Chapter 8 - THE SMEAR CAMPAIGN
By Wednesday, the polished corridors of the Vance Corporation headquarters were humming with toxic whispers. Ryan, realizing that Elena was not going to quietly crumble into a postpartum depression, had launched a desperate, scorched-earth preemptive strike.
If he couldn't prove she was mentally incompetent through her own actions, he would manufacture the narrative himself.
Elena sat in her corner office, reviewing the morning press clippings Arthur had sent over. A notorious gossip blog, known for being a mouthpiece for corporate hit-jobs, had published a blind item that morning. It detailed the "tragic decline" of a prominent real estate heiress, alleging that extreme pregnancy hormones had led to erratic behavior, violent outbursts, and an inability to manage her vast portfolio. It went on to praise her "devoted husband" for quietly trying to hold the empire together.
"It's pathetic," Martha said, pacing the length of the office, her heels clicking angrily against the hardwood. "He's trying to plant the seeds for a hostile takeover using the board of directors. He wants them to doubt your competency before Monday's quarterly vote."
Elena didn't blink. She calmly closed the browser window. "It’s not pathetic, Mom. It’s predictable. A dying animal thrashes the hardest right before the end."
Her phone buzzed. It was a text from Vanessa, a burner number Arthur had set up for her.
He’s presenting a motion for temporary proxy control at the Friday emergency board meeting. He thinks he has the votes from the old guard.
"He’s moving the timeline up," Elena announced, looking up at her mother. "He’s calling an emergency board meeting for Friday. He knows the audit is going to catch up to him eventually, so he needs to execute the buyout with the rival firm immediately and vanish with the cash."
Martha stopped pacing. "Friday? That’s in two days. Are we ready?"
Before Elena could answer, a sharp, searing pain shot across her lower abdomen. She gasped, her hand flying to her stomach, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the edge of her glass desk. The pain was sudden, violent, and entirely unexpected.
"Elena!" Martha cried, rushing to her daughter's side. "What is it? Is it the baby?"
Elena took a series of rapid, shallow breaths, waiting for the contraction to pass. It peaked, stealing the air from her lungs, before slowly receding into a dull ache. She looked at the calendar on her desk. She was only thirty-one weeks along. It was far too early.
"The stress," Elena whispered, her forehead damp with sudden sweat. "Dr. Aris warned me that severe trauma and stress could induce premature labor."
"We are going to the hospital right now," Martha commanded, already reaching for her phone.
"No," Elena ground out, forcing herself to sit up straight, though her body trembled with exhaustion. "If I go to the hospital now, Ryan will have the proof he needs. He will walk into that boardroom on Friday, point to my medical absence, declare me unfit, and steal this company."
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"Elena, you cannot risk your child for this company!" Martha pleaded, tears shining in her eyes.
"I am not risking my child," Elena said fiercely, her maternal instinct merging perfectly with her ruthless corporate survival skills. "I am protecting her legacy. Call Arthur. Tell him to move the deposition to tomorrow. I am ending this before my daughter is born into a world where that monster has any power."
