Chapter 5 - A Son's Unraveling
Dawn broke over the Whitmore estate with the color of wet slate.
Ethan had not slept a single second. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with dark, bruised circles. He sat in his office, dressed in the same clothes from the night before, his phone pressed to his ear.
“I don't care what she says, Arthur,” Ethan told the family attorney, his voice dead and menacing. “Draft the divorce petition immediately. Irreconcilable differences, fraud, grand larceny, and breach of fiduciary duty. Include the security footage from CAM-04 as Exhibit A. Send a copy to the State’s Attorney by noon.”
On the other end of the line, Arthur Vance let out a heavy sigh. “Ethan… Richard came to see me yesterday afternoon. Did you know that?”
Ethan froze. “Yesterday?”
“He knew Sophia was backed into a corner,” Arthur said gently. “He told me he was terrified she would do something reckless to Ethan. He wasn't worried about himself, Ethan. He was worried she would ruin your life. He asked me to ensure that no matter what happened, you were shielded from criminal liability for the foundation's missing funds.”
Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, a fresh wave of agony tearing through his ribs. “Where is he, Arthur? Did he contact you last night?”
“No,” Arthur replied, his voice heavy with sorrow. “He hasn't called. Ethan… your father has a severe heart condition. He’s been managing it with medication for three years. Did he have his pills with him?”
Ethan dropped the phone on the desk.
He sprinted out of the library, down the grand staircase, and skidded across the marble foyer into Richard’s bedroom. He ripped open the medicine cabinet in the adjoining bathroom.
Row upon row of amber prescription bottles sat on the glass shelves.
Beta-blockers. Blood thinners. Nitroglycerin.
All of them were full.
Richard had walked out into a freezing rainstorm, seventy-five years old, carrying a heavy duffel bag, with a battered jaw and an unmedicated heart.
Panic—raw, animalistic, and paralyzing—seized Ethan by the throat.
Just then, his phone began to buzz frantically against the marble counter in the hallway. Ethan sprinted out and grabbed it, praying it was Clara, praying it was the police with news of his father.
The caller ID flashed: **Evelyn Montgomery**—Sophia’s mother.
Ethan answered, pressing the phone to his ear with trembling fingers. “Where is she?”
“Ethan Whitmore, you listen to me!” Evelyn’s shrill, aristocratic voice screeched through the receiver. “Sophia is at my house in absolute hysterics! She is covered in bruises! How dare you cast my daughter out into the street like a common criminal! Do you have any idea what Richard did to her? She is family! If you don't immediately wire her monthly allowance to her personal account and apologize on your knees, we are going to every media outlet in the state! The Whitmore name will be dragged through the sewer!”
Ethan listened to the venom pouring from the speaker. For five years, he had bowed to this family. He had funded their vacations, covered their country club dues, and treated them with unearned deference.
“Evelyn,” Ethan said. His voice was lower than a whisper, yet so sharp it froze the woman mid-sentence.
“What?” she snapped.
“I have forty-eight frames per second of ultra-high-definition video showing your daughter tearing her own clothes and orchestrating an attack that never happened,” Ethan said. “I have forensic audits proving she stole two million dollars from children with cancer. And I have five attorneys filing criminal indictments with the district attorney as we speak.”
A dead silence fell over the line.
“If you or your daughter ever come within five hundred yards of this estate, my sister, or my father again,” Ethan continued, his voice terrifyingly steady, “I will personally ensure that every asset your family owns is liquidated by the state to repay what she stole. Lose this number.”
Ethan hung up and blocked the contact.
May you like
He threw on a heavy waterproof coat, grabbed his car keys, and walked out the front doors into the pouring rain. He had a father to find. And if he had to search every square inch of the state until his own heart gave out, he would not stop.
***
