Chapter 13 - SEVENTY-TWO HOURS
Police issued a warrant for Preston’s arrest.
He disappeared.
So did Vanessa.
Charles Whitmore claimed he knew nothing.
Nobody believed him.
Emily entered her thirty-third week of pregnancy.
Her doctor ordered strict rest.
She ignored half of it.
Raymond argued.
Emily refused to hide while Preston hunted pieces of her family.
Then Detective Ortiz brought the worst news yet.
Investigators had uncovered a scheduled financial transaction.
In seventy-two hours, a foreign holding company would receive nearly nine hundred million dollars from accounts tied to the Saint Claire network.
The authorization had been forged in Emily’s name.
“If the money moves,” Raymond said, “recovering it could take years.”
Emily looked at Alicia.
“Can we stop it?”
“Yes.”
Alicia hesitated.
“But we need access to the original authorization server.”
“Where is it?”
She looked uncomfortable.
“The Whitmore family headquarters.”
Charles still controlled the building.
Emily smiled without humor.
“Then we go there.”
Raymond immediately said no.
Emily looked at him.
“My mother spent her final weeks trying to expose these people.”
“My father died before he could make things right.”
“Preston tried to drug me, discredit me, and possibly kill me.”
“I am not spending the next seventy-two hours in bed while everyone else fights my war.”
Raymond knew arguing was useless.
The next morning, Emily entered Whitmore Tower surrounded by attorneys and police.
Employees stared.
Some applauded quietly.
Charles waited in the boardroom.
“You are destroying two families.”
Emily sat across from him.
“No.”
“You did that.”
Charles leaned forward.
“You have no idea what your mother was really doing.”
Emily’s eyes narrowed.
“She was about to bankrupt the hospital.”
“That’s a lie.”
“She was preparing to expose billing fraud that would have triggered federal seizure.”
“She would have destroyed thousands of jobs.”
“So you stopped her?”
Charles smiled faintly.
“I protected what mattered.”
Emily felt cold.
“Did you kill my mother?”
Before Charles could answer, every screen in the room went black.
Then Preston’s face appeared.
He was broadcasting live from somewhere dark.
“Emily.”
Her breath stopped.
Preston smiled.
“You wanted the truth?”
“Come get it.”
He lifted the camera.
Behind him sat Thomas Reed.
May you like
Alive.
Bound to a chair.
