Chapter 8 - The Press Conference War
By 9:00 AM the following morning, the grand atrium of Cole Tower was packed with over two hundred journalists, major news networks, and television cameras.
Rumors had circulated that Adrian Cole was resigning as CEO, drawing massive financial press coverage.
Standing in the green room backstage, Lucía held Mateo tightly in her arms. The baby was wearing a navy blue jumpsuit, smiling happily, oblivious to the storm brewing outside the double doors.
Adrian walked into the room, wearing a bespoke charcoal suit. He knelt beside Lucía, placing a hand on her cheek.
"Are you ready, Lucía?" Adrian asked gently.
"I’m terrified," Lucía admitted honestly. "What if Julian’s marshals interrupt the conference?"
"Let them try," Adrian said, a confident, fierce smile touching his lips. "Jonathan’s security team has surrounded the building. Nobody steps onto that stage unless I permit it."
At 9:15 AM, Adrian walked out onto the elevated stage under the blinding flash of cameras.
"Good morning, members of the press," Adrian began, his voice echoing powerfully through the sound system. "Three years ago, my sister, Clara Cole, was murdered."
A collective gasp rippled through the auditorium. The reporters erupted into a frenzy of shouted questions, but Adrian raised his hand, commanding instant silence.
"The police called it an accident," Adrian continued, leaning into the microphone. "They were wrong. Clara was hiding from her abusive ex-fiancé, Julian Vance. She was pregnant. Eight months ago, she gave birth in secret before dying of her injuries."
Adrian pointed toward the side of the stage. "And today, I am introducing Clara’s son—and the sole heir to the Cole legacy—Mateo."
Lucía walked out onto the stage, holding Mateo in her arms. The camera flashes exploded like fireworks. Mateo blinked at the bright lights, then buried his small face into Lucía’s shoulder.
Before the reporters could process the revelation, the heavy glass entrance doors of the atrium were shoved open.
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Julian Vance—a tall, handsome man in his late thirties with sharp, cold features—marched into the lobby, flanked by six armed private security guards and two uniformed county marshals holding legal warrants.
"This press conference is over!" Julian shouted, his voice amplified by a portable bullhorn. "That child is my legally registered son! Lucía Herrera is an undocumented kidnapper! Marshals, seize the child!"
