Chapter 6 - The Fall of Whitmore Development
Nathan’s hands were shaking so violently he could barely hold the silver ballpoint pen Evelyn pressed into his fingers. "Claire... if I sign this, I have nothing. I don't even have my clothes. The firm owns my apartment, my car, my watch..."
"You can keep the clothes on your back," I said without an ounce of pity. "And you can keep Vanessa. After all, you two deserve each other."
Vanessa stepped forward, her face twisted in rage. "Nathan, don't you dare sign that! If you give up the company, how are we supposed to pay the mortgage on the penthouse?! How are we supposed to pay for the private hospital in Manhattan?! You promised me five million dollars in equity by Christmas!"
"There is no equity, Vanessa!" Nathan screamed, turning on her with bared teeth. "Can't you hear what she's saying?! The money was never mine! None of it was ever mine!"
"You fraud!" Vanessa shrieked, swinging her manicured fists at Nathan's chest. "You told me you were worth thirty million! You swore you were divorcing a boring nobody who lived off your charity! You used me!"
"I used you?!" Nathan pushed her away, his face contorted in vicious despair. "You trapped me! You told me you were on the pill until you had a positive test, and then you demanded half the company!"
"Sign the papers, Nathan," Evelyn Cross commanded, tapping the signature line with a manicured fingernail. "The screaming can wait for your domestic court hearings. We have seven minutes before the banking clearinghouse closes the morning wire window."
With tears streaming down his flushed cheeks, Nathan pressed the pen to the paper. His signature was jagged, broken, and smeared with his own nervous sweat. Page after page, he surrendered his voting shares, his executive compensation rights, his company sports car, and his access to the Whitmore legacy. Thomas the notary pressed his heavy mechanical seal onto the blue covers with loud, metallic thuds that sounded like coffin nails being driven home.
When the final stamp landed, Julian Blackwell picked up his satellite phone. "Execute the takeover. Rebrand the corporate headquarters under the Vance-Blackwell banner immediately. Lock out the executive floor."
Julian closed the phone and looked down at Nathan. "Security will escort you to the gate, Mr. Whitmore. You have five minutes to vacate the private road before you are arrested for criminal trespass."
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"Wait!" Patricia wailed, clutching Julian's trousers. "What about me?! I live in the carriage house down the drive! Where am I supposed to go?! All my furniture is in there!"
"The carriage house," I said, turning my gaze to my horrified mother-in-law, "will be repurposed as living quarters for our new landscape architecture team. Marcus, please ensure Mrs. Whitmore’s suitcases are placed on the curb by sunset. Any items remaining after six o'clock will be donated to the municipal shelter."
