America, has a Problem

Monica Lewinsky All Over Again! Mencken Swears On It!

As Aella stormed off and away from the meeting of minds that was going to take place between Roman and Lukas Matsson. She had no intention of watching it happen, in fact--that seemed chaotic. Entirely, too chaotic. Besides, her head was still running--fucking buzzing from the sensory overload that the party was giving her. She'd sat in her brother's tree house, climbed through her mom's vagina--again, and now she had practically relieved most of the feelings she'd shoved away during her childhood, adolescence and now, adulthood. Kendall had blown up at her, for something she hadn't even done, and Roman/Shiv had done what they'd normally do--which was keep her to the side, a good distance away, and pretend she was still a fucking baby. Again--her head goes back to her earlier thoughts, or the physical wording of how an Aella vote is less than a KenCoin, less than a Shiv dollar. Less than all of her siblings--probably less than whatever currency Connor was.

Then, there had been the matter of her privacy being tossed aside.

Kendall posting the photos--fucking with her reputation in the industry, with her father, and with the public.

He'd done it, undoubtedly-- to make it appear that she was on speaking terms with him (which she had been, secretly), or that she supported him (sort of). He manipulated the image people already had of her, and made it worse. Now she was again, the little kid who couldn't stick to one side--the kid who pretended to have a real job, but cried when Dad got upset when they colored outside the lines.

Too fucking young, and too focused on her family. She was sure she'd get a lecture--probably from Karl, maybe Hugo, on why the optics were so bad. She already knew they were, and when she'd eventually explain that Kendall had posted them--not her, she'd get a hefty rant, probably filled with some yelling from her father. He'd ask if she even cared about him--or the company. He'd ask if he didn't do enough for her, and probably remind her of one of the few, very few moments he had ever done something for her--purely, without any gain. Except, most of those moments did include some sort of gain for him.

When he'd donated money to an Ivy League that deferred her--only for her to go to England instead.

That was a good example.

Logan Roy got his name on a pristine building, and his daughter would get admittance. He'd gain a retiring professor as a working figure for ATN. His daughter would boost his spread--only, she didn't go to Columbia. She chose to go to England, mostly out of spite--considering how she felt those were the only schools she got into fairly, seeing as her father couldn't cheat on applications and test scores he didn't know about.

Aella was never even sure if it hurt him--that she went to university there, or if it just hurt his ego when it came to "what could've been" for him.

But either way, huddling into a bathroom stall, Aella finally gave herself permission to look at her phone.

There were a few missed calls from an office line--probably Kerry.

One from Karl--and he'd left a message. Fucking Christ, Karl.

None from her father.

There are a few text messages, some scattered in importance. A few from her group text with Karolina, Hugo and two other executives, all about an upcoming promotional series for ATN's new television special--then, a few from girls she went to school with, asking if she was at Kendall's birthday party, or if she could get them in, because apparently all of New York City is pining for the chance to walk through 4/5 of the Roy kids mother's vagina. She ignores the instagram notifications, scrolling through them, until she finds a strange item from Twitter. Curiously, she clicks it--and finds it leading her to Lukas Matsson's profile. He's mentioned her in a tweet, probably out of boredom from their dumb conversation.