Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN IN VERMONT
The Vermont house should have been empty.
It wasn’t.
When federal agents entered the property just before midnight, the fireplace was warm.
Fresh groceries were in the refrigerator.
A cup of tea sat beside a chair.
And upstairs, in the bedroom my mother had used during her final summer, they found women’s clothes.
Not old clothes.
New ones.
Someone had been living there.
The security cameras had been disabled.
But a highway camera captured a dark sedan leaving twenty-seven minutes before agents arrived.
The driver’s face was hidden.
The passenger’s was not.
My aunt Elizabeth.
My father’s younger sister.
The fifth person with access to the core trusts.
She had disappeared.
By morning, her phone was off.
Her apartment was empty.
Her personal assistant claimed she had gone to a wellness retreat.
No retreat had her reservation.
My father sat at the kitchen table of his Manhattan home with both hands around untouched coffee.
“I trusted her.”
Andrew had been discharged from the hospital and sat opposite him.
“She’s your sister.”
“So was Nathan.”
Nobody knew what to say.
Damian was not present.
For once.
The internal investigation had uncovered enough evidence to place him under formal suspension.
He had also been ordered to surrender his company apartment, cars, and corporate devices.
I expected satisfaction.
Instead, I felt exhaustion.
Revenge was simple when the enemy was your cheating husband.
It became complicated when the enemy might be your family.
Rebecca entered the kitchen carrying a laptop.
“We traced one of the transfers.”
“Where?”
“Not Switzerland.”
I frowned.
“The destination account was Swiss.”
“It bounced.”
“How many times?”
“Seven.”
“Where did it end?”
She turned the screen.
A charitable foundation.
Margaret Morrow Foundation for Women and Children.
I stared at my mother’s name.
“That foundation closed.”
“In 2010.”
“Then how—”
“It reopened eight months ago.”
“By whom?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“Elizabeth.”
Andrew swore.
My father’s face changed.
“Liz wouldn’t steal money for charity.”
“She didn’t.”
Rebecca pulled up another document.
“The foundation bought something.”
“What?”
“A controlling interest in Solstice Hospitality.”
I knew the name.
One of our fastest-growing competitors.
They had beaten us on acquisitions in Miami, Madrid, Dubai, and Singapore.
Damian had spent two years complaining that Solstice somehow knew every bid we planned before we submitted it.
My skin prickled.
“How much?”
“Two hundred and sixty-eight million.”
Nearly the exact amount transferred.
“Who owns Solstice?” I asked.
“That’s where it gets interesting.”
It always did.
Rebecca opened corporate filings.
Solstice was controlled through a Cayman entity.
That entity was controlled by a Dutch trust.
That trust had three protected beneficiaries.
Their names had been sealed.
Until that morning.
Nathan Whitmore.
Elizabeth Whitmore.
And—
Rebecca looked at me.
“Damian Cross.”
I sat very still.
Andrew stared.
“Damian owns the competitor?”
“He owns a beneficial interest.”
My father stood so quickly his chair hit the floor.
“Get him here.”
“No.”
I stood.
“I’ll go.”
Damian had moved into a suite at the Plaza.
Not exactly hardship.
He opened the door after my second knock.
He looked terrible.
Unshaven.
No tie.
A bottle of Scotch sat open on the table.
I entered.
He saw the documents in my hand.
“What now?”
“Solstice.”
His expression changed.
Tiny.
But enough.
“You know the name.”
“Everyone knows it.”
“Do you own it?”
“No.”
“Do you own part of it?”
Silence.
My heartbeat hardened.
“Answer me.”
He poured himself a drink.
“That depends what you mean by own.”
I nearly laughed.
He had finally learned the language.
“Beneficial interest.”
He looked away.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Six months.”
“Why?”
“Nathan gave it to me.”
“Nobody gives away hundreds of millions of dollars.”
“He said it was insurance.”
“Against whom?”
His eyes met mine.
“Your father.”
I wanted to hate him completely.
It would have been easier.
But there was something broken in his expression.
Something like realizing the rope around your neck had been placed there by the man you thought was rescuing you.
“Nathan told me Richard planned to remove me.”
“He was right eventually.”
“He said your father would use you to take everything.”
“And your solution was to secretly take part of a competitor?”
“I thought I needed leverage.”
“You always needed more.”
He flinched.
“More money.”
“More control.”
“More admiration.”
“More women.”
“Claire.”
“Was I ever enough?”
He looked at me.
For one second, the billionaire disappeared.
I saw the man from nine years ago.
“No.”
My breath caught.
Then he continued.
“Because the problem wasn’t you.”
He stared into his glass.
“It was that nothing ever made me feel like enough.”
I hated how much truth there was in that.
Not an excuse.
Just an explanation.
“What did Nathan ask in return?”
“Information.”
“What information?”
“At first, market plans.”
“And later?”
“Trust documents.”
I closed my eyes.
“You gave them to him.”
“Some.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“You forged my authorization.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Sabrina said—”
I laughed.
Of course.
“She said you and Richard were preparing to dilute me.”
“You believed your mistress over your wife.”
“I believed the person telling me what I already feared.”
That, at least, was honest.
“What is Nathan planning?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I swear.”
“You’ve made that sentence worthless.”
He put down the glass.
“I know one thing.”
“What?”
“Solstice isn’t the target.”
“Then what is?”
He walked to the bedroom.
Returned with a black folder.
“I found this in Sabrina’s suitcase after she disappeared.”
Inside was a list of properties.
Not resorts.
Hospitals.
Residential towers.
Ports.
Energy facilities.
Farmland.
Technology campuses.
All Whitmore-controlled assets.
Beside each was a percentage.
At the bottom, one line had been circled.
Consolidation date: October 17.
Two weeks away.
“What happens October seventeenth?”
Damian shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
I called my father.
He did not answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Andrew answered instead.
“Claire.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“He left.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“When?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
“Did he say anything?”
A pause.
“He found a letter from Mom.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did it say?”
Andrew took a breath.
“October seventeenth.”
I gripped the phone.
“And?”
“He read it twice.”
“What else?”
“Then he said we’d been wrong about Nathan.”
I stopped.
“How?”
Andrew’s voice dropped.
“He said Nathan isn’t trying to steal the company.”
I looked at Damian.
“Then what is he trying to do?”
May you like
Andrew answered.
“He’s trying to stop something Mom started before she died.”
