Chapter 4
Marissa told me to leave.
I deserved that.
She stood by the door with Owen asleep in her arms and said, “I don’t know you. I don’t know what your family wants. I need to protect my son.”
My son.
Not the heir.
Not the missing Whitmore child.
Her baby.
That mattered.
I did not argue.
I gave her my card and wrote Grace’s number on the back.
Grace was my sister, a lawyer with a spine made of iron and a long history of hating our father’s secrets.
“If you need anything tonight, call her,” I said.
Marissa did not take the card.
So I placed it on the small table by the door.
“I’ll leave,” I said. “But I’m not walking away from this.”
Her eyes flashed.
“I don’t need a savior.”
“No,” I said. “You need what your husband left for your son. And you need my family to stop standing on it.”
That reached her.
Not enough for trust.
Enough for silence.
Silas left with me.
In the stairwell, I grabbed his arm.
“What aren’t you saying?”
He looked exhausted.
“Your father controls the board. He controls the family foundation. He controls old loyalties.”
“Did he control Julian’s death?”
Silas closed his eyes.
“I never had proof.”
“That is not an answer.”
“No,” he said quietly. “It is not.”
I drove straight to my father’s house.
The Whitmore family home sat on ten acres of perfect lawn and old money. I had grown up there believing the walls held history.
Now I wondered how many lies had been polished into the wood.
My father was in his study.
Richard Whitmore did not stand when I entered.
He never stood for anyone unless cameras were present.
“You embarrassed yourself tonight,” he said.
I closed the door.
“Who was Julian?”
His jaw tightened.
“A mistake.”
The word hit like a slap.
“He was Thomas’s son.”
“He was Evelyn Keane’s son.”
“And Owen?”
My father’s eyes sharpened.
“What did she tell you?”
“That Julian died on his way to meet you.”
His face did not change.
“Julian was reckless.”
“Did you call him?”
“I called many people.”
“Did you call him that day?”
He leaned back.
“You are not a detective, Adrian.”
“No. I’m the man running the company you used to bury your brother’s grandson.”
His hand struck the desk.
“You know nothing about what I protected.”
“Protected?”
“That family would have destroyed us.”
“What family? A widow and a baby?”
His mouth tightened.
“Blood is not enough to make someone a Whitmore.”
I almost laughed.
Because there it was.
The family creed.
Cold.
Simple.
Cruel.
“Grandfather disagreed.”
“My father grew sentimental before he died.”
“He wrote a will.”
“I preserved the company.”
“You stole from a child.”
He stood then.
Slowly.
Dangerously calm.
“Careful.”
I stepped closer.
“No. You be careful. Because I saw the documents. Silas saw them. Marissa has them now.”
My father smiled.
That smile made my stomach turn.
“Does she?”
My blood chilled.
“What did you do?”
He looked past me toward the window.
“Poor women misplace things. Apartments get broken into. Documents burn.”
I pulled out my phone and called Grace.
When she answered, I said, “Go to Marissa’s apartment now. Take someone with you.”
My father’s smile faded.
“Adrian.”
I stared at him.
“What did you send?”
May you like
He said nothing.
I ran.
