Chapter 7 - divided loyalties
Back at the Whitmore estate, the massive iron gates were locked. Two black town cars sat idling in the circular driveway beneath the pouring rain.
Inside the grand library, Victoria Whitmore stood by the unlit fireplace, her phone pressed against her ear. Her evening gown was wrinkled, her perfect blonde hair disheveled.
"He knows, Julian," Victoria whispered into the receiver, her voice trembling with barely suppressed panic. "The child brought the photograph. Arthur was there. He pulled out the original."
On the other end of the line, across a crackling transatlantic connection, Julian Whitmore’s voice remained cool, measured, and dangerously calm. "Calm down, Victoria. You're losing your head over an eight-year-old beggar."
"She’s not a beggar! She has Eleanor’s face, she has the signet ring, and Richard has already dispatched his private medical team to Mount Sinai!" Victoria hissed. "If Eleanor wakes up and speaks to him, we lose everything! The board will remove you as CEO before the merger even signs!"
"Eleanor isn't going to speak to anyone," Julian replied coldly. "Her lungs were destroyed years ago. The doctors gave her three months back in November. It’s a miracle she lasted this long."
"You don't understand," Victoria said, glancing nervously toward the library doors. "Richard found the wire transfers from the Geneva account. He knows your name is on the payments."
Silence stretched over the phone line for three long seconds.
"Did Arthur see the documents?" Julian asked, his tone dropping an octave.
"Yes. Arthur handed them directly to Richard."
"Then Arthur has chosen his side," Julian said smoothly. "Call Thomas Vance. Tell him to activate the secondary protocol at the estate archive. If my father wants to dig into the past, we ensure there is nothing left for him to find."
"Julian, Vance failed once already. He couldn't find the box in Eleanor’s apartment!"
"Vance won't fail tonight," Julian said. "Do what I told you, Victoria. And make sure Claire Dawson doesn't leave that hospital with the child."
Victoria froze. "Who? The server?"
"She knows too much, and she’s standing right next to my father," Julian said before ending the call.
Victoria stared at the dead phone in her hand. Her hands shook so violently that she nearly dropped the device onto the marble hearth.
Outside the heavy library doors, standing in the shadowed alcove near the service staircase, Claire Dawson pressed her back against the wallpaper, her heart hammering against her ribs. She had returned to the estate with Arthur to collect clean clothes for Lucy, only to hear Victoria’s frantic voice through the cracked library door.
She stepped back quietly, preparing to run, when a heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder.
May you like
Claire gasped, spinning around.
Standing over her in the dark hallway was a tall, burly man in a dark suit. Across the palm of his right hand, visible beneath the dim hall lamp, was a thick, jagged white scar.
