Chapter 6 - Hour 24: The Staged Press Conference
By Saturday morning, thirty-six hours had burned away. Exactly half the time Grant had given us.
The sun rose over Lake Michigan, casting long, pale shadows across the manicured lawns of Lake Forest. Outside the iron gates of the Holloway estate, three local television vans and a dozen independent journalists were gathered around a podium set up on the cobblestone driveway.
Margaret Holloway was playing her favorite role: the grieving, aristocratic matriarch under siege.
I sat at the counter of my diner, watching the live broadcast on the small television mounted above the coffee maker. Beside me, Hannah sat wrapped in a blanket, holding a steaming mug with both hands.
On the screen, Margaret stood behind microphones from CBS and NBC, wearing a modest black Chanel suit and pearl earrings. Grant stood half a step behind her, wearing a soft gray sweater and an expression of somber, performative pain. Across his left cheek was a dramatic white gauze bandage, carefully taped to suggest severe trauma.
"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," Margaret began, dabbing at the corner of her dry eyes with a linen handkerchief. "Our family has always believed in privacy, dignity, and service to this community. But the events of Thursday evening have forced us to speak out against a horrific campaign of violence and extortion."
Hannah gasped, dropping her spoon.
Margaret continued, her voice trembling with manufactured tears. "My son Grant’s wife, Hannah, has unfortunately struggled with severe emotional and psychological instability for many months. We have tried everything—counseling, medical intervention, boundless love—to help her heal. But two nights ago, Hannah’s mother, Martha Vance, broke into our private residence in an unhinged, violent rage."
Grant stepped forward, hanging his head. "She struck me repeatedly in front of my own mother," he told the cameras, his voice thick with rehearsed grief. "She threatened to burn our home down and vowed to use fabricated financial claims to destroy our family's sixty-year legacy. And then... she dragged my wife away against her will."
Margaret took the microphone back, her face hardening into an expression of moral outrage. "We are here today to plead with the authorities. Martha Vance is running an extortion racket out of that diner in Oakridge. She has abducted my daughter-in-law, and she is attempting to weaponize false allegations to steal Holloway Holdings' assets. We have filed formal criminal charges with the State's Attorney, and we are offering a fifty-thousand-dollar reward for any information leading to Hannah's safe recovery from that dangerous woman."
A reporter shouted from the press pool: "Mrs. Holloway, what about the reports that the State Comptroller froze Holloway Holdings' accounts yesterday?"
Victor Cole immediately stepped in front of the cameras, raising both hands. "Those are administrative irregularities resulting from malicious filings by Martha Vance’s fringe legal associates! They will be dismissed with prejudice by Monday morning! No further questions!"
Margaret and Grant turned and walked slowly back toward their mansion, their heads bowed like martyrs walking to the stake.
The television cut to commercial.
The diner fell into a tomb-like quiet.
"They're going to arrest you, Mom," Hannah whispered, tears spilling onto the laminate counter. "They’re turning the entire town against you. People are going to believe them. Everyone in this county knows Margaret Holloway."
I reached up and clicked the television off.
"Do you know what the biggest mistake an arrogant hunter makes, Hannah?" I asked softly.
She shook her head.
"They get so excited about setting the trap that they don't look at the ground beneath their own boots."
The front door opened. It wasn't the police. It wasn't Victor Cole.
It was Arthur Sterling, dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit, carrying two heavy leather briefcases. Behind him walked four men in dark windbreakers with yellow lettering on the back:
*FBI — FORENSIC INVESTIGATIONS UNIT.*
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Arthur set his briefcases on the counter, looked at Hannah, and gave her a sharp, predatory smile.
"Judge Kowalski didn't just sign the search warrant, Mrs. Holloway," Arthur said. "Because the offshore accounts Martha flagged were tied to an ongoing federal investigation into maritime wire fraud, the Department of Justice took jurisdiction four hours ago. Margaret Holloway just held a press conference to tell the world she was innocent... while an FBI swat team is currently cutting through the safe in her basement."
