Chapter 6
The next month was chaos.
Harold was arrested for manslaughter, fraud, and embezzlement.
The DA said he was looking at thirty years to life.
Preston was named as an accomplice.
His passport was taken.
He was placed under house arrest, forced to wear an ankle monitor, confined to the mansion he’d once shared with Emily.
Vanessa was rearrested when her bail was revoked after she was caught trying to board a flight to Mexico.
She cut a deal with the DA: testify against Harold and Preston, get five years probation and time served.
The tabloids couldn’t get enough.
WHITMORE CRIME FAMILY: HOSPITAL KINGPIN KILLED WIFE FOR MONEY.
PREGNANT MISTRESS TURNS STATE’S EVIDENCE.
QUIET WIFE TAKES OVER BILLION-DOLLAR EMPIRE.
Emily tried to ignore it all.
She focused on the hospital.
On reallocating the stolen money back to the pediatric wing and the free clinic.
On hiring new doctors, new nurses, new administrators who actually cared about people.
On her son.
She was thirty-six weeks now.
Huge.
Tired.
Her feet ached all the time.
But she was happy.
For the first time since she’d married Preston, she was truly happy.
Raymond threw her a small baby shower at the penthouse two weeks before her due date.
Just close friends.
Dr. Chen from pediatrics.
The nurse from the third floor who’d witnessed the kick.
A few of her old teaching friends from Ohio.
No drama.
No Whitmores.
Just good food, silly games, and tiny blue baby clothes.
Emily was opening a gift— a little knit blanket her old roommate had made— when the doorbell rang.
Torres answered it.
A minute later, he came back into the living room, holding a large manila envelope.
“Ms. Emily? A woman dropped this off. Said it was from your mother. She wouldn’t leave her name. Just said you’d know what to do with it.”
Emily frowned.
She took the envelope.
It was thick.
Heavy.
Written on the front in her mother’s loopy handwriting: For my Emily, when you need it most.
Her hands shook as she opened it.
Inside was a letter, dated two weeks before her mother died.
And a stack of bank documents.
My dearest Emily, the letter said.
If you’re reading this, something bad has happened to me. And Harold Whitmore is the reason why.
I’ve known for years what he is. A thief. A liar. A man who would hurt anyone to get what he wants.
I didn’t leave everything to you in the hospital alone.
When your father died, he left me a small oil company in Texas. I sold it in 2008 for four hundred and twenty million dollars. I put it all in a trust for you. No one knows about it. Not Harold. Not Raymond. Not even your father’s family.
It’s yours.
All of it.
Use it to protect yourself. To protect my grandson. To make sure no Whitmore ever hurts anyone ever again.
I love you more than words can say.
Be brave, my girl.
Mom.
Emily dropped the letter.
Four hundred and twenty million dollars.
She was a billionaire.
And she’d had no idea.
Raymond picked up the letter, his eyes going wide as he read it.
“Clara,” he whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek. “You clever, clever woman.”
A loud knock on the door.
Torres came back in, his face tight.
“Ms. Emily? Preston is here. With two lawyers. He says he’s serving you with divorce papers.”
Emily took a deep breath.
She wiped the tears from her face.
“Let him in.”
Preston walked in five minutes later.
He looked terrible.
Thin.
Pale.
His ankle monitor bulged under his suit pants.
Two expensive-looking lawyers followed him, carrying briefcases.
“Emily,” he said, his voice cold. “I think we both know this marriage is over. I’m not going to fight you on the divorce. But I am going to fight for my son.”
He nodded to one of the lawyers, who slid a thick stack of papers across the coffee table.
“Petition for joint custody,” the lawyer said. “Plus fifty percent of all marital assets. The house. The cars. The stocks. And fifty percent of your hospital shares.”
Emily laughed.
It was a loud, genuine laugh.
Preston’s face tightened.
“What’s so funny?”
“You want fifty percent of my assets?” she said, picking up the trust documents her mother had left her and sliding them across the table. “Here. These are my assets. Four hundred and twenty million dollars in a separate trust, established before we got married. You’re entitled to exactly zero dollars of it. As for the house? I sold it last week. The cars? I donated them to the women’s shelter. The hospital shares? They’re in my mother’s trust too. You get nothing, Preston. Less than nothing. You’re going to prison for ten years for helping your dad steal from my hospital. You’ll be lucky if you ever get a job mopping floors when you get out.”
Preston flipped through the trust documents, his face going whiter and whiter with every page.
“This—this is impossible,” he stammered. “You were a teacher. You had no money—”
“You never bothered to ask about my family, did you?” she said. “You just assumed I was some poor Ohio girl you could control. You never asked about my dad’s business. Never asked about my mom’s real fortune. You only saw what you wanted to see.”
She picked up the divorce papers.
Signed them.
Right there.
In front of him.
“I’ll agree to the divorce,” she said. “But you get no custody. No visitation. No rights to my son at all. If you ever try to contact him, I’ll have you arrested. If you even say his name in public, I’ll sue you for every penny you’ll ever make. Take it or leave it.”
Preston looked at his lawyers.
They both shook their heads.
They knew.
She held all the cards.
“Fine,” Preston spat, snatching the papers. “You’ll regret this. One day, that boy is going to ask who his father is. And when he does, I’ll tell him what a cold, heartless bitch his mother was.”
He turned and stormed out, the lawyers following.
When the door clicked shut, Emily let out a long breath.
Raymond squeezed her shoulder.
“You did good, kid,” he said.
Emily looked down at her belly.
May you like
Her son kicked, hard, right where her hand was resting.
“Yeah,” she said, smiling through her tears. “We did good.”
