Chapter 7 - Stripped to the Bone
The social media storm devoured the Petersons alive.
By 2:00 PM, Megan’s boutique Instagram page was flooded with over one hundred thousand comments calling her a child-abuser. Local protestors gathered outside her locked Rush Street store holding signs reading "Hands Off Children!" Her high-end suppliers immediately canceled their wholesale contracts, publicly severing all ties with her brand.
Carol’s beloved social circle turned on her in an instant. The board of the Chicago Botanical Garden, where Carol served as vice president, called an emergency meeting and voted unanimously to strip her of her title and ban her from the premises.
Frank’s high-society lunch club canceled his membership via email, citing "conduct unbecoming of a gentleman."
But the worst fell upon Mark.
At 3:30 PM, Mark was sitting in his leased BMW in a public parking garage—where he had been forced to sleep after being evicted—when he received an urgent call from his primary investors.
"Mark," the lead investor shouted through the phone. "What the absolute hell is wrong with you?! That video is everywhere! Our clients are pulling their portfolios! We’ve lost forty million dollars in assets under management in six hours!"
"It was a misunderstanding!" Mark begged, tears streaming down his face. "My sister made a mistake, my wife overreacted..."
"Your wife?" the investor spat. "Your wife was the only reason we put our money with you! Everyone in the industry knows Vance Holdings backed your operations! Now that she’s pulled her liquidity and exposed your family as abusive monsters, you’re toxic! Don't ever call this office again!"
The line went dead.
Panicked, shivering, and stripped of every ounce of pride, Mark drove to the offices of Vance & Hayes Holdings in downtown Chicago. He sprinted through the marble lobby, pushing past security guards, frantically riding the elevator up to the executive suite on the forty-fifth floor.
He burst through the double glass doors, looking like a manic ghost.
"Chloe!" he yelled, his voice echoing through the silent, luxurious floor. "Chloe, I know you’re in here! Talk to me!"
Two tall, muscular private security officers stepped into his path, blocking him effortlessly.
Behind them, the mahogany doors of the corner office swung open.
I walked out, dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, my hair styled perfectly, holding a sleek leather briefcase. Alongside me was Arthur Vance and three senior legal partners.
Mark stared at me, his mouth agape. He had never seen me like this. He had only ever seen the quiet woman who cooked dinner, folded his shirts, and smiled politely while his mother insulted her taste.
"Chloe..." Mark gasped, his voice trembling. "Chloe, please... look at what you’re doing to us. Megan is ruined. My parents are staying in a cheap motel outside the city. My firm is gone! My life is over!"
I stopped five feet away from him. I didn't look angry. I didn't look spiteful.
I looked at him with absolute, total indifference.
"Your life isn't over, Mark," I said softly. "You still have your freedom. For now."
"Why are you doing this?!" Mark sobbed, dropping to his knees on the marble floor. "Over one mistake?! She’s just a kid! She doesn't even remember it!"
"She remembers," I said, my voice cutting through the room like a diamond blade. "She remembers her aunt hitting her face. She remembers her grandmother laughing about it. And she remembers her father taking the abuser's side."
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Arthur stepped forward and dropped a thick legal binder onto the floor in front of Mark.
"Notice of Emergency Custody Petition, Motion for Absolute Divorce on Grounds of Cruelty, and Criminal Complaint for Child Abuse against Megan Peterson," Arthur said plainly. "You have thirty days to respond."
