Despite the whiskey held tightly in her clutches, Nell couldn’t stop the shaking in her hands. She thought a drink or two might flatten her nerves, but it did nothing– if anything, her hands jittered more. She could still feel her stomach gnawing with anticipation and her mind clouded with all sorts of possibilities. Oh, how her head hurt; it felt like someone was punching the back of her eyes from inside her brain. It was difficult to tell the source. Was it from restless nights, unhealthy habits, or pure anxiety? She couldn’t decipher it, and she doubted she would ever be able to. She couldn’t remember the last time in her career had she been in such a state.

Nell forced her gaze away from the coaxing copper drink in her hands to the streets passing by in the window. Now wasn’t the time for nervousness, now was the time to think up what to say. Obviously, she would defend herself. She never did anything she was accused of! It was all conjecture and lies. But . . . would the people believe it? With how the papers were twisting it, it seemed unlikely. She was being painted a common criminal; the direct cause of the decay of Richmond.

All those crime spikes? Ruined families? Broken lives? All my doing, Nell thought bitterly. Her hands clenched tighter on the glass.

No, now isn’t the time for that kind of thought. She had a speech to write. Reluctantly, she put her glass to the side and plucked up the tablet next to her. Reaching into her coat, she produced white pen that lacked any lead or ink. However, it felt as natural as an ancient wooden pencil as she pressed it to the tablet screen.

Citizens of Richmond, she began. Good start, so far.

I would like to begin abruptly and say these allegations are false. Nell quickly crossed it out. She had to start out sympathetic.

I understand the weight of these accusations, and as such, I understand the pain it might cause many of you. Yes. Okay. That’s better. Much better.

Between no-so periodic sips of her drink, writing, scratching out, then writing again, Nell managed to conjure up a speech. If it’s a good speech, that’s up to debate. But, from what she could decipher right now, it wasn’t half bad. Hopefully the rest of the world would think the same.

She reached out and topped her drink off. She heaved a sigh as she fell back into the plush leather seats of the limo, examining her drink. She tilted it this way and that, the ice clattering to one side then fervently rushing to the next. It was surprisingly therapeutic; the rhythm lulled her in some sort of trance. For just a moment, her worries were eased. For just a moment, all the worries of losing her career, reputation, everything . . . drifted away.

But you can’t have everything forever.

“We’ll be there in five minutes, ma’am,” her driver abruptly interrupted. She flinched awake, giving a nod in response. She quickly downed what was left of her whiskey and set the glass on the small table jutting out from the door. She fixed her tie, flattened out her suit, and pulled the hair dripping in front of her eyes. Maurice’s words echoed in her mind– Look presentable.

She must be in control.

Those five minutes felt like hours as the limo pulled up to the press conference.

Nell’s senses were amplified to razor sensitivity. She could hear the seat creak as the driver sat up and the soft click of his door opening. She could hear each dreadful step marking each second perfectly as he approached her door and her own door’s click as he opened it. With a dumb nod of thanks, she stepped out.

She quickly realized this was her own personal hell. Immediately, she was bombarded with reporters thrusting microphones into her face and blinding lights from drones flashing for her picture. Despite it all, Nell kept a calm face and prim stance. She was all too familiar with this song and dance before. Back straight, shoulders back, chin up, she lectured herself as she strutted up onto the stage. Her typical stance weighed her down an extra twenty pounds more than usual.

The stage was quickly thrown together. A foldable steel frame with a podium settled in the middle was evidently all it took to make Nell’s knees weak. The gallows awaited her in such a lovely local park, surrounded by some of the last natural foliage in the city. Her fellow Board members were perched like questioning vultures on the side.

Nell took each step up to the stage– each step closer to her fate. This would be the beginning of her downfall, or the all-time low she will rise back up from. By now, the buzzards of reporters abandoned her to join the throngs of people glaring at her from behind barricades. They were angry, as they should be. Some were booing, others carried signs painted for her demise, but the scariest of all of them were those who were silent. Instead of baring signs or words, it was their cold, dead stares.

Her skin prickled, her palms sweated, her vision blurred, and her heart hammered.

But, she kept her graceful appearance as she settled herself on the podium. She slipped her pad from under her arm and onto the podium, scrolling to the top of her speech. All at once, the voices fell into silent contempt to hear the criminal’s plea. She cleared her throat and leaned toward the gaggle of microphones in front of her to address the crowd.

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“Citizens of Richmond,” she began. Her voice was surprisingly steady. “I understand why you’re upset with myself, and to an extent, the Waltaire Corporation.”

“You don’t understand shit!” A voice snarled from the jury, earning cries of agreement. She lifted a hand to demand silence.

“Please, allow me to explain myself.”

With rapt attention, all eyes bore into Nell. She kept her chin up to glower down on them.

“I understand the weight of these accusations, and as such, I understand the pain it might cause to many of you. Richmond is flooded with crime at the moment, and to learn that a director of the company you patronize, a company you trust, might be supplementing that? It must be a heavy hit to your hearts. I do not deny the shame it brings me, and I do not deny the suffering it may have caused.

“Key word, may.

“What I do deny is that all of this is completely false. On my honor and on my position as a board member of Waltaire Incorporated, I swear to you that I did not do any of the crimes leveled against me. I never supported criminal gangs. I never supplied them with drugs used on the street. And I most never profited off it.”

To say her words caused an out-cry would be an understatement. Reporters immediately began to buzz for elaboration, protesters howled their own interpretation of the truth, and she felt her colleagues behind her snaking their stares inside her heart. Among the clamor, Nell pressed against the podium, as if it might create some thin barrier between herself and the riff-raff.

“Lies! Corporate lies!”

“You just want an out! You don’t care about us!”

“Fuck your honor!”

“Let us see the bank statements!”

“Pl . . . Please, you have to understand, I–” Nell desperately tried to butt in.

“We don’t have to understand shit!” Another heckler spat

“I’m not guilty! I-It’s all lies I’m framed!”

In just a few moments, the powerful executive persona she wore for so many years melted off her to reveal the true bundles of nerves she was. The anxiety, the worry, the stress, the panic– it all flooded back. She had spent all this time and sacrificed so much to never feel like this again. Of course, she would never get a choice in the matter. Even worse, her co-workers got to see everything she hid from them. Shame burned deep in her heart.

What if they’re right? What if I am guilty? She feared, shrinking farther and farther back. The mob’s icy gaze melted away to show flaming anger and it seemed to burn the idea into her head. Am I really lying?

Nell turned her head to look at her fellow executives. They all watched on expectantly, haughtily, as if to say “this is your mess. Lie in it.” Each and every one of them had the exact same expression of contempt and disappointment. This is who sits next to the founder? This is who gets all the applause and admiration and exceptions? This is who is above us all, no matter what we do?

Pathetic.

Morrigan was the outlier; he didn’t even bother to look at her. To him, she wasn’t even good enough to bestow his eye contact. As usual.

A heavy CRACK! echo in the air from a gunshot. Nell whipped back around to see the mob had begun to press against the barricade. Police officers posted began to shout and fire warning shots to drive them back. Two more officers placed heavy hands on her shoulders to escort her away.

“Moving the Director, I repeat, moving the Director,” one of the officers babbled into their radio.Nell frantically glanced around to try and gain some form of bearings. Unfortunately, she wasn’t that lucky. She wouldn’t be given the time of day even if she begged for it.

The officers forced her down the stage and began to carve a path toward her limo parked on the other side of the mob. If she could think rationally, she would wonder why he parked so far, but adrenaline and panic instead flooded her mind. Insults and curses were thrown her way and signs were shoved in her face. The media, oh so divine, kept blinding her with their incessant flashings. She felt like the entire world was watching the once noble Nell Miller fall down to rock bottom– and they loved it.

However, one particular gent thought of a great addition to send her below rock bottom.

SHATTER!

She at first felt nothing. For a brief moment, she felt frozen in the air.

It was then the pain began.

Searing hot pain scattered itself across the side of her face. Random scores of stings fluttered from just below her eye to right under her jaw. Dripping blood serving to cool the heat of agony. Nell reached a hand up and saw a pool of crimson fill her palm with small glass shards drifting around like gruesome little icebergs. Her breath hitched in her throat as she spun around. One of the officers escorting her tackled a man to the ground, holding the broken end of a stained red bottle tightly in his clutches.

The next few minutes felt like a blur. The remaining officer ushered the rest of the way down to her limo, threatening anyone who came within five feet of her. He opened the limo door and practically threw her inside. The driver, without hesitation, sped off. Nell screamed out until her lungs went sore from the pain.