Page 51 of The Birthday Girl
Her nostrils flared as she inhaled sharply, the perfect composure she'd maintained in front of the board now fractured beyond recognition.
The headlines continued to scroll, each one a nail in a coffin she hadn't planned for. Bodies could be buried. However, reputations, once tarnished, left permanent stains on balance sheets. Her empire, the only thing that had ever truly belonged to her, was what mattered now.
Ezra’s hands gripped the tablet so hard the glass flexed. Sweat beaded on his hairline, but he kept his face steady, as if hoping some borrowed strength from Tahlia might pass to him by proximity.
“It gets worse,” he said quietly. “No one from Tyriq’s office is picking up. His phone’s off. The police are camped in the parking garage.” He risked a glance up at Tahlia, whose jaw had set so hard it seemed fused. “And I checked the forums. They’re picking apart every move you make. They even posted your home address five times this morning.”
In the vast, gleaming hush of the boardroom, you could almost hear the calculus happening inside Tahlia’s head. Her mind ticked through contingency plans with the cold, mechanical precision she reserved only for existential threats. She pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut, a rare gesture, and Ezra wondered, not for the first time, if the woman might turn her killer instinct on him.
Instead, she inhaled again, steadier now, and flicked her wrist to signal: Enough. Ezra stood there, waiting for his punishment, but she only drew in her focus and beckoned for her assistant.
“Heather,” Tahlia said, her eyes never leaving the headlines. “Let the media know I’ll be doing a press conference. Not later. Now.”
Her assistant hesitated in the doorway, uncertain whether to approach. “Here, Ms. Banks? In the boardroom?”
Tahlia’s chin dipped, a movement as imperious as a queen’s. “Here, but in the lobby. Arrange for livestreams with every outlet, and every social media platform, even the YouTube bottom-feeding parasites. Make sure someone is filming them filming me.”
A beat passed, and Heather, as though freed from a spell, disappeared down the hallway. However, Ezra hadn’t moved, so Tahlia turned on him, her gaze cool again.
“That fear in your eyes is a luxury we can't afford. Show it again, and I'll consider it your resignation.”
Ezra’s lips parted as if to defend himself, but she silenced him with a single raised finger.
“Let's be clear about something. The first I heard about Tyriq's alleged disappearance was when you two interrupted my meeting. Whatever happened to him, it happened without my knowledge or involvement. We weren't on the best of terms because he fathered a child with my sister, but I don't want him dead.”
Ezra, stunned by the news, clutched the tablet tighter as he stared at Tahlia, wondering if he should believe her. Her voice carried conviction, but her eyes were empty, flat panes of glass that reflected nothing back. They didn’t hold grief, or fear, or even anger, just an unsettling stillness that made his skin crawl.
Tahlia smoothed an invisible crease from her sleeve before continuing. “What I want is to be seen as a heartbroken woman facing circumstances she didn’t create. The public should view me as a woman under siege and betrayed in public, but still dignified enough to stand tall. That’s the story you’ll spin, Ezra. He is the celebrated attorney with countless enemies, and I am the girlfriend they want to destroy by proxy.”
Her eyes narrowed, the chill of calculation hardening her features. “The public doesn’t need to see rage from me. They need to see heartbreak. They need to see a woman terrified forthe man she loves, harassed by cameras, and begging for his safe return.”
Ezra shifted uneasily, sweat gathering again at his temples. “You’re… asking me to make you the victim.”
Tahlia’s lips curved, but the smile was devoid of warmth. “Not asking. I gave you the truth. Now, I’m instructing you on how to do your job. Victims win sympathy, and sympathetic women don’t get convicted in the court of public opinion.”
She moved closer, snatched the tablet from his hands, and scrolled back to the photo that had been posted. Tyriq’s bruised face stared back at her, her own blurred form in the background. She tilted the screen toward Ezra.
“Make it simple,” she said. “They posted this to humiliate me while he’s missing. Show me vulnerable. Make them pity me. When they pity me, they stop looking for other things.”
Ezra’s throat worked, but no sound came, and Tahlia set the tablet down.
“Prepare the statement, Ezra. Every second we wait, someone else defines the narrative, and I will not have my story told by bitter women or vultures with cameras.”
Ezra hesitated. “And if the police push back? If they go public with—”
“With what?” Tahlia snapped, her eyes flashing with sudden ferocity. “There is no evidence. I have done nothing wrong.”
Ezra shifted, torn between fear and disbelief. “Perception doesn’t need evidence. Right now, the internet doesn’t care about proof. They only care about the story they can sell each other.”
Tahlia’s expression cooled in an instant, as if she had pulled a mask back over her face. “Then we give them a better story. One that makes me untouchable, not guilty.”
She paced to the head of the conference table, her heels clicking against the polished floor, and rested her hands on theback of a chair. “Draft the statement. Make it short and precise. I’ll approve it before we speak to the press.”
“And when the cameras demand more than a statement?”
Tahlia’s lips curved, but there was no smile. “Then I’ll give them tears.”
Her phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting with Heather’s name, so Tahlia tapped the speaker.
