On the Avenue (24 page)

The media frenzy erupted the moment Madison, Park, and Lex stepped out of the lobby and onto Fifth Avenue. Scores of reporters began shouting their names. Photographers zoomed in from behind blue police barricades. Across the way, television cameras started rolling as newspeople dropped their coffee cups and grabbed their microphones.

“Madison!”

“Park!”

“Lexington!”

They stood a few feet from the building's main entrance, calmly soaking up every last ounce of the chaos. A full minute passed. The shouts got louder. It was all part of the plan, and Madison, at the head of the line, cocked her head slightly to one side and winked at the closest photographer. She wasn't surprised when the flashes moved downward, enveloping their Triple Threat outfits. Neither was Park. And Lex, of course, hadn't expected anything less than the whirlwind of adoration. That was the main point, and it was working beautifully.

Madison, glamorous and sleek in Triple Threat, wore an off-the-shoulder chocolate suede dress that hugged her waist and accentuated her cleavage. Stunning Manolo Blahniks and a matching Jimmy Choo hobo completed the look. The dress fell to her ankles in a straight line. Anything but plain, it was an eye-grabber that drew prolonged stares and several direct camera kisses. She had chosen the dress herself, seduced by its lustrous form and subtle sexiness.

Park inched forward slowly. Hands on her hips, eyes hidden behind Chanel sunglasses, she was the epitome of cool. She was wearing a Triple Threat pantsuit that hugged her body like a glove. Black silk, the blazer had only one large button, and it had been cut to accommodate peeks of flesh: the front lower half rose up to form a sharp triangle that
exposed her navel. A top hat gave the outfit an androgynous edge.

Lex had decided on one of her flashier designs. She was wearing a white satin dress with lace trim that stopped well above her knees; thin straps tapered to a plunging neckline. A white mink scarf wrapped her neck several times and trailed down her middle. White boots—leather, of course—rose up past her knees. She called it her “last-day virgin” look. She had blown her hair out, and now it fell over her shoulders in bright blond masses. The constant flashes made her blink repeatedly. Nestled in the crook of her left arm was Champagne; a smooth white doggie-coat sheathed his furry little body, and he yipped as the commotion intensified.

As if on cue, one voice suddenly rose above the rest; it was that of a female reporter, and she posed her question without a hint of irony: “Who are you wearing, Madison?”

As microphones crowded around her, Madison smiled. “We're all wearing Triple Threat originals,” she said brightly. “My sister, Lexington, happens to be an accomplished designer—as you can all see.”

“Are you planning on launching this new label?” a second reporter shouted. “And if so, is there any specific reason you're launching it at
this
particular time?”

“The line will be unveiled in a private fashion
show later this week,” Park replied coolly. “It has long been our intention to launch the Triple Threat brand, and our decision to do so at this time—instead of at Fashion Week—is not motivated by anything other than excitement, and a belief that our product will be universally loved.”

“Lex, how did you come up with the label's…
interesting
name?” yet another reporter called out.

Lex took the question for all it was worth. Madison's publicity mantra—
the less affected by the scandal we appear, the more power we commandeer
— resounded in her head. She didn't flinch as a dozen microphones flew in her direction. “The Triple Threat label is designed with young women in mind, and so all of my clothes naturally evoke sexiness and freedom. My clothes are about the body, its beauty and its primal demands. I was inspired by my sisters and our three very different identities. Sophistication. Sexiness. Intelligence. When you wear a Triple Threat design, you feel empowered and ready to take on whatever the world throws at you.”

The cameras exploded in a stream of flashes.

“Madison, how do you respond to allegations that you and your sisters played a role in two murders?”

Lex gave a start as Champagne suddenly lurched forward in her arms with a ferocious snarl. He clamped his little jaws down on a bobbing microphone and gave it a hearty yank.

There was a startled “Oh!” of protest from the middle-aged man holding the microphone. He jerked his head back quickly, causing his sandycolored toupee to shift and slip down the left side of his face. A bright red bald spot came into view.

Lex bit down on her tongue to stifle her laughter. She wanted to tell the man that he
desperately
needed a few ounces of Badescu buttermilk moisturizer, but instead of opening her mouth, she pulled Champagne into a tighter hold and cleared her throat.

Madison picked up the cue. “My sisters and I are not in any way connected to the murders of Zahara Bell and Diego Marsala,” she stated firmly. “In fact, our own investigation is ongoing, and we believe that a heartless killer is using our name and our public to mask his own dark motives.”

“Madison, is it true that you and Theo West—heir to the West family empire—were involved in an ongoing romantic relationship?”

She didn't hesitate before replying. “At this time, for matters that relate directly to my personal safety, I will say only that Theo West and I have known each other our entire lives, and that I am always wishing him well.”

The crooked-toupee reporter stepped forward again and thrust his microphone into Madison's face. “Wouldn't an affair between the two of you compromise
Hamilton Holdings' corporate assets?” he asked, a bit too aggressively.

Champagne went on the attack again, jutting out from Lex's arms and unleashing a flurry of barks that sent several reporters stepping back.

Madison gritted her teeth in annoyance. Being upstaged by a dog was totally embarrassing and completely unacceptable. What was this—a canine press conference? She turned her head toward Champagne, cut him her coldest stare, and emitted a low growl from the very back of her throat. It sounded guttural and raw, like a wolf 's predatory warning.

Quivering, Champagne sank into the crook of Lex's arms.

The momentary silence was tense, but Madison quickly gained control of it. She squared her shoulders and swept her eyes over the cameras. “
None
of our corporate assets has been compromised,” she said firmly. “Proof of Hamilton Holdings' corporate strength is evidenced by the imminent launch of the Triple Threat label, which will likely become a global brand. Hamilton Holdings, Incorporated, is—and will remain—the most powerful media empire in the world.”

“According to what Zahara Bell was going to publish in her gossip column, Hamilton Holdings is planning a hostile takeover of West International. Is that true?”

Madison felt her lips go dry.
Of course it's true,
she thought.
But no one's supposed to know about it.
She threw her head back and said, “Zahara Bell's informants had their facts jumbled. You can't believe everything you read in gossip columns.”

“What has your own investigation into the murders revealed?” a reporter screamed from the back of the thickening crowd.

Park had expected the question from the moment she'd stepped outside. She'd even welcomed it. This was their chance to lure the mysterious killer in, once and for all. Choosing her words carefully, she said, “We have come across—and are in possession of— valuable evidence that we believe will ultimately reveal the identity of the murderer.”

A flurry of whispers hit the air.

“Do you think the Avenue diamond will be recovered?” someone shouted.

Park nodded. “Absolutely. As you all know, the Avenue diamond is inextricably bound to the Hamilton family—especially to our mother, Venturina Baci. I believe the diamond's power will triumph, and that it'll find its way home very soon.”

“Park, what's the nature of your relationship with actor Jeremy Bleu? He's been questioned by police about the murders. Do you know why?”

“I consider Jeremy a friend,” Park replied. “I do not know why he has been questioned by police, or whether he has any connection to the crimes.”

Lex stepped forward. She surveyed the crowd, noting that it had spilled into the street. Through the mass of bodies surrounding her, she caught a glimpse of the traffic; it was backed up for several blocks. She turned her attention back to the cameras and said, “At this time, we ask your cooperation in respecting our privacy and our safety. My sisters and I will be available to answer your questions as this terrible scandal comes to a close—and we haven't any doubts that it will end soon. We look forward to working with all of you as we launch the Triple Threat label.”

It was Madison who threw a glance over her shoulder and back into the lobby of the building. She was relieved when Clarence stepped through the doors and gave her a nod. He came up behind her, his arms hovering over Park and Lex as well, and together they navigated their way past the reporters and cameras.

“Stay close,” Park said to Clarence as the flashes went off again.

He nodded. “I'm right here. I've got ya covered. I'm following your every step.”

Madison, Park, and Lex cleared the crowd and began walking down Fifth Avenue side by side. They were aware of the several reporters still trailing them, aware that dozens of cars had stopped, passengers staring through windows to get a glimpse of the fashionable spectacle. They were aware of the news
chopper that suddenly appeared in the sky, its blades beating the air. They tried not to make eye contact with the pedestrians who lined either side of the street—and by the hundreds, it seemed—because the whole point of this very public appearance was to
attract
attention, not
give
attention.

“It's definitely working,” Park murmured, standing, as usual, in between her sisters.

“It totally is,” Lex agreed. “But I
hate
helicopters.”

Madison nudged Park as they walked. “Both of you, hush,” she said quietly. “If we're asked any more questions about the scandal, just reply by talking about the fashion line. Remember: we have to turn all this front-page news into profit.”

The trail of publicity followed them as they continued down the avenue. They walked for nearly thirty minutes, purposely prolonging it, striding past Tiffany and Bergdorf 's, Bendel's, and Prada. At Rockefeller Center, directly across the street from Saks, they paused amid a second flurry of activity, then waited for Clarence to join them.

“I'm here,” he said, his hands on Madison's shoulders. “You girls gotta move fast. The press is closing in again.”

He led them into the building's main lobby and to the elevators.

Once indoors, Madison, Park, and Lex were finally able to breathe deeply and regroup. The building's
security desk had been alerted to their arrival, and the press were being barred from entering. In the elevators, they stood close to each other, Madison breathing a sigh of relief as Clarence's shadow loomed over them. They rode up to the tenth floor, then emerged into the executive offices of Hamilton Holdings, Inc.

Decorated in muted tones and dark wood, the offices were mercifully empty on this Sunday afternoon. Clarence stepped out first, doing a quick sweep of the reception area, poking his head under the front desk and down the back corridor that led to the employee kitchen. “Coast is clear,” he assured them.

Madison led the way to Trevor Hamilton's huge corner office, using her key to unlock the door. Large windows soaked up the afternoon sun, but the bright light did little to mitigate the tension in the air.

“I'm scared,” Lex said suddenly. She was standing beside one of the couches to the right side of the large, L-shaped desk.

“I am too,” Park replied. “But we're safe here. We're together. And Clarence is standing by the elevators, guarding us.”

“And there happens to be a lot of work to do,” Madison added, leaning across the desk and booting up the computer. She threw a quick glance over her
shoulder. “Have either of you checked our messages? I know Coco's been trying to call. And by now, Mom's probably called too.”

“It wouldn't surprise me if Mom called Coco to try to get ahold of us,” Park said. “They're both prone to anxiety.”

“It doesn't matter.” Madison shook her head. “We have to stay focused on what we're doing. We can't talk to anyone but each other just yet.”

“It's almost like we invited the killer here,” Lex continued, ignoring them both. She cuddled Champagne tightly against her chest, as if seeking warmth from a chill only she could feel. “By making those statements to the press—I mean, what if he's watching? What if he's coming here right now?”

“That's exactly what we want him to do.” Madison plopped into the big leather chair, inhaling a lingering trace of her father's cologne. “It's either Jeremy or Theo, and the three of us can totally take either one of them down.” She turned her attention to the flashing screen. Recalling the lessons her father had taught her, she used a series of encrypted passwords to gain entrance to one of their joint personal bank accounts. In a few swift clicks, she allocated $25 million to a temporary business account and earmarked it with the words
Triple Threat National Start-up Fees.
She knew it would take at least that much money to launch the fashion line quickly and successfully.

Of course, none of those bucks would actually transfer until Trevor Hamilton approved the move, but Madison was certain he would agree with them once he got home. If luck was on their side, they would generate enough hype from the scandal to gain a hefty return on their investment.

But it was a tricky move.

Using short-term notoriety to attract long-term publicity had its dangers. Trevor Hamilton would have called it a “calculated risk.” It was like the school slut turning around and deciding to run for student council president
after
everyone knew she'd screwed half the guys on the football team. It was like the class snitch vying for a place with the in-crowd
after
he'd ratted out the coed pot party in the girls' bathroom.
Oh, now I'm supposed to like you?
Sometimes it worked and people followed the media wave. But there were other instances when the smoking gun backfired, and those bullets
totally
hurt.