Chapter 4 - The Gold Digger Test
Richard Whitmore bypassed the pleasantries entirely. He grabbed Logan’s arm and ushered us into a private VIP antechamber behind the main ballroom, motioning for two security guards to close the heavy oak doors behind us.
“What is the meaning of this spectacle, Logan?” Richard barked, his face red with fury. “A secret marriage? To a woman nobody has ever vetted? Do you have any idea what this does to our stock prices?”
“My marriage isn't a corporate merger, Dad,” Logan said, his voice deadly calm, stepping slightly in front of me.
Richard ignored him, turning his piercing gaze on me. He looked me up and down, dissecting me with the arrogance of a man who believed everything had a price tag.
“Listen to me very carefully, young lady,” Richard sneered. He reached into his tuxedo jacket and pulled out a sleek leather checkbook. He clicked a heavy gold pen and quickly scribbled on the paper, tearing it out and tossing it onto the glass table between us.
“That is a cashier's check for ten million dollars,” Richard said coldly. “You will take it, you will sign an NDA, and you will file for a quiet annulment first thing Monday morning. I don't know how you tricked my son into a courthouse wedding, but the Whitmore family does not fall prey to gold diggers.”
Logan lunged forward, his fists clenched. “Dad, I swear to God—”
“Wait,” I said, placing a gentle hand on Logan’s chest.
I walked over to the glass table and picked up the check. I looked at the ten million dollars written across the line. It was a staggering amount of money. Life-changing for almost anyone on the planet.
I looked up at Richard Whitmore. Then, very slowly, I ripped the check in half.
Richard’s jaw dropped.
I ripped it again, letting the pieces flutter to the pristine carpet.
“Mr. Whitmore,” I said, my voice smooth and unwavering. “My name is Claire Bennett Pierce. I am the sole heir to the Pierce family estate, though I have respectfully declined their money. More importantly, I am the executive director of Harborlight Pictures. I make three times that amount in backend royalties on a single film. I don't need your money. I don't want your money. I want your son.”
Richard stared at me, entirely speechless. The realization of who I was—and more importantly, that I could not be bought or bullied—washed over his face like a cold bucket of water.
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I turned back to Logan. He was looking at me like I had just hung the moon in the sky.
“Are you ready to go?” I asked him. “I'm suddenly craving pancakes.”
