Chapter 7 - The Desperate Counter-Attack
I was right.
At 6:00 PM, while Adam was preparing dinner in our kitchen and Noah was showing Lizzy his board game collection in the living room, our front doorbell rang with sharp, persistent urgency.
I walked to the front door, looking through the smart doorbell camera feed on my phone.
It wasn't Gloria or Walt. It was a local television news crew—a reporter holding a microphone and a cameraman with a heavy broadcast lens pointed directly at my porch.
I opened the front door, keeping the heavy iron security screen locked tight.
"Natalie Mercer?" the reporter asked loudly, shoving the microphone toward the screen. "We're live with Channel 7 News. Your mother, Gloria Carter, just released a public statement claiming that you and your husband are holding six-year-old Elizabeth hostage after violently assaulting her home last night. How do you respond to allegations that you are using this child to extort your elderly parents out of their estate?"
My stomach dropped into a sickening pit. Gloria had gone nuclear. Unable to win in the courtroom, she was trying to destroy my reputation in the court of public opinion, painting me as a manic, money-hungry monster before the shelter hearing on Monday.
"My mother is lying," I said clearly through the screen.
"We have footage provided by Mrs. Carter showing your shattered kitchen window and the rock used to break into their home!" the reporter pushed, smelling a sensational viral story. "Do you deny breaking into their residence?"
Before I could answer, Adam walked up behind me. He didn't argue with the reporter. Instead, he held his laptop up to the camera lens.
"We don't deny breaking the window to save a starving child," Adam said calmly, his voice projecting clearly into the microphone. "And if you want real news, reporter, take a look at these."
Adam hit play on the raw medical photographic evidence provided by the hospital, displaying the clear, undeniable images of the workshop slide latch screwed shut on the outside of the closet door, the dark interior of the coat closet, and the certified ER intake report detailing Lizzy's severe malnutrition and wrist contusions.
The reporter stared at the laptop screen, her professional, sensationalist demeanor completely evaporating in an instant.
"Is... is this certified by the hospital?" the reporter stammered, stepping back.
"It's certified by the NYPD, Child Protective Services, and the attending ER staff," I stated coldly. "My parents were using that child to commit trust fund fraud while starving her in the dark. If you air my mother's fake story without including these official police evidence files, my legal team will file an immediate multi-million-dollar defamation suit against your network by midnight."
The cameraman slowly lowered his lens. The reporter swallowed hard, looking genuinely horrified by the images on the screen.
"I... we'll be pulling the segment," the reporter whispered, backing down the porch steps. "I'm so sorry for your trouble, Mrs. Mercer."
May you like
I locked the heavy door, leaning my forehead against the cool wood.
Gloria had thrown her best public relations punch, and it had blown up directly in her face.
