Chapter 18 - The Blackmail
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I stared at the glowing screen, my blood running cold.
Who is this? I typed, my thumbs flying across the keyboard.
The reply came almost instantly.
Someone who knows exactly how Arthur Whitcomb funded the early days of Whitcomb Development. And someone who knows you hold the keys to the kingdom now.
I showed the message to Vance.
His face drained of color. “We need to get you out of here, Claire. Now.”
The next morning, I sat in the heavily fortified conference room of Arthur’s personal estate. Arthur sat at the head of the table, staring at the printed screenshot of the text message.
“Julian Thorne is in custody,” Arthur murmured, tapping his cane against the floor. “Sloane is in a holding cell. So who is sending this?”
“Someone who wants to leverage the company’s past to control its future,” I said, leaning forward. “Arthur, what are they talking about? How did you fund the company?”
Arthur closed his eyes, a heavy sigh escaping his lips.
For the first time, the invincible patriarch looked fragile.
“Thirty years ago, when I was struggling to keep the firm afloat, I took a loan,” Arthur confessed quietly. “Not from a bank. From the Moretti family.”
Vance gasped. “The Moretti syndicate? Arthur, you took mob money?”
“It was three million dollars,” Arthur defended fiercely. “I paid it back, with exorbitant interest, within five years. I cut all ties. The business has been entirely legitimate ever since.”
“But they kept the receipts,” I realized, a sickening feeling washing over me.
“If the Morettis release proof that Whitcomb Development was seeded with organized crime money, the federal government will freeze our assets under RICO statutes,” Vance explained, pacing the room frantically. “We’ll lose everything. The Connecticut project, the downtown high-rises. All of it.”
My phone buzzed again on the table.
We all stared at it.
I picked it up and opened the message.
There’s a gala tonight for the historical society. Wear the emerald dress. Come alone to the VIP lounge at 10 PM. Let’s discuss your new partnership, CEO.
I looked at Arthur.
“I’m going.”
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“Claire, no. These are not corporate spies playing games. These are killers,” Arthur warned.
“I didn’t fight my way through Evan’s betrayal and Sloane’s insanity just to hand my company over to a ghost,” I said, standing up. “I’m ending this tonight.”
