REBORN, Taking Back What Was Mine

CHAPTER 7: THE COUNTER-ATTACK

Ethan had never created a fake social media account before. It felt oddly juvenile—like something a teenager would do to stalk their ex. But as he sat in a coffee shop three blocks from his office, setting up the anonymous T*****r profile, he reminded himself this wasn't about pettiness.

This was about survival.

He'd spent the last two days thinking through his approach. In the original timeline, he'd been reactive—discovering evidence, confronting Vanessa, getting destroyed. This time, he needed to control the narrative. Strike first, but carefully. Make it look organic, not orchestrated.

The gossip blog was called "Corporate Whispers"—one of those semi-reputable sites that covered business scandals with just enough plausible deniability to avoid lawsuits. They'd broken stories about executive affairs, embezzlement, insider trading. Always anonymous sources. Always impossible to trace.

Perfect.

Ethan composed his message carefully:

Tip for you: Vanessa Hale, CEO of TechVance Solutions (upcoming IPO), having affair with her VP of Marketing Marcus Reeves. Multiple hotel visits on company card. Photos available if interested. Source is employee who doesn't want to see company destroyed by scandal before IPO.

He attached two of the photos from David Park—the restaurant shot and one from the hotel parking garage. Nothing explicit, but intimate enough to be damning.

His finger hovered over the send button.

Once he did this, there was no going back. This would hurt Vanessa's company, her reputation, maybe even tank the IPO. People who'd invested money and time would lose out. Employees could lose their jobs.

But she'd tried to have him killed. Was planning to take his son. Had stolen their money and lied to his face for months.

Ethan hit send.

The story broke thirty-six hours later.

"Corporate Whispers" ran it with the headline: Tech CEO's Affair Could Derail Multi-Million Dollar IPO. They'd done their homework—verified Vanessa's identity, confirmed Marcus worked for her, even dug up the hotel credit card charges through public company expense reports.

The photos were embedded in the article. Vanessa and Marcus, clearly intimate, clearly not discussing business strategy.

By noon, it had been picked up by three major business publications. By 2 PM, it was trending on T*****r. By 5 PM, Vanessa's office had issued a statement: "These are private matters that have no bearing on TechVance Solutions' business operations or IPO readiness."

Ethan watched it all unfold from his office, his stomach a knot of guilt and satisfaction.

His phone rang. Tom Chen.

"Have you seen this?" Tom asked.

"Seen what?"

"Your wife. The affair story. It's everywhere."

Ethan let his voice fill with confusion and hurt. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh god, you don't know. Ethan, I'm sorry. There's a story online about Vanessa and one of her employees. Photos and everything."

"That's... that can't be real. Someone's trying to sabotage her company."

"Maybe. But the photos look pretty convincing." Tom paused. "You should probably call her."

"Yeah. Thanks, Tom."

Ethan hung up and stared at his phone. He should call Vanessa. That's what an unsuspecting husband would do. But the thought of hearing her voice made his skin crawl.

He forced himself to dial.

She answered on the first ring. "Ethan—"

"I just heard. Tom called me. What the hell is going on?"

"It's a hit piece. Someone's trying to destroy the company before the IPO." Her voice was tight, controlled, but he could hear the panic underneath. "The photos are taken out of context—"

"Out of context? Vanessa, I'm looking at them right now. You're holding his hand."

"We were having a difficult conversation about his performance. I was being supportive—"

"In a hotel parking garage?"

Silence. Then: "I can't do this right now. The board is freaking out. Investors are calling. I need to do damage control."

"Damage control," Ethan repeated. "Our marriage is falling apart and you're worried about damage control?"

"Don't," she snapped. "Don't make this about us right now. I'm fighting for my company. For the future I've built. For our family's financial security."

"By fucking your employee?"

"I am NOT having this conversation over the phone." Her voice dropped to something cold and dangerous. "I'll be home late. We'll talk then."

She hung up.

Ethan set his phone down, his hands shaking slightly. He'd just played the hurt, confused husband perfectly. Now he needed to maintain that performance publicly while watching everything unfold.

The board meeting happened that evening. Ethan knew because Catherine texted him.

Emergency board session. They're grilling Vanessa about the photos. Investors want answers before they commit more money to IPO. This is bad.

Ethan replied: Is it true? About her and Marcus?

Catherine's response took a few minutes: I don't know. But the timing is suspicious. Right before IPO. Someone wanted this out now.

Who would do that?

Someone who wants to tank the company. Or someone with a personal grudge.

Ethan stared at the message. Catherine was smart—too smart. She was already thinking through possibilities, analyzing motives. He needed to be careful around her.

I can't believe this is happening, he typed. I thought things were getting better with Vanessa.

I'm sorry, Ethan. For what it's worth, everyone here knows how much you've sacrificed for her. Whatever happens, you deserve better.

The words should have felt good. Instead, they made him feel like a fraud.

Vanessa came home at midnight.

Ethan was on the couch, laptop open, pretending to work but actually monitoring the fallout online. The story had exploded—thousands of comments, hot takes from business analysts, even a few memes. TechVance's pre-IPO valuation had dropped 15% in a single day.

"We need to talk," Vanessa said, dropping her bag by the door.

"Yeah. We do."

She sat across from him, not beside him. The distance felt deliberate. "The board is demanding answers. Investors are threatening to pull out. Our IPO is in jeopardy because someone leaked those photos."

"Are they real?"

"What?"

"The photos. Are they real?" Ethan kept his voice level. "Because if they're fake, we can prove it. Sue the blog. Clear your name."

Vanessa's jaw tightened. "They're... real. But not what they look like."

"They look like you and Marcus are having an affair."

"We're not."

"Vanessa—"

"We're NOT." Her voice rose. "Marcus and I are close. We work long hours together. Yes, we've had dinners, yes we've talked in parking garages, but it's not sexual. It's not romantic. It's work."

She was lying. Ethan had seen the messages, the hotel receipts, heard her conversation with Marcus. But he played along.

"Then why does it look so bad?"

"Because someone wanted it to look bad. Someone timed this perfectly to hurt the IPO." She leaned forward. "Someone who knows the company's schedule, who has access to expense reports, who wants to see me fail."

"Who would want that?"

"I don't know yet. But I'm going to find out." Her eyes narrowed. "You've been acting strange lately. Refusing to quit your job, talking to my investors, asking questions about the company."

Ethan's heart rate picked up, but he kept his expression confused. "What are you saying?"

"Did you leak those photos?"

"Are you serious?"

"You were upset about the job thing. You said I was being distant. Maybe you decided to—"

"To destroy your company out of spite?" Ethan stood up. "You think I'm that petty? That vindictive?"

"I don't know what to think anymore!"

"Well, I didn't leak anything. I didn't even know about Marcus until Tom called me today." He let anger creep into his voice—righteous indignation. "I've been nothing but supportive. I changed my entire career trajectory to help you. And now you're accusing me of sabotage?"

Vanessa's expression flickered. Doubt, maybe. Or calculation. "Then who did?"

"Maybe someone at your company. Maybe a competitor. Maybe Marcus's ex-girlfriend." Ethan shrugged. "But not me."

She studied him for a long moment. "The board hired a private investigator. They're going to track down whoever leaked this."

"Good. Then they'll prove it wasn't me."

"They'll also investigate the affair allegations. Interview Marcus, check security footage, examine expense reports." She stood, grabbed her bag. "I'm staying at a hotel tonight. I can't deal with this right now."

"Vanessa—"

"Just... give me space. Please."

She left.

Ethan sat back down, his mind racing. A private investigator. They'd find the anonymous T*****r account eventually, trace the IP address to the coffee shop. He'd used a VPN, but corporate investigators were thorough.

He needed to muddy the waters. Create more suspects. Make it impossible to pin on him specifically.

Over the next three days, Ethan played his role perfectly.

At work, he looked distracted and hurt. Colleagues offered condolences. He thanked them quietly, said he didn't want to talk about it. Let the sympathy build.

He sent Vanessa supportive texts: I know you didn't cheat. I believe you. We'll get through this.

She didn't respond much, but he wasn't trying to convince her. He was creating a record. When investigators looked at his messages, they'd see a supportive husband, not a saboteur.

He also made strategic moves.

Anonymous tip to the gossip blog: Check Marcus Reeves's ex-girlfriend. She was fired from TechVance last year. Motive for revenge.

Another tip to a different blog: Competitor CompTech Solutions tried to acquire TechVance six months ago. Were rejected. Motive to tank IPO.

Seeds of doubt. Alternative suspects. Reasonable possibilities.

By day four, the story had evolved. Business publications were now investigating multiple angles. Marcus's ex-girlfriend denied involvement but admitted she was "not surprised" by the affair. CompTech issued a statement calling the allegations "baseless."

The narrative was fracturing. No longer a simple story about an affair—now it was a conspiracy theory with multiple players.

Perfect.

On day five, Ethan noticed the tail.

He was leaving work, heading to his car in the parking garage, when he spotted the same gray sedan he'd seen that morning near his apartment. Different parking spot, but same car. Same driver—middle-aged man, baseball cap, trying too hard to look casual.

Vanessa had hired someone to follow him.

Ethan's first instinct was panic. But he forced himself to breathe, to think. This wasn't necessarily bad. If he acted normally, the tail would report back that he was innocent. Going to work, going home, taking care of Noah. Nothing suspicious.

But he couldn't lead them to David Park or Robert Chen. Couldn't risk them discovering his actual preparations.

He drove home normally, keeping the sedan in his rearview mirror. They stayed back three cars, professional. At home, he made dinner for Noah, played with him, put him to bed. Normal routine.

The sedan parked down the street.

Around 9 PM, Ethan made his move.

He left the apartment in workout clothes, told the neighbor he was going for a run. Jogged down the block, past the sedan. The driver sat up, ready to follow on foot.

But Ethan didn't go far. Just around the corner to the 24-hour gym he'd joined last week specifically for this purpose. Swiped his keycard, went inside. Waved to the night clerk.

Then walked straight through to the back exit—the one that opened onto the alley behind the building.

The tail wouldn't expect that. They'd assume he was working out, would wait for him to exit the front.

Ethan jogged through the alley, took a circuitous route through three different buildings, and emerged six blocks away. Called an Uber. Headed to the secure storage unit where he'd been keeping his evidence files.

Spent an hour updating everything, backing up files, organizing the case against Vanessa. Then reversed his route—different buildings, different path—and re-entered the gym through the back.

Worked out for twenty minutes, just enough to look sweaty. Exited through the front.

The sedan was still there.

Ethan jogged home, waved at the tail as he passed their car.

Inside his apartment, he allowed himself a small smile.

They thought they were watching him. But he was ten steps ahead.

The next morning, his phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.

Nice work losing the tail last night. But you should know—they're escalating. Motion to access your financial records, phone logs, computer activity. Be ready.

Ethan stared at the message. The mysterious helper again. Whoever they were, they had insider information about Vanessa's investigation.

Who are you? he typed.

Someone who wants to see her lose. Same as you. Keep doing what you're doing. You're winning.

The message deleted itself ten seconds later.

Ethan sat on the edge of his bed, his heart pounding.

He was winning. The affair story had damaged Vanessa's company, shaken investor confidence, put the IPO in jeopardy. She was scrambling, defensive, distracted.

But she was also getting more dangerous. Hiring investigators. Trying to prove he was behind it. Getting closer to the truth.

This was a war now. And in war, you didn't stop attacking just because the enemy was wounded.

You pressed the advantage.

Ethan opened his laptop and began drafting his next move. If Vanessa wanted to investigate him, fine. He'd make sure the investigation led exactly where he wanted it to go.

Nowhere.

And while she chased shadows, he'd be setting up the next phase of her destruction.

His phone buzzed again. Catherine.

Board meeting in an hour. They're voting on whether to delay the IPO. This might be the end of TechVance as we know it. Thought you should know.

Ethan read the message twice.

The end of TechVance. The company Vanessa had built, the dream she'd sacrificed their marriage for, the future she'd planned to fund with his life insurance money.

Collapsing.

Because of him.

He should feel guilty. Triumphant. Something.

Instead, he just felt cold.

Thanks for letting me know, he typed back. I hope she can fix it. For everyone's sake.

The lie tasted like ash, but it was necessary.

Because Ethan Hale wasn't trying to fix anything.

He was just getting started.