Chapter 7 - THE LOCKED OFFICE
Martin called before noon.
“There’s an office you need to see.”
I arranged for Rebecca to stay with Sophie while I returned to the Whitmore Hotel.
Walking back into that lobby felt like entering the scene of someone else’s nightmare.
The flowers from the wedding were still everywhere.
White roses.
Crystal vases.
Gold ribbons.
The ballroom doors were closed.
Employees spoke in whispers.
Martin met me near the elevators.
“You doing okay?”
“No.”
He nodded.
It was the first honest answer anyone had accepted from me without trying to correct it.
We rode to the executive floor.
At the end of the corridor stood an office I had never entered.
PRESTON WHITMORE.
PRESIDENT OF OPERATIONS.
A police evidence seal covered the door.
Martin stopped.
“Before officers secured this room, Preston tried to enter it.”
“For what?”
“That’s what we wondered.”
He showed me security footage on his tablet.
Preston appeared in the hallway approximately twenty minutes after the ambulance left.
He rushed toward his office.
My father followed.
Then my mother.
Preston unlocked the door.
My father said something.
There was no audio.
But Preston suddenly stopped.
Then he turned toward the camera.
He had remembered it.
Martin paused the footage.
“He realized he was being recorded.”
“What happened next?”
“Police arrived before he could remove anything.”
“What’s inside?”
“Investigators haven’t told me.”
Another voice answered from behind us.
“I can.”
A woman approached.
She wore a gray suit and carried a leather folder.
“Evelyn Whitmore?”
“Yes.”
“Detective Lena Torres.”
We shook hands.
She didn’t waste time.
“We executed a search based on the CCTV footage and evidence recovered after the assault.”
“What did you find?”
“Financial records.”
My mouth went dry.
“What kind?”
“Multiple transfers from Whitmore Hospitality accounts to shell companies.”
“How much?”
“We’re still calculating.”
“Millions?”
Detective Torres looked at Martin.
Then back at me.
“Potentially.”
I leaned against the wall.
Preston had spent years telling everyone he was the future of the family company.
Maybe he had been quietly hollowing it out.
The detective opened her folder.
“There’s also correspondence regarding Monday’s leadership transition.”
“My father’s retirement.”
“Yes.”
“What does that have to do with the money?”
“We believe an independent audit would automatically begin when voting control transferred.”
“To me.”
“Yes.”
“And Preston needed to prevent that.”
“Yes.”
Everything snapped into place.
The waiver.
The stolen phone.
The bracelet.
The public humiliation.
Sophie.
They planned to terrify me into surrendering the shares before I ever had the authority to inspect the books.
Detective Torres closed the folder.
“There’s another complication.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course there is.”
She looked toward Preston’s sealed office.
“One of the shell companies is registered to someone named Rebecca Whitmore.”
I stopped breathing.
May you like
My cousin.
The woman currently sitting beside my daughter.
