Then an anonymous message: Come to Whitmore House. Alone.
THE HOUSE THAT KNEW EVERYTHING
At Whitmore House, Arthur’s eighty-year-old executive assistant, Vivian Hargrove, was waiting. She’d hijacked the wedding screen. She played me a recording Arthur had made before his death: he hadn’t left me Whitmore Holdings because I was his daughter — but because I was the only family member who never wanted it. He’d given me authority to dissolve the company entirely.
Charles and Vanessa arrived. Charles tried to blackmail me into keeping the company alive. Then Graham delivered the killing blow: he’d traced the $12 million transfer. It had never reached Charles. Arthur’s trap had redirected it to a charitable foundation.
Vanessa broke. She handed me her own flash drive — emails, transfers, everything documenting Charles’s operation. Sirens sounded. Mrs. Hargrove had called the authorities twenty minutes earlier.