The drive back to the city was a grim, high-speed blur.
Inside the Maybach, the air was thick with the smell of wet wool and the sharp, metallic tang of the blood still drying on Alexander's knuckles. Elara sat curled against his side, her fingers still numbly gripping the amber vial.
She turned on the car's integrated media screen, and the world began to scream.
"—Shocking allegations tonight as sources within the Federal Audit Bureau suggest that the 'stroke' of Margaret Vance was a meticulously staged event—"
"—Speculation grows that Elara Vance and her new husband, the controversial billionaire Alexander Cross, may have conspired to hasten the heiress's inheritance—"
The screen flashed a photo of Elara from the night of the gala. She looked stunning, cold, and—with the media's new narrative—entirely heartless.
"They're fast," Elara whispered, her voice sounding hollow even to her own ears. "Richard's dead, but his poison is still working. He set this to trigger if he didn't check in. It's a dead-man's switch for my reputation."
Alexander didn't look at the screen. He was staring at the back of Liam's head. "Liam, how many outlets have picked this up?"
"Every major network, Boss. And the social media bots are working overtime. By sunrise, 'Vance Murder' will be the only thing the world is talking about." Liam's voice was tight. "The FAB has already issued a statement saying they are 'reviewing the validity' of the marriage under the suspicion of criminal conspiracy."
Alexander's jaw tightened. He turned to Elara, his eyes dark and unreadable. "They want to invalidate the marriage. If they do that, they can freeze the merger permanently and dismantle the Vance Corporation while you're tied up in a murder investigation."
Elara looked at the amber vial in her hand. "But I have the proof. I have the toxin."
"It's not enough," Alexander said, his voice a low, hard rasp. "In the court of law, that vial is a piece of glass you 'found' on a dead girl. Without a confession or a paper trail linking it back to the clinic, it's just more evidence they can use to say you were the one with the poison."
"So what do we do?" Elara asked, her chest tightening. "We can't just sit back and let them turn me into a monster."
Alexander reached out, his thumb tracing the sharp line of her jaw. His touch was grounding, a tether in the middle of the storm.
"We don't go to the police," Alexander decided. "And we don't go to the lawyers. Not yet. If the world wants a show, we give them a masterpiece."
4:00 AM. The Cross Penthouse.
The penthouse had been transformed into a war room.
Four of Alexander's top media consultants were huddled in the lounge, their faces lit by the blue light of their laptops. Liam was on a secure line with a private forensic lab, and Elara was standing at the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the sun begin to bleed over the horizon.
"We have three hours before the markets open," a consultant said, glancing at Alexander. "If we don't get ahead of this, the stock will hit zero by noon."
"I don't care about the stock," Alexander growled, standing behind Elara. He didn't touch her, but his presence was a heavy, protective shadow. "I want the person who leaked the FAB files found. And I want the media to realize that if they print a single lie about my wife, I will buy their networks just to burn them down."
"Wait," Elara said, turning away from the window.
The exhaustion had reached a breaking point, and in its place, a strange, cold clarity had settled over her. She looked at the consultants, then at Alexander.
"We don't fight the leak," Elara said, her eyes flashing. "We lean into it."
"Elara?" Alexander's brow furrowed.
"They think I'm a cold-blooded heiress who killed her mother for money," Elara said, walking toward the center of the room. "The more we deny it, the more we look guilty. So, we change the ending. We don't release the vial to the press. We release it to the one person the FAB can't ignore."
"Who?" Liam asked.
"The Attorney General," Elara replied. "But we do it publicly. We call a live press conference on the steps of the Justice Department at 8:00 AM. I'm going to go on live television and accuse the Federal Audit Bureau of complicity in my mother's murder."
The room went dead silent.
"It's a suicide mission," the lead consultant whispered. "You're declaring war on the federal government."
"They started the war," Elara countered. She looked at Alexander. "They think I'm the weak link. They think if they pressure me, I'll fold and the Cross empire will crumble. I want to show them what happens when a Vance gets desperate."
Alexander stared at her for a long, agonizing minute. The silence stretched until it was almost painful.
Then, a slow, terrifyingly proud smile spread across his face.
"Get the cars ready," Alexander commanded, his voice vibrating with raw power. "And someone get my wife a dress that looks like a goddamn suit of armor. We're going to D.C."