Chapter 6 - The Fall of Margaret Whitmore
A dead silence descended upon the 50th floor.
Daniel was still on his knees, staring blankly at the floor. His phone buzzed violently in his pocket, vibrating against the mahogany base of the wall. He reached for it with trembling hands.
It was a text from Elena Vance, the wealthy heiress he had flown to Bali with.
*My father just froze my offshore accounts and saw the news alerts. The Whitmore credit cards are bouncing. Don't ever call me again, you pathetic loser.*
Daniel dropped the phone. The glass screen shattered against the stone floor.
"No... no, this can't happen," Margaret wept hysterically, lunging toward Nathan with her claw-like hands extended. "You devil! You ungrateful monster! I gave you a roof over your head! I gave you—"
Before she could touch Nathan's lapels, two armed federal agents and four uniformed Boston police officers strode through the boardroom doors, led by the Assistant District Attorney.
"Margaret Whitmore?" the lead agent announced, flashing his badge. "You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, corporate embezzlement, and the unlawful administration of controlled substances with intent to incapacitate."
Margaret froze, her face twisting in pure horror. "What? Conspiracy to commit murder? Who?"
Marcus Vance stepped forward, his eyes burning with cold vengeance. "Arthur’s autopsy was reopened forty-eight hours ago, Margaret. The arsenic levels in his liver were four hundred times the legal threshold. Did you really think you could slip heavy metals into his daily medication and blame it on his terminal heart condition?"
Margaret’s jaw dropped. A high-pitched, inhuman shriek tore from her throat as the officers seized her arms, pinning them behind her back. The steel handcuffs clicked shut with brutal finality.
"Daniel! Do something!" she screamed, thrashing wildly as the guards dragged her backward out of the boardroom. "Daniel! Save me! Call our lawyers! Daniel!"
Her shrill screams echoed down the hallway before being swallowed by the closing elevator doors.
Daniel sat frozen on the floor, surrounded by thirty of the most powerful executives in New England, utterly stripped of pride, power, and wealth. He looked up at Nathan, his eyes wide with pathetic desperation.
"Nate... please," Daniel stammered, tears streaming down his stubbled cheeks. "We're brothers. We're twins! Mom did all of that... I didn't know about the poison! I swear to God I didn't know about the poison! Please, Nate, don't leave me with nothing!"
Nathan looked down at the man who shared his face, but not his soul.
"You didn't know about the poison, Daniel?" Nathan asked softly. "Then why did you book a one-way private flight to a non-extradition country the morning before Father went into cardiac arrest?"
Daniel's jaw trembled. He couldn't speak.
Nathan turned to the head of security. "Escort Mr. Daniel Whitmore off the premises. Confiscate his corporate devices, revoke his access to all Whitmore properties, and ensure his personal effects are delivered to a shelter on Tremont Street."
"Nathan, no! You can't do this!" Daniel wailed as two burly security guards hoisted him to his feet by his armpits, dragging him across the polished floor. "Claire! Claire, talk to him! You loved me! You were supposed to be my wife! Claire!"
Claire stood up from her chair. She walked over to where Daniel was being dragged, looking down at him with an expression of pure, unadulterated disgust.
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"I didn't love you, Daniel," Claire said, her voice dripping with venomous clarity. "I loved the man I thought had the courage to rebuild an empire. But you were never that man. You were just a shadow holding his coat."
With a nod from Nathan, the guards threw Daniel through the glass doors, dragging him toward the service elevator as his pathetic pleas faded into the distance.
