Chapter 5 - THE COLLAPSE OF AN EMPIREWithin forty-eight hours of the gala, the fall of the Whitman family was swift, brutal, and absolute.
Grace didn't need to lift a finger personally; the financial machine Dante had built did the work with mechanical precision. Foreclosure notices were slapped on the Whitman family mansion before the weekend was over. Federal investigators, tipped off by Moretti’s legal team regarding years of corporate fraud, tax evasion, and embezzlement within Whitman Logistics, raided the corporate headquarters at dawn on Monday.
Andrew Whitman watched from the curb of his foreclosed mansion as federal agents hauled boxes of evidence out of the front doors. His designer suits were gone, his bank accounts were frozen, and his high-society friends had blocked his phone numbers entirely.
Desperate, drunk, and unhinged, Andrew drove his beat-up rental car straight to the Moretti Tower, managing to bypass security by staking out the underground parking garage.
As Grace stepped out of her private elevator toward her chauffeured car, a wild-eyed figure lunged out from behind a concrete pillar.
"Grace! Grace, stop!" Andrew screamed, stumbling forward with his arms outstretched.
Grace’s bodyguards moved with lightning speed, pinning Andrew face-first against the concrete floor before he could take another step.
"Get off me! Let me go!" Andrew bellowed, spitting blood and concrete dust. He looked up at Grace, who stood ten feet away, looking down at him with mild, detached curiosity as if inspecting a cockroach.
"Grace, please!" Andrew sobbed, his voice cracking into a pathetic whine. "We were married! We had a life together! Have mercy! Buy back our company, give us a place to stay... anything! I'm begging you!"
Grace motioned for the bodyguards to pull him up. They hauled Andrew to his feet, holding his arms tightly behind his back.
Grace stepped closer, the scent of expensive jasmine and power washing over him. She looked at the man who had once cast her out into the rain with a newborn baby.
"When I stood on that park bench three years ago, Andrew," Grace said softly, her voice echoing off the concrete walls, "bleeding, freezing, and begging you for mercy through the phone... what did you say?"
Andrew’s eyes widened in sheer terror as he remembered his exact words: 'Lose my number, you worthless breeder.'
"You told me that trash belongs in the street," Grace continued, her expression hardening into steel. "You were right, Andrew. Trash does belong in the street. And you are about to find out what it feels like."
She turned her back on him, stepping smoothly into the back of her Maybach.
May you like
"Throw him out," Grace said coldly.
Before Andrew could scream, the bodyguards dragged him out of the underground garage and tossed him directly into the torrential autumn rain pouring down outside the gates.
