Podium

ADELINE'S POV

By the time I was done narrating everything that had led up until my death, my father, Mikhail, Natasha were all shocked.

"The bloody murderer." Nash whispered, shaking her head.

“The worst part about everything is that I never even saw this coming,” I said, and all their eyes turned back to me. “I mean… Fara. I never suspected for a second that she was Conrad’s daughter. There is a bit of resemblance, yes, but I always thought it was because she was his late sister’s child you know.”

“And the Mal case,” I continued, “I haven't seen him getting close with any other women so I couldn't even have the suspicion that he got married to another woman.”

I looked at Natasha. “You are the best with social media. Digging and stuff. Can you help me figure out who this Mal person is?"

Her phone was already in her hand.

“Absolutely.”

A flurry of taps followed and her brows drew together.

She turned the screen toward me.

“No. No way.”

“This is insane.”

Conrad Basquire. Married for two years, to Malinda Stewart.

Malinda Stewart. My high school bully. The girl who tormented me for years, followed me into college, made my life a full-time horror film. And Conrad had always been the one who defended me from her.

My father was beyond pissed.

“He deserves to rot in prison for the rest of his life.”

I turned to Mikhail,

"Is it possible for me to change quickly and for you to take me to the news station. I want to make a statement. I want to expose Conrad publicly. I want the entire press and every social media outlet to hear the truth from my mouth.”

Mikhail nodded.

"I will be sending my full security team with you. And I will come along.”

I shook my head. “No, Dad. Please. Rest.”

Natasha immediately backed me up. “She is right. You have barely eaten. Now that you have seen your daughter alive, you need to eat. I will have the chef make you something quickly.”

Father hesitated but then sat down, I could tell he was indeed very hungry.

Natasha turned to me. “Your room is still the same. Cleaned, stocked, everything is fresh. I think you should go and shower. Change, and yeah...we will move from there.”

I felt comfort at that.

“Thank you.”

Mikhail rose to his feet. “I will run home and change,” he said. “I have a patient I must check on quickly. But I will return while the sun is high. Then we will go together to the station.”

Our eyes met, and for a heartbeat I noticed for the first time just how... raw they were.

If that made any sense.

××××

[CHANNEL 37B2 — AJAX NEWS REPORT]

This was an entrance and I had to make sure everyone felt it. Natasha had practically yelled at me in the car, telling me to go big, to milk every second of this, to make sure the world knew I was alive and that Conrad Basquire’s empire of lies was crumbling.

The headlines had been insane already

“The Heiress Rises From the Dead,” “Deal With the Devil? She is Back,”people were already spinning stories and I intended to make good use of this social media heat.

I stepped out of the car, and the sunlight caught the deep red of my lipstick. My hair was in ringlets, my dress was black and perfect. My security detail flanked me, and Mikhail followed close behind.

The channel had been briefed, and they were more than ready. A woman who had died and come back to life, who wouldn’t want that story?

The podium was already waiting, the cameras were flashing and reporters crowded around. I mounted the podium, gripping the edges tightly, taking in the sea of faces staring up at me.

I held the mic, and the room fell almost completely silent.

“Conrad is a corn,” I blurted out.

The words left my mouth wrong, and the laughter that broke out from the crowd was loud.

“That came out wrong,” I adjusted my stance and spoke again, clearly this time, “Conrad Basquire is a con man.”

The room exploded. Reporters shouted over each other, some shocked, some skeptical.

One raised a mic, pointing it at me. “Are you saying Conrad Basquire is a con man?”

“Yes,” I said, holding my ground. “And I have a story to tell, a story the public deserves to know.”

I began to recount my experiences. I told them about the lies, the fake foundation, the stolen money, the betrayal, and how Conrad had pushed me from the terrace, how he had suffocated me.

“Wait,” someone shouted. “Are you saying he pushed you off a terrace and suffocated you to finish the job? That’s criminal!”

“Yes,” I said, shaking my head. “And that foundation he ran? All lies. All a con to steal from investors and manipulate people. I believed in him once and i trusted him. I was wrong.”

A reporter stepped forward, skeptical, waving his mic.

“How do we know you weren't part of this fake foundation scam? And your so called death isn't as a result of collaboration gone wrong?”

“For the past five years, all I have done is to support Conrad and do the right thing. I believed in him. I even used my own money, and additionally stole from my father, because I thought the foundation concept was real. I did not know about the lies until it was too late.”

The next question came.

“How did you survive if you were proclaimed dead?”

I looked around at all the faces.

“I don’t know how I survived. But I’m here, and I’m exposing the truth. Conrad Basquire is a criminal, and his wife, Malinda Stewart, who was my bully in high school and college, married him despite knowing everything. They are partners in deceit, and now the world will”

Phones started dinging, notifications blowing up across social media.

I felt Mikhail’s hand on my back.

“What is happening?”

“You’re going to want to see this,” he said.

“What?”

“Conrad is live on I*******m right now,” he said. “And you will not believe the things he is saying.”