Chapter 10 - Calling the Debts
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Julian stared at the manila folder, his breathing growing shallow. Men like Julian didn’t fear violence. They feared paper trails, IRS audits, and public humiliation.
“Blair,” Julian whispered, his voice cracking, all his Princeton polish gone. “You don’t understand the pressure I’ve been under. It’s not what it looks like.”
“I understand perfectly,” I said, crossing my arms.
Preston straightened his suit jacket, rubbing his bruised wrist, shooting me a look of pure venom. “You had private investigators follow us?”
“I had everyone followed,” I corrected him. “The engagement is officially over, Julian. There will be no wedding. There will be no merger of our families.”
Julian’s mouth snapped shut.
“And,” I continued, enjoying the absolute terror blooming in his blue eyes, “because I happen to know that your family’s shipping empire has been secretly surviving on bridge loans quietly extended by Whitmore Capital… I am calling those loans in. Today.”
Julian staggered backward, physically recoiling. “Blair, you can’t do that. That’s two hundred million dollars. It’s due immediately upon request.”
“I am aware of the terms.”
“We don’t have that kind of liquidity! It will bankrupt my father by Friday!”
I picked up my coffee cup, taking a slow sip. “Then I suggest you start selling things. You can start with the penthouse you leased for Phoebe.”
Preston stepped toward Julian, grabbing his arm. “Julian, shut up. Don’t say another word to her.”
“Both of you have exactly ten seconds to leave my property,” I said, my voice turning to steel, “before I instruct Arthur to handle your exit with significantly less politeness.”
Julian looked at me. He really looked at me, peering into my eyes, and finally realized that the weak, pathetic girl he had planned to marry and bury was no longer standing in front of him.
“You’re going to regret humiliating us like this,” Julian sneered, his true, ugly nature finally showing.
I smiled, setting the china cup down with a soft clink. “No, Julian. But you will regret surviving me.”
They left the dining room with rage in their heavy footsteps, but undeniable fear radiating from their backs.
Arthur watched the doors swing shut behind them. “They will not stop, Miss Whitmore. Cornered animals rarely do.”
“I know they won’t.”
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“Then what shall we do?”
I looked up at the oil paintings of my grandparents and parents, the founders of the empire I was now protecting. “We let them think I am entirely alone.”
