Chapter 5 - THE NURSE WHO REMEMBERED
The nurse’s name was Ava Collins.
Twenty-six.
Three years at St. Augustine.
No disciplinary record.
No history with the Whitaker family.
Detective Morales liked witnesses like that.
Ava sat with both hands wrapped around a paper cup.
“Tell me what happened before the kick.”
Ava swallowed.
“Mrs. Whitaker was waiting near prenatal reception.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“Mr. Whitaker came in with Ms. Cross.”
“Did they argue?”
“Ms. Cross did most of the talking.”
“Could you hear?”
“Some.”
“What exactly?”
Ava closed her eyes.
“She said Mrs. Whitaker was making everything difficult.”
“Anything else?”
“She said she needed to sign something.”
Morales wrote.
“Did Mr. Whitaker speak?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Ava hesitated.
“I’m not completely sure.”
“Tell me what you remember, not what you think it means.”
Ava nodded.
“He said, ‘Just sign it and this can end quietly.’”
Morales stopped writing for one beat.
“Anything else?”
“Mrs. Whitaker said no.”
“And then?”
“Ms. Cross followed her.”
Ava’s grip tightened around the cup.
“She said something about the baby.”
“What?”
“I couldn’t hear all of it.”
“Try.”
Ava looked ashamed.
“I think she said, ‘Once it’s born, you don’t matter anymore.’”
Morales’ expression remained neutral.
“And Mason?”
“He told them both to lower their voices.”
“What happened immediately before the kick?”
Ava stared at the table.
“Mr. Whitaker looked at Ms. Cross.”
“That’s visible on camera.”
“Then he moved.”
“Why did that matter to you?”
Ava finally looked up.
“Because until then, he had been standing between them.”
Morales’ pen stopped.
“And after he moved?”
“There was nothing between them.”
Ava’s eyes became wet.
“He created the opening.”
Across town, Mason returned to his penthouse office.
Peter Lang was waiting.
“You didn’t make the transfer.”
“No.”
“You work for me.”
“I work for Whitaker Development.”
“I am Whitaker Development.”
Peter had heard that sentence before.
This time it sounded pathetic.
“Mason, the board needs to know about today.”
“The board needs to know nothing.”
“There are lender inquiries.”
“Handle them.”
“They concern pledged trust assets.”
Mason’s stare sharpened.
Peter continued.
“And I will not certify the financial statements until I know whether those pledges were authorized.”
“You’re finished.”
Peter nodded.
“I expected that.”
Mason blinked.
Peter placed his company laptop on the desk.
“I resigned twenty minutes ago.”
Mason stood.
“You walk out that door and you’ll never work in this industry again.”
Peter almost smiled.
“That threat would have frightened me yesterday.”
He turned.
“What changed?”
Peter looked back.
“Yesterday I thought you still owned enough of the company to make it true.”
Mason’s face changed.
Peter left.
At 3:42 p.m., Whitaker Development’s independent directors received an encrypted package.
Inside were three items.
Copies of the trust-backed loan documents.
A formal notice from Blue Ridge Family Trust.
And a letter from Margaret Sloan.
The subject contained six words.
NOTICE OF PROTECTIVE VOTING CONVERSION EVENT.
Mason received his copy four minutes later.
He read it twice.
Then he picked up a crystal tumbler from his desk and threw it against the wall.
May you like
For the first time in eight years, Natalie Whitaker was not asking him for anything.
She was taking back what had always been hers.
