viral hit-piece to serve their own miserable agendas," James declared.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a thick document, and slapped it onto the podium.
"As of five minutes ago, I have executed a full voting override as majority shareholder of Ashby Capital. Evelyn Vance is terminated effective immediately, for gross ethical violations. The firm’s legal team is currently filing emergency defamation lawsuits against every news outlet that aired this defamatory clip without verification."
The room was in utter shock. Reporters were furiously typing on their phones, camera operators adjusting their focus in a frenzy.
"Where are the girls now, Mr. Ashby?!" a reporter yelled over the noise.
James’s eyes darkened, a shadow of profound guilt crossing his features. "They are currently being threatened with separation by a broken social system because their grandmother—a woman who spent thirty-seven years educating the children of this city—is being thrown out of a medical facility for lacking insurance."
May you like
He leaned into the microphone, his eyes locked onto the central lens.
"I am coming for them," James said softly. "And God help anyone standing in my way."
