Chapter 8 - The Peterson Council
By late afternoon, the panic inside the Peterson brownstone had reached a fever pitch.
Marcus had his legal associates monitor their social media and communication channels. Unsurprisingly, the Petersons decided that instead of bowing their heads in shame, they would go to war.
Megan took to Instagram.
She posted a heavily filtered tearful selfie from the brownstone’s living room, showcasing a small bruise near her lower lip.
*“I am completely devastated,”* her caption read to her 120,000 followers. *“This Thanksgiving, my own sister-in-law brutally attacked me in our family home after an argument over holiday dinner. She has now weaponized her corrupt corporate connections to illegally lock me out of my small business on Black Friday, ruin my livelihood, and threaten my elderly parents with eviction. Please share this. Don't let an unhinged bully with money destroy an independent female entrepreneur.”*
Within two hours, the post gained thousands of likes. Her sycophantic influencer friends began reposting it, tagging local Chicago news outlets and demanding justice for "Maison Megan."
Comments poured in, calling me an abusive monster, a wealthy elitist, and a psycho. Some even posted my name and demanded that people boycott any business associated with me.
At 4:30 PM, my phone pinged with an email from Frank Peterson.
*Subject: CEASE THIS MADNESS AT ONCE*
*Chloe,*
*I have sat back and watched you disrespect this family for far too long. Megan’s story is already going viral. Channel 7 News has already reached out to her for an exclusive interview tonight. By tomorrow morning, your name will be mud across the entire city of Chicago.*
*If you want to save yourself and your family’s reputation from utter public destruction, here are our terms:*
*1. Immediately drop all criminal charges and CPS complaints against Megan.*
*2. Unlock Maison Megan and reimburse her $250,000 for lost Black Friday revenue.*
*3. Transfer the deed of the Lincoln Park brownstone to Eleanor and myself to compensate for the emotional distress you caused us.*
*4. Sign an ironclad public apology written by our attorney.*
*You have until 7:00 PM. Do not test me, Chloe. I built this family’s name in this city, and I can tear you down.*
*— Frank Peterson*
I sat at Zoe’s kitchen island, reading the email while sipping water.
Zoe looked over my shoulder, burst out laughing, and nearly choked on her wine.
"Transfer the deed to the brownstone?" Zoe howled. "A four-million-dollar property in Lincoln Park? Is Frank smoking crack?"
"They really believe their own lies," I said quietly, scrolling through Megan’s viral Instagram post. "They genuinely think that because they put on nice suits and talk down to people, the world revolves around them."
"Marcus just walked into the home theater," Zoe said, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. "He has the raw footage from the brownstone’s security system."
I looked up, my eyes narrowing. "Frank installed that smart home security system three months ago. He told me it only recorded locally to a hard drive in his study."
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"Frank used an off-the-shelf commercial system installed by an independent contractor," Zoe smirked. "The same contractor Marcus uses for his firm's satellite offices. Guess who owns the cloud server hosting the automatic backup feed?"
I stood up from the island. "Let's see what the cameras saw."
