Chapter 6: Media Strike

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This entry is part 6 of 12 in the series When Her Wealthy Gothic Mother-in-Law Shoves Her Face into a Birthday Cake to Bind a $40 Million Blood Curse, Restorer Clara Grabs Her Coward Husband by the Hair to Unleash Her Family's Guards

When Her Wealthy Gothic Mother-in-Law Shoves Her Face into a Birthday Cake to Bind a $40 Million Blood Curse, Restorer Clara Grabs Her Coward Husband by the Hair to Unleash Her Family's Guards

Chapter 1: The Icing on the Altar

Chapter 2: Gabriel’s Intervention

Chapter 3: Deciphering the Deceit

Chapter 5: The Ancestral Anchor

Chapter 7: Eleanor’s Retaliation

Chapter 8: Preparing the Final Confrontation

Chapter 9: The Parking Lot Confrontation

Chapter 10: Eleanor’s Downfall

Chapter 11: The Irreversible Sacrifice

Back in the safe office, the air crackled with a different kind of energy. Gabriel worked at his console, a whirlwind of focused clicks and keystrokes. He took the high-resolution scans of the fraudulent trust documents, the detailed evidence of the stolen funds buried with the anchor, and cross-referenced them with the occult sigils I had identified. Then, he sent them.

“Outgoing to every major local news outlet, financial reporter, and social media journalist,” Gabriel stated, watching the progress bar fill. “Targeted, anonymous. The Abernathy Historic Foundation just became a very public, very rotten apple.”

Within minutes, the first ripples started. A notification pinged on my phone. Then another. And another. Local news sites began running urgent alerts. Twitter feeds exploded with speculation. The Abernathy family, a bastion of Savannah society, was being publicly called out.

“Breaking News: Abernathy Foundation Under Scrutiny for Alleged Financial Malfeasance,” one headline blared.

“Anonymous Sources Claim Occult Ties in Abernathy Philanthropy,” read another, bolder one.

Eleanor’s pristine public image, carefully cultivated over decades, was beginning to crack. The phone on Gabriel’s desk, normally quiet, began to ring incessantly. He let it go to voicemail, a small, grim smile playing on his lips.

“The phone lines are probably melting at the Abernathy mansion right now,” he mused. “High-society donors demanding answers. Board members scrambling. An audit will be inevitable.”

I watched the news reports with a strange mix of satisfaction and dread. This was what Eleanor understood: public pressure, social disgrace, the unraveling of her carefully constructed facade. But I also knew she wouldn’t crumble easily. This would only make her more dangerous, more desperate. Her empire, her $40 million legacy, was now teetering on the brink, and she would lash out at anyone she perceived as responsible.