Chapter 3 - THE STRIPPING OF THE HEIRTwenty-four hours after being kicked off his own company’s board, Michael stood in the lobby of Whitaker Global Enterprises in downtown Manhattan.
For ten years, he had walked into this building like a prince in waiting. Security guards used to bow their heads; executives used to offer him coffee before he even asked. Today, two beefy security officers in tactical vests stood squarely in front of the turnstiles, blocking his path.
"Out of my way," Michael hissed, pulling out his executive keycard. "I am the Vice President of Strategic Development. I need to see my father!"
"Your keycard has been deactivated, Mr. Whitaker," the lead officer said without a trace of warmth. "Mr. Whitaker Senior has issued a strict non-trespass order against you and Mrs. Cassandra Whitaker. If you attempt to cross this line, we will arrest you for legal trespassing."
"He's my father!" Michael screamed, his voice cracking, causing dozens of commuting corporate workers to stop and stare. "Call him! Tell him I’m here!"
High above the lobby, on the 45th floor, I stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass window, holding a cup of hot black coffee. I watched the tiny figure of my son flailing his arms in the lobby down below.
Arthur Vance stepped into my office, holding a tablet. "The public relations team is waiting for your signal, Robert. Cassandra’s family has already tried to reach out three times. Her father is begging for a meeting."
"No meetings," I said calmly, taking a sip of coffee. "What is the status of Aegis Tech?"
"We’ve audited the company’s books," Arthur replied. "It turns out Michael has been embezzling client development funds for the past eight months to pay for Cassandra’s lavish lifestyle—the ten-carat diamond ring, the private jet to Bali, the luxury wedding planner. It totals roughly 2.4 million dollars."
"Good," I turned around, looking Arthur dead in the eye. "File corporate fraud charges with the Southern District District Attorney by 5:00 PM today."
Arthur paused, a look of shock crossing his face. "Robert... if the DA takes this case, Michael won't just lose his money. He’s looking at five to seven years in federal prison."
"My wife bore him," I said quietly, my voice icy. "She nursed him through high fevers. She stayed up with him when he had night terrors. She loved him with every fiber of her soul. And he threw her against a wall like a piece of trash to appease a cruel woman."
I put my coffee cup down with a sharp clink.
"He made his choice, Arthur. Now he gets to experience the consequences."
Meanwhile, downstairs in a coffee shop across the street, Michael was sitting opposite Cassandra, his face pale, sweating profusely through his designer shirt.
"He cancelled the cards, Cassandra!" Michael yelled under his breath. "All of them! My personal account, my emergency fund—everything! I have eighty-four dollars in cash in my wallet!"
Cassandra wasn't listening. She was looking at her phone, watching her Instagram account crumble. Anonymous accounts had begun posting cryptic comments on her wedding photos: #WhereIsEllen, #MotherBeater, #FakeLuxury.
"Michael, my dad just froze my trust fund!" Cassandra panicked, her voice rising in pitch. "He said until you resolve this with your father, I don't get a single penny! We can't even pay for our hotel room tonight!"
"We need to find my mother," Michael said suddenly, his eyes widening with desperation. "My mother is soft. She loves me. If I cry in front of her, if I tell her Cassandra made me do it—"
"What did you just say?!" Cassandra shrieked, slamming her phone on the table. "You blaming me?!"
"You did slap her!" Michael yelled back, completely abandoning his suave facade. "You screamed at her because her lace collar showed in our photo! You lost your mind first!"
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"And you pushed her!" Cassandra sneered, leaning in close. "You're a weak, pathetic little boy who lives off his daddy’s money! If you can't fix this by tonight, Michael, don't bother coming back to my room!"
The crack in their perfect union had officially turned into a canyon.
