"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.

Upon reading it, Averna's eyes widened. "What in the freaking hell?!" She exclaimed, reading the headline. 

"There is no way this is true. What are these nosy reporters driving at?"

"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 is right outside in the lobby." Eileen reported as she adjusted her brunette bob.

"This is the most absurd thing I've ever heard. What do they mean they know I have a hidden secret or a devious means behind my wealth?" 

Pushing back her chair, she stood up and walked to the door, her ankle strap heels making a clip-clop sound as they made contact with the marble floor, with Eileen following closely behind.

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."

"A–Are you sure, ma'am?" Eileen asked, hesitating. "I mean, if you don't let them in, there would be no repercussions whatsoever, and our team is working on covering the trending topic."

"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 the minute they spotted her; their hands stretched forward, pushing against the guards, preventing their unauthorized entry.

"I've got to go." Averna said, holding firmly onto her coat and sunglasses, and stormed towards the door.

"Miss Averna! We have a statement to make!" One 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 fellow 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 were all dying to get.

Averna's face was bright red. She 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. I 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 reporters countered. He was a slender man, with a blue business shirt and tie. Donning a moustache and dark, sleek back hair.

The other reporters called out their agreement, and the camera flashed back to Averna and Eileen.

"Even your sudden rise to power was a big and clear case of 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 protest and walked to her car. 

Eileen stood at the door.

The chattering reporters followed Averna 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 began; he had managed to sneak his way and stood next to the open passenger door of the car.

"What now?" she hissed.

"Your car's registration number is NW8NY." He said this, 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. "Ha! I'd like to see them try."