Chapter 6 - Margaret’s Counter-Attack
Margaret Whitmore did not survive defeat quietly. Two days after Arthur’s boardroom coup, a sleek black town car pulled past the heavy iron gates of Vance Manor. Before security could intercept, Margaret stepped out, draped in a floor-length mink coat, her face carved from stone and malice.
She didn't wait for an invitation; she walked straight through the heavy oak front doors into the grand foyer where I happened to be standing, sipping a cup of chamomile tea.
"Clara," Margaret sneered, looking around the palatial estate with undisguised disdain. "I see you’ve upgraded from living off my son’s charity to living off an old man's pity. How pathetic."
I didn't flinch. I set my teacup down on the console table and turned to face her, standing tall in my cashmere sweater and tailored trousers.
"Pity is what I felt for you every time you looked at me across a Thanksgiving table, Margaret," I replied, my voice cool and level. "Constantly waiting for a throne room you'll never rule."
Margaret narrowed her eyes, stepping closer. "Arthur Vance is manipulating you. He's using you as a pawn in a corporate hostile takeover. Whatever lies you've whispered into his ear about heirs and contracts won't hold up in court. Raymond is filing for custody of your nonexistent future children if you try to claim alimony."
I smiled—a slow, blinding smile that made Margaret visibly recoil.
"Custody?" I whispered, taking a step forward until we were mere inches apart. "Of children you spent eleven years telling the world I could never have?"
Margaret froze. The color drained from her powdered cheeks. "What... what did you say?"
"I said," I whispered, resting my hand deliberately over my stomach, "that the Whitmore bloodline isn't dying out, Margaret. In fact, it's multiplying. Triple the heirs. Triple the stock. All locked away in a trust fund controlled by Arthur Vance—and entirely out of your reach."
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Margaret stumbled backward, her grip tightening on her diamond-studded handbag. "You're... you're lying."
"Ask Raymond," I said, turning my back on her. "Oh, wait—you can't. Because he's too busy losing his empire."
