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Right. That's the key component of this entire mess.
"There exists no quid pro quo relationship between the funding of Dirty Lil' Angels and Carlton Capital," Drake goes on to say. "There is no unholy alliance between Hard Times and Carlton Capital. In fact, at the very beginning, I pulled the funding for the initial investments because I was concerned about the viability of Ms. Vanderhill's company products. I am no longer concerned."
Flash bulbs intensify. Now we're getting somewhere.
"I categorically denounce anyone who has the audacity to claim that sexual favors were traded for favorable investment services," Drake says into the microphone as he looks into the crowd. "Since that violates at least 20 different regulations and implies criminal conduct, if you are planning on making that accusation, I plan on bringing at least fifty lawyers to that conversation."
Mild laughter. We might actually get through this. Motherfucker might actually pull it off.
"If we are clear on this, then that concludes my statement," Drake says and then gives a sigh of relief as he says, "Any questions."
There's a momentary pause and I think that the worst is over.
Fuck. I've never been so fucking wrong in my life.
"Mr. Carlton, do you believe your shareholders would approve of your sexual relationship with your stepdaughter and stepson?" a reporter from the front asks.
"I don't think they'd care," Drake says quickly. "Everyone is an adult."
"Mr. Carlton, was there any coercion involved with Ms. Vanderhill?" another reporter piles on.
"No," Drake says. "None."
"So you are in fact confirming that you do have a simultaneous sexual relationship with both of your step-children?" another reporter adds in, and now I see Drake is taken aback.
"What does that have to do with anything?" he shoots back, snarling.
Wrong move, Daddy-o.
The flash from the camera bulbs is intense. Like a thousand fucking suns just descended.
"Mr. Carlton," a reporter shouts. "How long have you been sleeping with your stepdaughter?"
"How long have you been sleeping with Sloane Hardman?" another one yells.
"Where was the first place you had sex?" another reporter shouts out.
"Have you thought of resigning from your position due to the scandal?" comes yet another fucking question.
This time Drake looks worried. The last question came out of nowhere. But the reporters are just snowballing now. They're leading themselves on. And the story is writing itself.
"Do you believe you've violated criminal laws?" the first reporter yells.
"Have you retained counsel in the event you get arrested?" another follows up.
The questions are coming too fast.
And before Drake knows it, he's gonna be broke, in jail, and out of a job.
He can't stop this press conference. The mob is too strong. It's out of control.
There's only one thing to do.
I clear my throat and step into the center of the crowd from the edge I was just in.
"If you guys wanna fucking pick on us, at least send some questions my way, won't you?" I say with a loud booming voice.
Immediately the crowd stops. They turn to me.
