A chill crept down Iris’s spine, long after she’d tucked away the scorched letter. Arthur Bellamy’s confession haunted her, a phantom limb of guilt she’d unknowingly inherited. Petal & Root, her legacy, built on a lie. Driving to the office felt different now. Every ornate gate, every meticulously manicured rosebush, seemed to mock her. The weight of the secret pressed down, threatening to crack the polished facade. Her phone buzzed incessantly. A quick glance revealed multiple missed calls from her PR director, Mark. His name flashed again, urgent. “Iris, you need to see this,” Mark’s voice was strained, breathless. “Alistair Thorne. He’s... he’s at the Global Business Summit. He just spoke.” Confusion furrowed her brow. “What about it? He’s a regular speaker.” “He didn’t just speak. He spoke *about us*.” Mark’s words were clipped, each syllable laced with panic. “He’s questioning our historical claims. He’s implying… irregularities in our initial product development.” Alistair’s veiled threats from their last encounter echoed. *“The truth always comes out.”* Her stomach dropped. This wasn’t a coincidence. This was Alistair, executing his plan. He was using her own family’s skeletons against her. Frantically, Iris pulled up the live stream of the summit on her car’s dashboard screen. Alistair Thorne stood on a brightly lit stage, his posture commanding, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. His voice, smooth and deceptively calm, filled the car. “...and while we commend rapid innovation, one must always scrutinize the foundations upon which empires are built. Especially those claiming revolutionary breakthroughs from what appears to be thin air.” A ripple of murmurs went through the audience. He paused, letting the implication hang heavy in the air. “Questions arise,” he continued, his gaze sweeping the room as if searching for someone, “when a company’s foundational narrative is... less than transparent. Rumors, whispers of a past that doesn’t quite align with the glossy myth.” Iris’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles white. He wasn’t naming Petal & Root directly, but everyone knew. The context, the timing, his recent interest in her company – it was all too clear. He concluded with a practiced, regretful sigh. “It’s simply a call for greater corporate honesty. Consumers deserve to know the *true* origins of the products they trust.” The Q&A session began. A reporter, eager for a scoop, immediately seized on Alistair’s thinly veiled accusations. “Mr. Thorne, are you referring to Petal & Root? There have been whispers recently about their early days.” Alistair held up a hand, a picture of false humility. “I wouldn’t want to speculate on any specific entity without concrete evidence. My concern is systemic. However, I do believe that the historical accounts of *some* companies could benefit from a closer, more impartial examination.” The damage was done. His words, delivered with a politician’s precision, were a poison dart aimed directly at Petal & Root’s heart: its reputation for purity and integrity. Her phone vibrated again. A flood of notifications. News alerts, social media trends. #PetalAndRootScandal, #ThorneQuestionsTruth, #ShadyOrigins. The hashtags exploded across the internet. Stock prices for Petal & Root, which had been steadily climbing, plummeted almost instantly. Red numbers bled across financial news sites. Arriving at the office, she found chaos. Mark was pacing his office, phone glued to his ear. Junior PR staff looked like deer caught in headlights, scrambling to draft statements, battling an onslaught of media inquiries. “It’s a bloodbath, Iris,” Mark exclaimed, running a hand through his already dishevelled hair. “Our historical patents, our early marketing materials... they’re being scrutinized. People are asking for proof of our great-grandfather’s ‘revolutionary formula’ from decades ago.” Proof. The word echoed Arthur’s confession. *“The formula, stolen from Thorne Essence.”* This wasn’t just Alistair speculating. He knew. Or at least, he had enough information to point the media hound pack in the right direction. A cold dread settled deep in her bones. He had used the exact vulnerability she had just uncovered. He had turned her family’s secret weapon into his weapon against her. Scrolling through the articles, Iris saw images of Arthur Bellamy, smiling confidently in old advertisements, juxtaposed with snippets from Alistair’s speech. The narrative was being rewritten, twisted into something ugly. Petal & Root’s entire foundation, its origin story, was being publicly dismantled. Later that evening, the television screen glowed with the late-night news. Iris sat alone in her expansive living room, the city lights a distant blur outside her window. She felt numb, detached. Suddenly, the anchor’s voice cut through the quiet. “...and in business news tonight, beauty giant Petal & Root faces an unprecedented crisis. Concerns over the historical integrity of its founding, sparked by comments from Thorne Enterprises CEO Alistair Thorne, have sent shockwaves through the industry.” A graphic flashed on screen: an old, sepia-toned photo of Arthur Bellamy, overlaid with a stark question mark. Beneath it, the words: “Petal & Root: Shady Origins?” Her heart sank, a heavy stone plunging into an abyss. Alistair hadn't just questioned her company. He had publicly branded it with her family’s shame. He had used her great-grandfather’s terrible oversight, a secret she had only just unearthed, to orchestrate her public disgrace. His vengeance had begun. And this was just the first blow.

Public Disgrace