I don't know how Drake got any fucking sleep last night.

I mean, sure, shit was bad in the morning, but the level of fucked up-ness as the hours went by just seemed to get worse, you know?

Don't look at me like that. Don't shake your head. There wasn't anything I could do at that point.

The only think I could think of doing was talk to Natalie. Just a quick phone call.

Obviously, it probably wasn't a good idea to go to her place, or have her come to mine. Not with all the reporters I was seeing camped out on the sidewalk outside of One57.

Turns out there were reporters outside Natalie's apartment too.

I mean, it's not hard to tell why. A reigning king of Wall Street, the daughter of one of the most prominent politicians in New York City, and a venture capitalist like me, all having sex with each other?

You can't make this shit up. This is like one of those books that Alexis Angel comes up with. It just doesn't happen in real life.

Until it's happening now.

All of a sudden, people are seeing this happen right in front of their eyes and they can't get enough of it.

The news has been nonstop about this on television. They're waiting for the press conference to start.

It's being held outside Carlton Capital's headquarters and I decided to come see for myself. There's a pretty decent crowd standing on the steps of the building. It's reporters in the front and middle with regular people crowding to see what's going on too.

The newspapers followed the television stations this morning with more scandalous headlines.

"Three's a Crowd? Not Anymore!" said the Daily Post. I don't know what the New York Daily Journal said.

I don't really fucking care at this point.

I mean, it really seemed like we were getting somewhere, you know?

I know we had the threat of Linda Vanderhill over our heads the entire time after Python, but it seemed that we were getting stronger. It seemed that we were going to overcome this.

What I think we never fucking realized was how fast and how strong the negative backlash was going to be. How quickly it spread from breathless gossip to negative fucking judgment.

No one has recognized me yet, and I don't know that I really care about that.

I know, I know. I shouldn't be fucking ashamed of the people that I love.

And I'm not.

Really. If someone has a problem with Natalie they can come tell me to my face. Then they can watch as I proceed to break that fucking face.

Even fucking Drake. Anyone has a problem with him and I, then they better get the fucking undertaker ready.

Like I said, I'm not gay. But you assault my family—the people I consider to be my lovers—and you better be ready to face the fire that is Sloane Hardman.

But that's not why I'm staying on the edges of the crowd today.

This is Drake's show. This is his shit.

His firm is the one that got the brunt of the media scrutiny. That basically had the rug pulled out from under him.

The banks stopped lending to Carlton Capital. Jesus fucking Christ. Talk about mixing morality with business.

So it's Drake who has to do whatever he's gotta do to get this shit back on track.

Personally, I would've gone to the newspaper office and beat the shit out of the Editor In Chief. Probably gone to jail, but I would've fucking smiled and written a check for the assault charges. Bought that fucker a new wardrobe and told him it was worth every fucking penny.

But that's why I do venture capital. Because I don't have to deal with negative consequences for a lot of my actions. I don't have regulators from Washington D.C. crawling up my ass like they do for an investment bank.

So Drake probably had to do the more civilized thing to defend himself. And I know the guy. I know that even though he's calling a press conference, deep down he wants to go and kick some ass too, literally.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a woman who probably handles the press relations for Carlton Capital says into the microphone. "Thank you for attending today. Mr. Carlton will be making a brief statement. And then taking questions."

There's silence and a few clicks as the woman steps away from the podium and Drake comes out of the doors from the inside of the building and takes her place.

"Thank you," Drake says.

Silence. Flash photography. I take a step closer. Yeah, you got me. I'm fucking curious.

"Yesterday, the news media had a feeding frenzy unlike one I've ever seen before," Drake says. "Accusations were lobbed. Allegations were made. Assumptions were taken and reputations were smeared," he continues.

Photographers begin to click their cameras. They don't fucking care what he's saying. They just want to capture the moment for history in case he fucks it up pretty badly.

"I want you to know that the effects of this action touch not just me, but my entire company. And through that, it has touched over $1 trillion dollars of investments that are managed for pension funds, teachers unions, and everyday retirement accounts. You're not just hurting me, but yourselves," Drake says. I gotta say, he sure knows how to put it down.

"On top of which, the allegations from yesterday represent a surprising invasion of my personal privacy, as well as the privacy of my stepdaughter and stepson," Drake begins. "While I understand that Linda Vanderhill running for public office is something that places our lives in public scrutiny, I am here today to tell you that Linda and I are divorced. Both Sloane Hardman and Natalie Vanderhill are consenting adults. And free to run their own lives."

The reporters are starting to stir.

"I'm not here today to confirm or deny any allegations," Drake says flatly. He's got a fucking challenging tone that basically says that if you fuck with him, he will cut you down. "What I am here to do is to personally vouch for the integrity of Natalie Vanderhill."

Right. That's the key component of this entire mess.

"There exists no quid pro quo relationship between the funding of Dirty Lil' Angels and Carlton Capital," Drake goes on to say. "There is no unholy alliance between Hard Times and Carlton Capital. In fact, at the very beginning, I pulled the funding for the initial investments because I was concerned about the viability of Ms. Vanderhill's company products. I am no longer concerned."

Flash bulbs intensify. Now we're getting somewhere.

"I categorically denounce anyone who has the audacity to claim that sexual favors were traded for favorable investment services," Drake says into the microphone as he looks into the crowd. "Since that violates at least 20 different regulations and implies criminal conduct, if you are planning on making that accusation, I plan on bringing at least fifty lawyers to that conversation."

Mild laughter. We might actually get through this. Motherfucker might actually pull it off.

"If we are clear on this, then that concludes my statement," Drake says and then gives a sigh of relief as he says, "Any questions."

There's a momentary pause and I think that the worst is over.

Fuck. I've never been so fucking wrong in my life.

"Mr. Carlton, do you believe your shareholders would approve of your sexual relationship with your stepdaughter and stepson?" a reporter from the front asks.

"I don't think they'd care," Drake says quickly. "Everyone is an adult."

"Mr. Carlton, was there any coercion involved with Ms. Vanderhill?" another reporter piles on.

"No," Drake says. "None."

"So you are in fact confirming that you do have a simultaneous sexual relationship with both of your step-children?" another reporter adds in, and now I see Drake is taken aback.

"What does that have to do with anything?" he shoots back, snarling.

Wrong move, Daddy-o.

The flash from the camera bulbs is intense. Like a thousand fucking suns just descended.

"Mr. Carlton," a reporter shouts. "How long have you been sleeping with your stepdaughter?"

"How long have you been sleeping with Sloane Hardman?" another one yells.

"Where was the first place you had sex?" another reporter shouts out.

"Have you thought of resigning from your position due to the scandal?" comes yet another fucking question.

This time Drake looks worried. The last question came out of nowhere. But the reporters are just snowballing now. They're leading themselves on. And the story is writing itself.

"Do you believe you've violated criminal laws?" the first reporter yells.

"Have you retained counsel in the event you get arrested?" another follows up.

The questions are coming too fast.

And before Drake knows it, he's gonna be broke, in jail, and out of a job.

He can't stop this press conference. The mob is too strong. It's out of control.

There's only one thing to do.

I clear my throat and step into the center of the crowd from the edge I was just in.

"If you guys wanna fucking pick on us, at least send some questions my way, won't you?" I say with a loud booming voice.

Immediately the crowd stops. They turn to me.

There's shock from the people in the audience as I start to make my way over.

Then the flash photography starts up.

Looks like this is going to be a fun fucking morning after all.