Mud Swamp Offensive

Chapter 200 Mud Swamp Offensive

new York.

A crowd had been gathering outside the headquarters of The New York Herald since eight o'clock in the morning.

They were dressed in neat work clothes, holding up signs and chanting slogans.

The signs read "Give us back our pure New York," "Investigate the Pioneer Reports on Funding Chains," and "Protect our daughters from fraudsters."

If someone looked closely, they would notice that those people's work clothes were very new and their slogans were very neat.

They're like Broadway actors.

The next morning, a new batch of newspapers appeared in the newsstands of New York.

The front page of the New York Post featured a photograph of Arthur Kennedy, accompanied by a jarring headline: "Unveiling the Saint: Literary Genius or a Womanizer and gigolo?"

The article uses a lot of seemingly plausible descriptions to portray Arthur as an opportunist who exploits Isabella's feelings and wealth, and uses mind control and romantic entanglements to swindle resources from the newspaper.

The article quoted an "insider" as saying that the house Arthur lived in in New York was bought with money from Isabella, that his modified pickup truck was a gift from Isabella, and that every sheet of paper he used to write his book was bought with money from the Harrison family.

Another tabloid was even more explicit. The front page featured a photo of Arthur and Isabella at an event, accompanied by the headline: "The Loss of Harrison Trust: When a Socialite Meets an Ambitious Speculator."

The article uses extremely vicious language to portray Isabella as a foolish woman blinded by love, and Arthur as a cunning liar who schemes to get close to her.

Another newspaper had a front-page headline: "Arthur Kennedy and Isabella: An Investigation into Sex and Power Transactions in the Office."

The article claims to have interviewed a "former Vanguard newspaper employee" who said that Isabella gave Arthur her shares in the newspaper for free, fired everyone who opposed him, and turned the newspaper into his personal propaganda machine.

These reports appeared at the same time, used the same writing style, and cited the same "insiders".

This is no coincidence; it is a carefully planned propaganda offensive.

That afternoon, the storm swept into the Harrison family.

Isabella's uncle, Richard Harrison, stormed into the editor-in-chief's office of the New York Herald with a stack of newspapers.

Richard Harrison was 65 years old, with gray hair, and wearing an expensive but somewhat outdated suit.

He was the most old-fashioned and stubborn member of the Harrison family in this generation.

Although he was Isabella's father's younger brother, he had always been on the margins of the family.

During the stock market boom of the 1920s, he invested most of his fortune in the stock market, only to lose everything after the crash in 1929.

From then on, he harbored an inexplicable resentment towards Isabella.

Why should she, a young girl, inherit so much, while he has to cut back on food and clothing?

"Look at these reports!" Richard slammed the stack of newspapers onto Isabella's desk, spitting everywhere.

"You've completely disgraced the family! You let some penniless editor of unknown origin move into your house, and used the family's printing press to pay for his inflammatory writings! Now all of New York is laughing at the Harrison family for keeping a red plaything!"

Isabella sat behind her desk, motionless.

She wore a simple black dress, her hair was neatly pulled back, and her expression was calm.

"Uncle, those reports are rumors."

"Arthur has never lived in my apartment. I gave him that pickup truck because he needed a reliable vehicle for his cross-country reporting trips. He deserves the newspaper's shares because he turned this near-bankrupt newspaper into one of the top ten best-selling newspapers in the country."

"Spread rumors?" Richard sneered, pointing his finger at the glaring headlines in the newspaper.

"Can a rumor be fabricated to look this convincing? Look at this yourself, they even wrote down the time and place you bought him the car! You two were together every day when you were in New York, do you think everyone else is blind?"

Isabella took a deep breath, trying to suppress the anger in her heart.

"Uncle, I spend every day with Arthur because we're working. The newspaper's sales increased from three thousand to three hundred thousand copies, not because of rumors, but because every single article was written, word by word."

Richard wouldn't listen. He pulled a document from his inside suit pocket and slammed it heavily on the table.

"I'm not going to argue with you about that. I'm here today to inform you of something. I've joined forces with three other directors and we're preparing to formally propose at tomorrow's board meeting to revoke your management rights over your father's trust fund."

Isabella's gaze fell on the document. It was a legal document, worded extremely harshly, accusing her of "immoral misconduct that puts the family trust at risk of political collapse" and demanding the immediate stripping of her all rights to dispose of the family assets.

"Reason?" Isabella's hand clenched quietly under the table.

Richard gave another cold laugh.

"The reason is that Kennedy guy! Do you know what the FBI told me? They said that as long as you publicly declare that the author is a fraud, as long as you completely sever ties with The Vanguard, the banks will resume credit support for Harrison Realty."

"Our family's business is now completely stalled because of your recklessness!"

He leaned down and brought his face close to Isabella's.

"Isabella, your father entrusted the trust fund to you because he thought you were smart and intelligent."

"But what are you doing now? You're using your family's wealth as a stepping stone for an outsider who only knows how to write inflammatory articles! Do you know what people outside are saying? They're saying that after that writer got involved with you, he treated you like an ATM!"

Isabella suddenly stood up.

Her movements were so fast that Richard was startled and took a step back.

"Uncle, I will remember every word you said today. I will attend the board meeting tomorrow. I will explain to all the directors where every penny went."

She paused, her eyes fixed on Richard.

"But there's one thing I need to remind you of. If I hear those things you just said, those filthy things you said about me and Arthur, again, I'll have my lawyer sue you for defamation."

Richard was stunned for a moment, then became furious.

"You're threatening me? You, a mere young girl, dare to threaten me?"

Isabella didn't answer. She just stood there, staring at him with her amber eyes.

Richard couldn't help but shiver.

He snorted and turned to walk towards the door. When he reached the door, he stopped and turned back.

"Tomorrow morning at 10:00 AM, family meeting room. Don't be late."

The door slammed shut.

Isabella stood still, motionless.

Her hands were trembling.

She walked to the window and looked down at the street. The hired protesters were still there, holding signs and chanting slogans.

She returned to her desk, picked up the phone, and dialed the contact number Arthur had given her in the letter attached to the manuscript.

The phone rang for a long time. Just when she thought no one would answer, a familiar voice came from the other end.

"Feed?"

It's Arthur.

Isabella loosened her grip on the receiver. She took a deep breath and said in as calm a voice as possible, "Arthur, it's me."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

"I know. I saw the newspapers. Those reports about you. Are you alright?"

Isabella closed her eyes. She had thought she could hold on, but the moment she heard those words, her eyes suddenly welled up with tears.

She tried her best to hold back her trembling voice.

"I'm fine."

She paused, then briefly recounted Richard's story.

"My uncle has teamed up with three directors to remove me from the board at tomorrow's meeting. The FBI has implied to him that if I fire you and publicly declare you a fraud, the bank will restore credit support to Harrison Realty."

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone.

Then Arthur laughed: "They're getting anxious."

"You know, a person only resorts to such underhanded tactics when they're about to lose. Hoover couldn't beat me on the battlefield, so he tried to stab me in the back."

He paused, his voice becoming serious.

"Isabella, listen to me. You have nothing to fear at the board meeting tomorrow. Bring Patrick O'Reilly with you."

"Patrick?"

"Yes. He doesn't need to carry a gun, just have him stand at the conference room door. Those old men in suits will feel intimidated when they see a tough guy who's climbed up from the docks standing at the door."

"They'd think, 'If they actually did anything to Miss Harrison, wouldn't those dockworkers outside smash up their offices?'"

Isabella was taken aback. She hadn't expected Arthur to come up with such a plan.

Arthur continued, "Also, there's something you could ask Aunt Elizabeth to look into."

"What is it?"

"Your dear Uncle Richard secretly embezzled public funds on the eve of the collapse in 1929 to buy a manor for his mistress on Long Island. That manor still exists, registered in that mistress's name. And that debt is held in a now-defunct bad bank."

Isabella gasped.

"How—how do you know all this?"

Arthur smiled again.

"I have my own channels. Anyway, you don't need to know how I found out. Tomorrow at the board meeting, if anyone brings up your personal conduct, just slap this evidence in their faces. Let them see what true 'lack of personal conduct' really looks like."

He paused, a hint of coldness creeping into his voice.

"Hoover wants to play the moral offensive," we'll show him what real moral bankruptcy looks like. Tell those journalists you can publish the entire financial statement of the *New York Herald*.

"But the prerequisite is that other newspapers attacking us must first explain exactly how they took every penny from the Bureau of Investigation's special funds."

As Isabella listened, the panic in her heart slowly subsided, replaced by a sense of security. Even thousands of miles away, that person was still protecting her.

"I understand," she said softly.

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone.

Then Arthur's voice rang out again.

"Isabella, take care of yourself. Wait for me to come back."

Isabella slowly put down the receiver, walked to the window, and looked down at the street.

The hired protesters were still chanting slogans. But this time, looking at them, she felt no fear whatsoever.