Chapter 8 - The Sabotage
Claire stared at the custody clause, the letters blurring together.
“What is this.”
Her voice was barely a whisper, but it cut through the quiet hospital room like glass.
Nathaniel looked away, a muscle feathering in his jaw.
“It is a standard corporate protection clause.”
“A protection clause.”
Claire slammed the papers onto his bed.
“You used my daughter to legally bind me to you.”
“I am trying to keep you both alive.”
Nathaniel tried to sit up, wincing in pain.
“The syndicate knows Evelyn failed.”
“They will come for whoever controls the money next.”
“And you made sure that person is me.”
Claire grabbed her coat.
“You are just as manipulative as she is.”
“Claire, please.”
She walked out of the hospital room without looking back.
Marcus was waiting in the hallway.
He handed her a set of keys and a sleek black credit card.
“Mr. Whitmore insisted you take the penthouse at the Four Seasons.”
“I am going back to my apartment.”
“Your apartment was burned down an hour ago, Mrs. Whitmore.”
Claire froze.
Marcus’s face was completely devoid of emotion.
“The syndicate moves quickly.”
“You have nowhere else to go.”
Claire realized with sickening clarity that she was completely trapped.
She took the keys and went to the hotel with Maya.
The penthouse was massive, cold, and utterly lonely.
She put Maya to bed and opened the laptop Marcus had provided.
If she was legally the CEO of Whitmore Industries now, she had access to everything.
She logged into the corporate mainframe using the passwords in the legal binder.
She searched for Evelyn’s financial records, hoping to find a weakness.
Instead, she found a hidden folder labeled "Project Blue."
She clicked it open.
It contained dozens of wire transfer receipts.
They were payments from Whitmore Industries to Arthur Rothwell.
But they weren't recent.
They dated back five years.
Nathaniel had been funding Evelyn’s family for years before the charity gala.
He wasn't a victim of their debts.
He was the one bankrolling the syndicate.
Claire’s phone suddenly buzzed on the glass desk.
It was a text from an unknown number.
"You are looking in the wrong place."
A second message popped up.
It was a link to a live video feed.
Claire clicked it.
The video showed the hospital room she had just left.
Nathaniel was standing by the window, completely unharmed.
May you like
He rolled his injured shoulder perfectly, peeling off a bloody bandage to reveal clean, unbroken skin.
The gunshot wound had been completely faked.
