20. Declan #2
“The first mention of a hidden child appeared on a private investor forum six hours before any photograph of the minor was published,” she says.
“The language used in that post matches language later used by three accounts on separate platforms and two gossip sites that didn’t disclose their source.
The claim that company funds were misused appeared before any request for comment was sent to Crossridge.
The allegation that Ms. Wynn had been concealed for professional reasons was circulating before her name appeared in any confirmed report. ”
The screen changes again, laying out message timestamps, repeated phrases, and a map of how the story spread from one anonymous account to another. It’s not enough to finish this. Not yet. But it’s enough to make one thing impossible to ignore.
None of this happened by accident.
The room feels different by the time Marcus steps forward. He doesn’t take the podium. Marcus has never needed one to make people listen.
“Our internal review confirms that Ms. Wynn’s home was identified and targeted far more quickly than would be expected through normal public records,” he says.
“We have identified a pattern of contact between outside parties and accounts involved in amplifying these false narratives. Some of those connections are still under legal review, so I will not name individuals today.”
“What I can say is that this was not organic interest, and it was not responsible journalism. It was coordinated pressure.”
A reporter calls out, "Are you accusing a competitor?"
Sloane's head turns.
"I'm saying what I can prove," he replies. "And we will prove more."
The room quiets as Graham steps forward. He doesn’t carry notes or glance toward the cameras. He simply looks out at the reporters for a long moment before he begins, and somehow that silence commands more attention than any speech.
“Crossridge Group does not use families as shields,” he says.
“We also do not abandon people when standing beside them becomes inconvenient.
Ms. Wynn is a professional who was pulled into this because someone believed damaging her would damage us.
Flynn Wynn is a child who should never have been mentioned in public at all.
“Anyone who participated in that decision should understand that we will respond with every legal and corporate resource available to us.”
He pauses, letting his gaze move across the room. "Crossridge protects its own."
Graham's voice never rises. It doesn't have to. By the time he finishes, the room is silent in a way it wasn't before.
I should feel relieved. Part of me does.
The narrative is changing. I can feel it even before the first reporter lowers her hand and starts typing.
Sloane's evidence gives them a new story.
Marcus's confirmation gives it weight. Graham's statement gives it consequence.
By tomorrow, maybe even by tonight, the headlines will be less intense.
Not all of them. Never all of them. But enough.
Julian loses this round, but not the war.
There are too many gaps, too many channels, too many people willing to spread poison as long as someone else mixes it first. We have enough truth to expose the manipulation, but not enough to end the man behind it.
He’ll step back. Deny. Smile for whichever room he thinks still belongs to him.
That knowledge should frustrate me more than it does.
Instead, all I can think about is Talia not being here to see any of this.
I return to the podium because the cameras are still live, and because there is one more thing I need to say before the lawyers turn this back into controlled language.
"I want to be clear about something," I say.
Sloane glances at me, but she doesn't intervene.
Good.
"Public trust matters. Crossridge's reputation matters. Our board, our employees, our clients, and our investors deserve facts instead of distortion."
I look into the camera for the first time since I started speaking, forcing myself not to think about whether Talia is watching.
"But I‘m not standing here because a company needed a cleaner headline."
My throat tightens.
"I am standing here because the woman I love and my son deserve better than silence from me. We can't change the seven years we lost. We can't change the fact that I didn't know Flynn existed or that Ms. Wynn carried that responsibility on her own. But we can choose what happens next.
“She didn't create this story, nor did she ask to become part of it. She simply deserves the same privacy and respect every parent should expect for themselves and their child."
The cameras remain fixed on me, and for the first time, I don't resent them. Let them record every word. Let there be no question about where I stand when this is over.
"I won't let silence speak for me again."
The room is very still when I finish.
Sloane steps in smoothly, answering the first question before it becomes a spectacle.
She redirects every attempt to pull Flynn’s name deeper into the conversation, refusing to let Talia become a target.
Marcus fields two questions about the coordinated campaign with answers so precise they give away nothing and threaten everything.
Neither Graham nor Adrian answers any questions at all, which somehow says more than if they had.
By the time the cameras cut, the air in the room has changed. No one rushes forward. No one shouts.
The reporters gather their things in a silence that feels almost respectful, though I know better than to trust it completely.
The board members leave in small clusters.
Some satisfied, some unsettled, all of them aware that the center of power in this room shifted while they were sitting in it.
Legal tries to catch Sloane near the door, but she gives them one look and keeps walking.
Adrian is the last to stop beside me.
"You did the right thing."
I look out over the empty room.
"It was the only thing left to do."
Adrian follows my gaze for a moment before looking back at me.
"Then don't stop here."
I already know what he means. Call her. Go to her. Stop trying to fix this from behind a podium and fight for the woman I love instead.
Graham pauses in the doorway, his hand resting briefly against the frame. "She'll have heard you."
The certainty in his voice almost breaks something in me. "You don't know that."
"No," he says. "But I know you."
Then he leaves too.
The room empties in polite silence until the only sound left is the low hum of the lights above me and the faint pulse still beating too hard in my ears.
For the first time all morning, no one is asking me for answers.
No reporter. No board member. No legal advisor.
No colleague trying to tell me which version of myself the public will accept.
My phone vibrates on the podium. Once, then again.
By the time I turn it over, the screen is crowded with missed calls and messages. Board members. Employees. Reporters. Contacts I haven't spoken to in years. Numbers I don't recognize. The live statement has already spread farther than anything I could have controlled.
The screen is crowded with dozens of missed calls and hundreds of messages. I scroll through them anyway, even though I already know what I won't find.
Nothing from Talia.
Somehow, that silence is louder than everything else.
I stare at the screen until it blurs slightly, then set the phone down before I can do something desperate with it. My shoulders shake once on an exhale I don't manage to control. I thought telling the truth would feel like release, and in some ways it does. I’ve also never felt more alone.
Slowly, I look out over the empty room.
The chairs are still arranged in careful rows. The cameras are gone. The lights remain too bright, reflecting off the polished table where the board had sat and watched me finally become the kind of man I should have been before anyone forced me to do it.
For too long, I convinced myself one night couldn't shape the rest of my life. I know better now. Some moments don't end when you walk away from them. They wait until you're finally ready to understand what they meant.
My voice is barely more than a whisper when I speak into the empty room.
"It's love," I say softly.
"It always was."