Chapter 3 - The Wolves Celebrate
Thirty miles away, inside the warm, fire-lit living room of the Carter mansion, champagne flutes chimed together in a celebratory toast.
Richard Carter slouched in his leather recliner, nursing an eight-hundred-dollar bottle of vintage scotch he had bought using the company reserve fund. Across from him, Vanessa was draped over the velvet sofa, scrolling gleefully through high-end designer shopping apps on her tablet.
""Did you call Detective Higgins?"" Vanessa asked, taking a delicate sip of bubbly. ""We need that police report filed by noon tomorrow if we want the court to grant emergency power of attorney over Emily’s accounts.""
""Higgins is taken care of,"" Richard grunted, waving a dismissive hand. ""A twenty-thousand-dollar contribution to his re-election campaign ensures he files the drug charges without looking too closely at the pharmacy records. That worthless girl has probably hitched a ride to Denver by now. She always was weak. Just like her mother.""
""Good riddance,"" Vanessa sneered, admiring her fresh French manicure. ""She actually thought she was irreplaceable just because she fixed your tax audits. I told her she’d end up with nothing. Tomorrow, I’m clearing out her bedroom and turning it into my walk-in shoe closet.""
""Check the news,"" Richard said, pointing the remote at the eighty-inch television mounted above the marble fireplace. ""See how bad the roads are. The city might delay the municipal council meeting, and I need the mayor to approve our fifty-million-dollar bridge contract.""
Vanessa flipped to the local business channel. But instead of the weather radar, a breaking news banner splashed across the screen in bold crimson letters:
BREAKING: GLOBAL SHIPPING CONGLOMERATE WHITMORE ENTERPRISES ACQUIRES SUMMIT MUNICIPAL DEBT. MULTI-BILLIONAIRE FOUNDER ARTHUR WHITMORE ANNOUNCES SHOCK RETURN TO PUBLIC COMMERCE.
Richard froze, the crystal tumbler slipping from his grip and shattering violently against the hardwood floor. Amber liquid splashed across his polished leather loafers.
""Arthur... Whitmore?"" Richard stammered, his face draining of all color until he looked like a walking corpse. ""No. That's impossible. He died five years ago! The Swiss clinic confirmed it!""
""Dad, look at the screen!"" Vanessa shrieked, jumping up from the sofa.
There, standing behind a podium in the grand lobby of the Whitmore Tower in downtown Denver, stood Arthur Whitmore himself. He looked vital, imposing, and flanked by an army of elite corporate litigators in matching charcoal suits.
""Furthermore,"" Arthur’s broadcast voice echoed through the Carter living room speakers, clear and chilling, ""Whitmore Enterprises has initiated an immediate forensic audit of all regional subcontractors operating under our secondary trust umbrella. Any entities found guilty of fiduciary fraud, embezzlement, or conspiracy will face immediate asset seizure and federal prosecution. The house cleaning begins today.""
Before Richard could catch his breath, his smartphone began buzzing uncontrollably. Then Vanessa’s phone rang. Then the landline in the study began to chime with persistent urgency.
Richard scrambled to answer his phone. ""Hello? Marcus, what's going on?""
""Richard, we're ruined!"" his chief operating officer screamed over the receiver. ""The bank just froze all our operational accounts! Our corporate credit cards are bouncing, the equipment suppliers in Kansas are repossessing the bulldozers, and the city just revoked our bridge contract! They said Carter Construction is operating under fraudulent ownership!""
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""What are you talking about?!"" Richard roared, pure terror clawing at his throat. ""I own this company!""
""Not according to the registrar of deeds, you don't!"" the COO yelled back. ""A legal notice was just served to our headquarters. Richard... you don't own a single brick. Carter Construction belongs one hundred percent to Emily.""
