Chapter 4
Three days after the divorce, Matthew couldn't wait another second to broadcast his "true love" to the world.
At exactly nine in the morning, the Hawthorne Holdings official website dropped a bombshell announcement.
Simultaneously, Matthew's personal social media account, which hadn't seen a single update in forever, finally saw a new post.
The wording was identical on both fronts: [This is Matthew Hawthorne. Yesterday, I got engaged to Ms. Grace Winston, the love of my life. Our wedding is coming up soon.]
[Furthermore, I am officially recognizing Fiona, daughter of Ms. Grace Winston and her former husband, Mr. David Quinn, as my own. Fiona shall hold equal inheritance rights alongside any other Hawthorne heirs. We ask for the well wishes of our friends, family, and business partners.]
The post came with a "family portrait."
Matthew was decked out in a bespoke suit, one arm wrapped around Grace's waist and the other resting on Fiona's shoulder.
Grace wore a cream-colored Chanel suit, her makeup flawless and her smile soft as she leaned into him.
Fiona, in a puffy pink dress, tilted her face up toward the camera with a look of pure, angelic innocence.
It was a great photo. The lighting, the composition, and the expressions were perfect. They looked every bit the happy family.
I sat on my office sofa, staring at the image on my tablet with a deadpan expression. I wasn't surprised in the least. In fact, I almost wanted to laugh.
It looked like I had really driven Matthew crazy. Or was this just him showing off to Grace, trying to prove how much he loved her? Either way, this was exactly the move I'd been waiting for.
I set the tablet down, picked up my phone, and dialed a number. The call went through almost immediately. "Hello, George."
George Carter was the one financial reporter I trusted most and one of the few real friends I had in this circle.
Back when the Hawthorne empire was on the ropes, he'd been instrumental in helping me sway public opinion.
"Celia, I saw the news," George said, his voice level. "What do you need from me?"
"I need you to break a story." I stood up and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the sea of traffic below.
"The headline should read, 'Has the Hawthorne heir lost his mind for love? Suspected long-term affair with single mother Ms. Winston; mystery surrounds five-year-old daughter's true identity.'"
There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the line.
"And the content?" George asked.
"Hint that Matthew and Grace have known each other for a long time." My voice was calm. "Otherwise, why would he fall for her at first sight, get engaged three days after a divorce, and rush to claim her daughter as his own? The timing is just too sketchy.
"Does Mr. Hawthorne think his obsession with 'true love' makes him bulletproof?"
I paused. "The key is to make it look well-documented. Don't say it outright, but lead the public to connect the dots toward an affair and a secret love child."
"Got it," George replied concisely. "When should I post it?"
"Now." I glanced at my watch. "Muddle the waters before the Hawthorne PR team has a chance to react."
"Understood. Leave it to me," George replied.
After hanging up, I sat back down on the sofa and opened my laptop.
On the screen, the stock market ticker was pulsing in real-time. Next to the Hawthorne Holdings ticker, the numbers were flashing green. But it wasn't enough.
I had to wait. I needed the rumors to reach a fever pitch and the stock price to bottom out.