Chapter 4
Daniel came home at three that afternoon, reeking of scotch and bad decisions.
He found me in the study—the same study where his father had signed the papers that destroyed my family. I was sitting behind his father’s desk, going through more files, when he stormed in.
“Are you insane?” he shouted. “You threatened my mother? You told her I gave you those documents?”
I didn’t look up. “I told her the truth. You did give them to me. You were very helpful, actually. Crying about how your father never loved you, how you wanted to be your own man. It was touching, really. If a little pathetic.”
He slammed his fist on the desk. Papers went flying.
“Shut up! You don’t know anything about me! You don’t know what it was like growing up with him—nothing was ever good enough! I had to be perfect! I had to marry the right girl, say the right things, never make a mistake! And then you came along, and you were so nice, and you didn’t care about the money, and I thought—”
“You thought you’d found the perfect doormat,” I said, finally looking at him. “Someone who would let your mother walk all over her, who would never question anything, who would give you beautiful children and look the other way when you cheated on her with your secretary. Am I close?”
He flinched.
“How did you—”
“Everyone in this city talks, Daniel. Especially when they hate your family. Your secretary has been telling her friends about your little ‘business trips’ for a year. I’ve known since our third date.”
He sank into the chair across from me, all the fight draining out of him. He looked young suddenly. Weak. Just a boy who’d spent his whole life being told what to do, with no idea how to be a man on his own.
“What do you want from me?” he said quietly.
“Cooperation.”
“With what?”
“With everything. You’re going to help me take your mother down.”
He stood up again, fast. “No. Absolutely not. She’s my mother.”
“She’s a murderer.”
“Prove it!” he yelled. “You have bank records, you have letters, but where’s the proof she killed your mom? Dad could have done that alone. She might not have even known!”
I reached into the desk drawer and pulled out an envelope. I tossed it to him.
“Read it.”
He hesitated, then opened it. It was a letter. Handwritten. From his father to his lawyer, dated the week before Arthur died of his heart attack.
Daniel read it. His face went from anger to confusion to horror. He dropped the letter like it was on fire.
“No,” he whispered. “No, she wouldn’t… she couldn’t…”
“Your father wrote that if anything happened to him, the truth should come out,” I said. “He was dying, Daniel. He felt guilty. He was going to confess everything. Your mother found out. So she increased his heart medication. Just enough. The coroner called it natural causes. But the nurse who was there that night? She kept a record. She’s been waiting for someone to ask.”
I stood and walked around the desk to him.
“She killed your father too, Daniel. Because he was going to tell the truth. She chose the money over her own husband. What makes you think she’d ever choose you?”
He was crying now. Actual tears. He sank back into the chair, his shoulders shaking. For a second, I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
Then I remembered my mother’s face. The way my father had aged ten years in the month after she died. The nights I’d gone to bed hungry because we couldn’t afford groceries while the Whitmores drank champagne on our balcony.
Sympathy could wait.
“I’ll give you a choice,” I said. “You help me. You testify. You tell the world exactly what your parents did. And when it’s over, you can walk away. You can keep enough money to live comfortably—not this obscene wealth, but enough. You can start over somewhere new. No jail time. No scandal attached to your name personally. Just… freedom.”
“And the other option?” he said, his voice muffled in his hands.
“The other option is I release everything. Every document. Every letter. The nurse’s testimony. The mechanic’s statement. You go down as an accomplice. You spend ten to fifteen years in prison. Your name is destroyed forever. And your mother? She spends the rest of her life behind bars, and you get front-row seats to watch it happen.”
I leaned down so he could see my face.
“Which is it going to be, Daniel? Are you going to be a Whitmore? Or are you finally going to be a man?”
He looked up at me. His eyes were red, his face streaked with tears. The golden boy, broken at last.
“I’ll help you,” he whispered.
I held out my hand.
May you like
He hesitated, then took it.
“Good,” I said. “Because tomorrow morning? We’re going to pay a visit to the district attorney. And then? Your mother is going to learn what happens when you mess with the wrong family.”
