Chapter 6
Monday morning.
Nine a.m.
Millions of people across Chicago tuned in to Daytime Chicago.
Brandon was sitting on the couch, perfectly made up, wearing a cheap but nice-looking suit.
Evelyn was beside him, wearing a frumpy dress, her hair messy, her left arm covered in a long sleeve to hide the “bruise.”
The host, Lisa Chen, smiled warmly at them.
“Thank you both for being here. I know this has been a very difficult time for you. Brandon, let’s start with you. Everyone has heard Hannah Parker’s side. Now tell us yours.”
Brandon took a deep breath.
He let his eyes glisten.
“Lisa, I married Hannah because I loved her,” he said, his voice cracking. “I met her at a charity event. She told me she was a baker. A simple girl who loved making bread. I fell for that. I fell for her. For three years, I worked my fingers to the bone at Summit to give her a good life. I bought her a house. I bought her a car. I supported her little bakery even when it was losing money hand over fist.”
He wiped a fake tear.
“And then last week? I find out it was all a lie. She’s not a baker. She’s a billionaire. She founded the company I worked for. She was pulling the strings the whole time. Every promotion I thought I earned? She gave it to me. Every raise? She approved it. I was never her husband. I was her… her pet. Her little toy she could control and humiliate whenever she wanted.”
Evelyn started sobbing.
“She was so cruel to him,” she wailed. “And to me! She hit me! All the time! If I didn’t bow down to her, she’d slap me across the face! Once she pushed me down the stairs! I was scared to even breathe around her! And Brandon? He’d try to protect me, and she’d take it out on him! She’d withhold sex! She’d spend his money on stupid things just to make him mad!”
The camera zoomed in on Evelyn’s tear-streaked face.
It was perfect television.
Lisa leaned forward, sympathetic.
“Brandon… the audit. The seven hundred and eighty thousand dollars. Hannah says you stole it from Summit. How do you respond to that?”
Brandon shook his head sadly.
“Lisa, I was… broken. After three years of being told I was nothing, of being made to feel less than a man… I snapped. I’m not proud of it. But what she did to me? The psychological torture? It broke my mind. I didn’t know right from wrong anymore. And as for the women? She was the one who wouldn’t touch me! For two years, she slept in the guest room! What was I supposed to do? I’m only human! I needed affection! And she gave me nothing but coldness and contempt!”
He looked directly into the camera.
“Hannah, if you’re watching… I forgive you. I really do. I know you’re sick. I know you can’t help that you’re a liar and a manipulator. Just… give me what’s fair. Ten million dollars. That’s all. For three years of my life that you destroyed. Then I’ll go away. You’ll never hear from me again.”
The segment ended.
Brandon and Evelyn hugged as the credits rolled.
In the green room, Voss high-fived them both.
“Perfect!” he said. “Absolutely perfect! The phones are already lighting up at the station. Twitter is blowing up. #HannahTheHorrible is trending number one in Chicago. We’re winning!”
Brandon grinned.
“Told you I was good.”
Across town, in the penthouse, Hannah was watching with Clara and Michael.
They were silent when it ended.
“Well?” Clara said. “That was worse than I thought. He’s good. Really good. Half the country already hates you. The bakery is getting hundreds of one-star reviews on Yelp and Google. People are calling for a boycott. The Summit stock dropped three percent this morning.”
Michael shook his head.
“Shareholders are calling. They want you to step down as chairman. They say the scandal is hurting the brand.”
Hannah didn’t say anything.
She just kept staring at the screen.
“Hannah?” Clara said. “Are you okay?”
Hannah stood up.
She walked to the window.
“Okay?” She smiled. “Clara, that was the best thing that could have happened to us.”
Michael and Clara looked at each other, confused.
“What are you talking about?” Michael asked. “He just destroyed your reputation on live TV!”
“Exactly,” Hannah said. “He overplayed his hand. He lied. A lot. And every lie he told is something we can prove wrong. The audience felt bad for him now—but when they find out he lied about everything? They’ll hate him a hundred times more than they ever hated me. People don’t mind a rich woman. But they hate a con man who cries on TV to steal her money.”
She turned to them.
“Here’s what we do. Michael—issue a press release. Full support. Say Summit stands behind its founder. Release the full audit report online—every page, every receipt, every bank transfer. Transparency. Let the people see exactly what he stole. Clara—file the motion to add the civil fraud claim. We’re not just getting divorced now. We’re suing Brandon and Evelyn for every dollar they stole, plus punitive damages. And we’re adding Jessica Miller and the other women as interested parties. Their stories go public too.”
She picked up her phone.
“And me? I’m going to the bakery. Right now. I’m going to stand behind that counter and bake bread all day. And if reporters show up? I’ll talk to them. No script. No PR team. Just me. The truth. And a hell of a lot of croissants.”
An hour later, Hannah was behind the counter at the bakery.
She was in her flour-dusted apron, her hair in a messy bun, just like always.
The line was still long—but now the people were different.
Half were there to support her.
Half were there to scream at her.
“Gold digger!” a man yelled from the sidewalk. “Give that poor man his money!”
“Shame on you!” a woman shouted. “Abusing an old lady! You should be in jail!”
Hannah didn’t flinch.
She just kept working.
She handed a box of croissants to a young mother.
“On the house,” she said with a smile.
The mother hesitated, then took them.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Then, something amazing happened.
A woman in her sixties stepped up to the counter.
She was wearing a Summit Home Appliances jacket.
“I was one of the first employees,” she said loudly, so everyone could hear. “I was there when Hannah started this company in her garage. I saw her work eighteen hours a day for years. She gave me my job. She paid for my daughter’s college when my husband got sick. And let me tell you something—Brandon Cole? Everyone at Summit knew he was a fraud. He walked around like he owned the place. He treated us like garbage. And Hannah? She hid who she was because she wanted to be treated like a normal person. Can you blame her? Look what happened when she finally told the truth.”
She turned to the protesters.
“You should be ashamed of yourselves. Believing a thief and a liar over a woman who built this city with her own two hands.”
Another person spoke up.
Then another.
Then a whole group.
The protesters started backing away.
By noon, the bakery was packed with supporters.
Local news showed up.
Hannah stood in front of the cameras, covered in flour, no makeup, just herself.
“Everyone has heard Brandon’s side,” she said. “Now you’re going to hear mine. And I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to play the victim. I’m just going to show you the proof. Starting today, every single document—every receipt, every bank record, every text message, every audit page—is available for free on our website, HannahParkerTruth.com. Read it all. Then decide who the liar is. And then decide if you want to buy bread from me. That’s all I have to say.”
She turned and went back to kneading dough.
The internet exploded.
People went to the website.
They read the audit.
They saw the fake vendor scheme.
They saw the bank transfers to Evelyn’s account.
They saw the hotel receipts—dozens and dozens of them, time-stamped, dated, signed by Brandon.
They read Jessica Miller’s statement. And Tiffany’s. And the waitress’s. And the college student’s.
And then they watched Brandon’s TV interview again.
And they realized—*every single word was a lie*.
By Tuesday morning, the tide had turned completely.
#BrandonTheBum was now trending.
#BillionaireBaker was number one.
The one-star reviews on the bakery were deleted and replaced with five-star reviews—ten thousand of them in twenty-four hours.
Summit stock went back up five percent.
The shareholders apologized.
And Daniel Voss called Brandon in a panic.
“We have a problem,” Voss said. “Hannah just released everything. All of it. The public hates us now. The judge is going to hate us too. We need to settle. Now. Before it gets worse.”
Brandon was furious.
“Settle? Hell no! We haven’t even started yet! I have one more card to play. One thing she’ll never see coming.”
“What are you talking about?”
Brandon smiled.
“Remember that motorcycle that hit her?”
“Yeah? What about it?”
“The driver was my cousin, Todd.”
Voss was silent.
Then he whispered, “You didn’t.”
“I did,” Brandon said. “I paid Todd five thousand dollars to ‘accidentally’ bump into her that day. Nothing serious—just enough to put her in the hospital for a day or two, teach her a lesson for embarrassing me at the dinner party the night before. I didn’t know she’d break her leg that bad. But here’s the thing—Todd is about to skip the country. If I tell the police Hannah paid him to hit herself? That she staged the whole thing for sympathy and to make me look bad? They’ll believe me. She has the money. She has the motive. And Todd will testify to whatever I tell him to.”
Voss was quiet for a long time.
“Brandon… that’s attempted murder. Conspiracy. Perjury. If anyone finds out, we’re both going to prison.”
“Then no one finds out,” Brandon said. “We do it tomorrow. I call the police. I tell them everything. Hannah gets arrested. The case is dismissed. I walk away with a settlement. Everyone wins.”
“Except Todd,” Voss said.
“Todd gets another fifty grand. He’ll be fine in Mexico.”
Voss thought about it.
Then he sighed.
“Okay. Do it. But if this goes wrong, I never heard of you. Understand?”
“Perfect,” Brandon said.
He hung up.
He looked out the motel window at the dirty parking lot.
He was going to win.
He always won.
May you like
He had no idea that Todd—scared, broke, and desperate—had already called Hannah’s attorney an hour earlier.
And he had told them everything.
