1 Front page of the Daily Dot
"You are on the front page of the Daily Dot Ma'am!" Her devoted secretary Eileen, shouts out, bursting in through the door of her office.
"Whaat?!" Averna exclaimed.
"Look!" She said, passing the tabloid for Averna to see.
Reading it, and her eyes widened. "What in the freaking hell?!" She exclaimed, reading out loud the headline. "There is no way this is true. What are these people doing?"
"Hold on," Eileen said, running out of the office.
"Crap!" She cussed, pacing back and forth, her eyes scanning the glossy paper.
"Miss Averna, the team are right outside in the lobby." Eileen reported as she adjusted her brunette bob.
"This is the most stupid thing I've ever heard. What do they mean they know I have a hidden secret behind my wealth?" Pushing back her chair, she stood up and walked to the door, her ankle strap heels making it's clip clop sound as it made contact with the marble floor, Eileen following.
The doors opened wide. The walls of the lobby were covered with Verna posters. Pikes, and everything. She stood there for a moment, and turned to the secretary. "Well? Let them in."
"Are you sure, Ma'am?" Eileen asked hesitating. "I mean, if you don't let them in, there would be no repercussions whatsoever."
"And let them talk behind my back?" Averna glared at her secretary, "I've worked thirteen years for this and now they suddenly dispute the potency of my companies, when my company was erected in various locations, why didn't they complain then?! Why now? Just because I'm a woman?!" She flared in rage.
"Miss Averna!" Some of the reporters called out upon sighting her, their hands thrusted forward, the guards preventing their unauthorized entry.
"I've got to go." She said, holding firmly onto her coat and sunglasses, and stormed towards the door.
"Miss Averna! We have a statement to make!" Some of the reporters called out. She raised her phone to record a short clip for her social media account and was about to hit record when she turned towards the door and saw a bevy of other reporters, flashbulbs popping, and their cameras capturing the scene.
"Miss Averna, what do you have to say, you have seen our post on the Daily Dot, right?" The reporter asked, her phone up and ready to catch the scoop they all were dying to get.
Her face bright red, Averna reached out and snatched the phone, swiftly putting it to sleep while tossing it back to the reporter. "I have nothing to say, I don't have to comment on any of this. We have a right to privacy, and it is well known that this country is a country of liberty and free speech."
"That is true, but since you are a public figure, a celebrity, there are ways the media can track you down." One of the reporter countered, a male with a moustache and a dark sleek back hair, warm tone of a voice said. He was a slender man, with a blue business shirt, and tie.
The other reporters called out their agreement, and the camera flashed back to them.
"Even your sudden rise to power was a big, and a clear case of the press coverage. And when it comes to the front page of the Daily Dot, it does mean something to the public." A female reporter yelled amidst the rest.
"I'm not giving a statement." She told them, and she walked past. The reporters shouted out their continued protest, and a couple of them tried their luck, but she brushed off all their continued pitch, and walked to her car. Eileen stood out the door.
The chattering reporters followed her to her waiting chauffeur driven car, with a tinted window and tinted visor. Her personal car was a Mercedes E 63 AMG with a cherry red body, and a black, leather interior.
"You, Miss Averna!" One of the reporters said, standing next to the open passenger door of the car.
"What now?" She asked.
"Your car's registration number is NW8NY." He said, not minding the demeaning look Averna gave.
She rolled her eyes and pressed her window up. "You people are worse than the press."
"Jared, take me home, now." She ordered the chauffeur, and he pressed the button to start the engine. Averna put on her sunglasses, before her view was obscured by the tinted glass.
"What the hell would they want to do with my registration number? Track me to my home?" She asked, as the car sped off in the opposite direction. "I'd like to see them try."
