Chapter 5 - Venom in High DefinitionBy 8:00 PM, the story had completely shattered the local news cycles. Channel 5 Phoenix ran the unedited kitchen video as their lead package. On Twitter and TikTok, the hashtag #JusticeForAnastasia was trending number one in North America.
Callan’s PR firm tried to launch a counter-offensive. They released a televised statement showing Callan sitting in a wheelchair outside Mayo Clinic, wrapped in bandages like a burn victim, weeping softly into a linen handkerchief.
"My wife has been struggling with severe mental health issues," Callan lied glibly to the camera, his voice shaking with feigned heartbreak. "I love her dearly, and we only want her to get the psychiatric help she desperately needs..."
Sitting in my father's small office, I watched the screen with an icy smile.
"He's good," David Vance said, leaning against the doorframe with two paper cups of cheap gas station coffee. "He's playing the tragic, long-suffering husband. Half the country donors in Paradise Valley are already buying it."
"He's playing a 1990s PR strategy in a 2026 digital ecosystem," I replied, typing rapidly into my keyboard. "Watch this."
I hit Enter.
I uploaded the raw audio file recorded by my smartwatch four minutes before the kitchen incident. It was the ambient audio Callan didn't know existed.
The audio exploded across the internet within twenty minutes:
Callan's voice: "Sign the patent transfer papers over to Harrington Construction, Anastasia, or I swear to God I'll make sure your old man dies in a bankruptcy court!"
Anastasia's voice: "Get your hands off me, Callan!"
Sound of a brutal impact, followed by Brooklyn laughing.
The public outrage was instantaneous. The comment section under Callan's televised interview turned into a graveyard for his reputation. Sponsors began pulling out of the Harrington Charity Gala. Harrington Construction stock plunged 14% before the after-hours trading desk closed.
My phone rang. The caller ID showed a private, unlisted Paradise Valley number.
I answered and put it on speaker.
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"You bitch," Callan’s voice snarled, his polite TV persona completely shattered. "You think you're smart? You just declared war on people who own the judges, the police, and the banks in this state."
"I don't need to own them, Callan," I said smoothly, leaning back in my chair. "I just need to show the world who you really are. See you in court."
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