Chapter 6 - The Calloway Counterattack
The months leading up to the trial were a grueling test of endurance.
While Richard, Eleanor, and Ethan sat in federal prison, stripped of their luxuries and power, their defense team waged a relentless war in the media. Victor Sterling was a master of psychological warfare, and he knew that the only way to save his clients from decades behind bars was to completely destroy my credibility as the prosecution's star witness.
The smear campaign began online. Anonymous blogs and tabloid magazines suddenly started publishing "leaked" stories about me. They claimed I was a gold digger who trapped Ethan with a pregnancy. They published fabricated interviews with former housekeepers claiming I was verbally abusive, paranoid, and addicted to prescription medication. They even tried to paint the assault at the baby shower as self-defense, claiming I had suffered a psychotic break and attacked Ethan first with a champagne flute, forcing him to strike me to protect himself.
It was a barrage of lies designed to break me, to make me so exhausted and humiliated that I would refuse to take the stand.
But they underestimated the fortress I had built.
I was living in a secure, modest home rented under Emma’s name in a quiet suburb outside the city. My days were entirely devoted to Hudson. After three weeks in the NICU, he had grown strong enough to come home. He was a perfect, beautiful, thriving little boy with bright blue eyes and a shock of dark hair. Every time I looked at him, every time he wrapped his tiny hand around my finger, the noise of the media circus faded into absolute insignificance. He was my armor.
One rainy Tuesday afternoon, Emma and Agent Vance were sitting in my living room, going over the trial preparation.
“Sterling filed a motion this morning to have your medical records unsealed,” Agent Vance said, looking up from his laptop. “He wants to use your history of IVF and fertility struggles to build a narrative that the hormones made you clinically unstable. He’s going to argue that your testimony is the product of a delusional, paranoid mind.”
Emma scoffed, pacing angrily across the hardwood floor. “That is disgusting. They are literally blaming a woman's fertility treatments for a man's violence and fraud.”
“It’s a standard dirty tactic,” Vance agreed, his jaw tight. “But the judge is likely to grant it in the interest of a fair defense. Claire, you need to be ready. When you take that stand, Sterling is going to try to humiliate you. He will dissect your marriage, your body, and your mind in front of the entire world. If you lose your temper, if you break down, he wins.”
I sat on the rocking chair, a sleeping Hudson resting warmly against my chest. I gently stroked his back, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
“He wants me to react like the victim Ethan trained me to be,” I said quietly. “He wants me to cry. He wants me to scream and look unhinged. I won't give him the satisfaction.”
Just then, my cell phone, which was sitting on the coffee table, began to vibrate. The caller ID was a restricted number. I frowned. My new number was highly classified, known only to my family and the FBI.
I answered cautiously, putting it on speakerphone so Vance and Emma could hear.
“Hello?”
“Did you really think you could hide from me, Claire?”
The voice was raspy, hollow, and echoing slightly against concrete walls. It was Ethan. He was calling from the prison payload system, likely using a smuggled contraband cell phone.
Agent Vance instantly sat up, signaling for me to keep him talking so he could trace the call.
“Ethan,” I said, keeping my voice utterly devoid of emotion. “You shouldn't be calling me. It’s a violation of your pre-trial restrictions.”
“I don't care about the rules!” Ethan snapped, the facade of the polished billionaire completely gone, replaced by the desperate snarl of a caged animal. “Do you know what it’s like in here? Do you know what the food tastes like? They treat me like an animal! Me!”
“You are an animal, Ethan. Actually, no. Animals protect their young. You hit a pregnant woman. You're a coward.”
“Shut up!” he screamed into the phone. “You listen to me, you ungrateful bitch. You take the deal. You call the prosecutor tomorrow and you tell her you made it all up. You tell her you forged the ledgers. If you do that, I’ll tell my lawyers to back off. We can settle the divorce quietly. I’ll even let you keep the kid. But if you take that stand… Sterling is going to destroy you. He’s going to make you look so crazy the state will take the baby away from you and put him in foster care.”
My blood ran ice cold, but not with fear. With a white-hot, singular rage. He was threatening my son.
“Are you finished?” I asked, my voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm whisper.
Ethan paused, breathing heavily into the receiver. “I’m giving you a way out, Claire.”
“I don't need a way out, Ethan, because I hold all the keys to your cage,” I said, looking down at Hudson’s peaceful face. “You want to threaten my son? You want to try and drag my name through the mud? Go ahead. Bring your best lawyers. Bring your lies. But know this: I am going to sit on that witness stand, I am going to look you in the eye, and I am going to bury you under the weight of your own arrogance. You will die in prison, Ethan. And Hudson will never even know your name.”
May you like
I hung up the phone.
Agent Vance looked at me, a slow, impressed smile spreading across his face. “Well. I don't think we need to worry about your trial preparation anymore. You are more than ready.”
