Chapter 6 - THE RETALIATION
An hour later, a impromptu press conference was called in the lobby of Marchetti Towers. Over fifty journalists, news anchors, and paparazzi crammed into the grand foyer, their cameras flashing relentlessly.
Camilla Ashford had even showed up in person, sitting smugly in the back row alongside her father’s lawyers, waiting to watch me stumble and break under the pressure of the national media spotlight.
I walked out from the private elevator, wearing a sharp burgundy tailored suit, my hair styled in an elegant, professional updo. I didn't hide the faint white scar on my cheek. I wore it proudly.
I took my position behind the podium. The room immediately went chaotic with shouting reporters.
"Elena! Are you dating Enzo Marchetti?" "Is it true you were fired for theft from the catering company?" "Did you plan the incident at the gala?"
I raised my hand, and an absolute silence fell over the room. The quiet authority I had watched Enzo project for weeks had rubbed off on me.
"Good afternoon," I began, my voice clear and unwavering through the microphones. "I am here today to address the malicious fabrications published earlier by Ashford Media."
I clicked a remote control in my hand, and the giant high-definition screens behind me lit up.
Instead of legal statements, the screen displayed crystal-clear security footage from the night of the gala—footage that Senator Ashford thought he had successfully deleted from the manor's security servers.
The entire press corps gasped as the video played in high definition on national television: Camilla Ashford grabbing my shoulder, her nails breaking my skin, slapping me once, and then striking me a second time with her heavy diamond ring, drawing blood while two hundred guests watched.
"As you can see," I said, pointing calmly to the screen, "I did not 'seduce' anyone, nor did I stage an attack. I was a service worker carrying out my duties when I was physically assaulted by Miss Camilla Ashford."
Camilla’s face turned ghostly white in the back row. She stood up, trying to flee the room, but reporters immediately turned their cameras directly on her face, capturing her look of utter guilt.
"Furthermore," I continued, sliding another document onto the digital display, "here are the official bank transfer receipts showing that the Ashford family has used corporate funds from their charity foundation to pay off their personal debts to foreign lenders—the very debts Enzo Marchetti refused to finance."
The room erupted into a frenzy of camera flashes and urgent questions.
From the second-floor glass balcony overlooking the lobby, Enzo stood watching the spectacle unfold. He held a glass of scotch in his hand, a look of absolute admiration plastered across his handsome face.
May you like
I looked up at the balcony, catching his eye across the crowded room. Enzo raised his glass in a quiet toast to me.
I turned back to the microphones, offering one final, devastating smile to the cameras. "Thank you for your time, ladies and gentlemen. Justice in Chicago is no longer for sale."
