Continuation–
"I'll take five questions," Timothy said calmly, his commanding presence filled the room as the flashes of cameras slowed. The towering man in the navy suit adjusted the microphone once more, glancing briefly at the crowd. The Sinclair Sovereign shoe still rotated elegantly on the massive screen behind him, but all eyes were back on Timothy now, his deep voice cutting through the thick air like a blade. "Make them count."
The room stirred, reporters shuffling in their seats, eager to get a word in. Hands shot up, and Timothy's sharp gaze scanned the sea of journalists like a predator choosing his prey.
"You," he said, nodding toward a young woman in a sleek gray suit, her tablet poised.
"Mr. Sinclair," she began, her voice shaky but steadying as she went on, "the Sinclair brand has dominated the high-fashion market for decades. With the Sovereign release being so exclusive, what message are you trying to send to your competitors, especially those entering the luxury footwear market?"
Timothy's lips curled into a faint smile. "That's a good question. The message is simple—we don't follow trends, we set them. Our competitors create products to sell, we create legacies. Exclusivity isn't a gimmick, it's a promise. Every pair of Sovereign shoes carries with it the weight of this family's name and reputation. Competitors can try to match that, but they won't succeed. We've been leading this industry for decades because we refuse to settle for mediocrity. And that will never change."
The woman nodded, quickly scribbling down his words. Timothy's eyes scanned the room again, settling on a man in the back row, hand raised high.
"You," Timothy said.
The man stood slightly, clearing his throat. "Mr. Sinclair, with the increasing rise of digital fashion brands and online exclusives, does the House of Sinclair intend to embrace digital platforms for its luxury lines, or will you continue focusing on physical exclusivity?"
Timothy chuckled softly, though it wasn't warm—it was calculated, charming in a way that reminded everyone he was a billionaire used to having the upper hand. "We've already been embracing digital platforms, but fashion is an art that demands presence. Luxury isn't something you scroll through and click to add to a cart. It's an experience. Sinclair products are meant to be seen, felt, admired in person. That said, you will see us innovate digitally, but without sacrificing the exclusivity that defines our brand."
Another round of nods and furious typing followed. Clara, seated front and center, glanced at her husband with a subtle smirk, her diamond earrings catching the light. She looked every bit the refined businesswoman, poised and untouchable.
"Next," Timothy said, his tone brisk.
A middle-aged journalist with horn-rimmed glasses raised his hand. "Sir, there are rumors of a possible new line under the Sinclair brand targeting a younger demographic. Can you confirm if there's truth to that, or is it speculation?"
Timothy's jaw tightened slightly, and Taylor—standing at the edge of the room noticed it. He knew that look—his father loved control, hated leaks, and the mention of "rumors" irritated him.
Timothy leaned forward slightly. "We're always exploring new ventures. Our focus has been, and always will be, luxury and exclusivity. However," he paused, glancing around the room, "it would be unwise for anyone to underestimate the House of Sinclair. Innovation is in our DNA. I won't confirm or deny speculation, but I'll say this—expect surprises." The crowd murmured at that, intrigued.
"Fourth question," Timothy said, pointing to a woman with a bold red blazer in the second row.
"Mr. Sinclair," she began confidently, "how do you maintain your position at the top in such a competitive industry? With constant criticism about the exclusivity of your products, some say the House of Sinclair caters only to the elite."
Timothy's face remained unreadable, but his voice carried steel. "Criticism is the price of success. If people are talking about you, it means you're leading. We don't cater to everyone because excellence isn't for everyone. My responsibility is not to please critics but to ensure this company remains unmatched. We're not here to compete—we're here to dominate."
That earned him a mix of nods and scribbles, but also a few raised eyebrows. Timothy Sinclair didn't play nice, not even with the press. He thrived on being unapologetic.
"And the final question," Timothy said, scanning the room one last time. His eyes settled on a young journalist near the front row who looked nervous but determined.
"Sir," the young man started, his voice shaky, "the Sinclair family has been known for its influence, wealth, and power, but it's also faced a lot of public scrutiny in recent years. With scandals around wealthy families dominating headlines, how do you intend to keep the Sinclair name untarnished?"
The room grew tense. That was a bold question, and Taylor noticed Clara's lips twitch slightly, her polished expression faltering for a fraction of a second.
Timothy's stare was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. He leaned in closer to the mic, his tone calm but laced with authority. "You see, the Sinclair name isn't just a brand—it's a legacy. Scandals, rumors, criticisms… they're distractions. We've weathered storms for decades, and we're still standing at the top. That's the difference between us and everyone else. Reputation isn't maintained by pandering to gossip. It's built through power, consistency, and excellence. So how will I keep this name untarnished?" He smirked. "By not letting anyone else define it for us."
The tension broke with a burst of applause, the journalists whispering among themselves, clearly satisfied but also wary of Timothy's presence. He straightened his suit jacket, the faintest hint of satisfaction flickering in his expression.
"Thank you for your time," Timothy said firmly. "That concludes our Q&A."
He stepped back from the podium, and in an instant, the press floor erupted into noise again—reporters talking over one another, photographers snapping final shots of the Sovereign shoe, and assistants rushing around with press packets.
Taylor, leaning against the wall, couldn't help but smirk at the scene. This was classic Timothy Sinclair—a man who never wasted words, who commanded fear and respect with ease. Even when asked about scandals, he didn't flinch.
Clara rose gracefully from her seat, gliding toward him, her diamond heels clicking against the marble floor. "Well," she murmured, her accent smooth, "I'd say that went perfectly. Not a single crack in the armor."
Timothy glanced at her briefly, adjusting his cufflinks. "As expected," he replied.
Behind them, Richard was already shaking hands with executives, wearing that smug grin of his, while Jason was scrolling through his phone again, clearly uninterested. Billy whispered something to Riri, and she laughed, her hand resting on his arm like she owned him. Nathan was nowhere to be seen.
Timothy turned to Taylor, his expression neutral but his tone sharp. "Good of you to join us, son," he said dryly.
Taylor straightened, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Traffic," he muttered.
"Excuses," Timothy shot back. "You're the CFO of this company. Act like it."
Taylor bit his tongue. The old man had a way of making even a grown man feel like a rebellious teenager.
Timothy scanned the room again, then gestured toward the door. "We're done here. Let's move to the board room. There's business to discuss."
As the family and executives filtered out, Taylor followed slowly, his mind buzzing. The press conference had gone smoothly, sure, but the tension was palpable. Something about his father's tone, that cryptic confidence, told him this was just the beginning.
Taylor forced a smirk, adjusting his cufflinks while scanning the room. This was life as a Sinclair polished on the outside, rotting beneath the surface.
And Taylor knew deep down that his father's announcement wasn't just about a shoe. It was about setting the stage for something much bigger, something that would change the Sinclair family forever.