Chapter 8 - The Storage Unit
Police obtained a warrant before noon.
The storage unit was registered under a shell company connected to one of Preston’s consulting firms.
Inside were twelve banker’s boxes.
Two laptops.
Three external hard drives.
A locked filing cabinet.
And hundreds of photographs of Emily.
Some were recent.
Others dated back more than a decade.
Emily walking across her college campus.
Emily leaving her first teaching job.
Emily visiting her mother during chemotherapy.
Emily at Catherine’s funeral.
Emily meeting Preston for the first time.
Except now they knew it was not the first time for him.
Detective Lena Ortiz laid the photographs across a table.
“This looks like surveillance.”
Raymond nodded.
“How long?”
“At least eleven years.”
Emily viewed the evidence from her hospital room through a secure video call.
Her face became expressionless.
That scared Raymond more than tears would have.
Detective Ortiz held up another file.
“We also found payments to private investigators.”
“From Preston?” Emily asked.
“From his father’s company.”
Emily closed her eyes.
Charles Whitmore.
Preston’s father.
The charming man who had called her daughter.
Who had toasted her at the wedding.
Who had told everyone the families were finally united.
Raymond asked.
“Where is Charles now?”
“His office says Europe.”
Emily spoke.
“He’s not in Europe.”
Everyone looked at her.
“How do you know?”
“He called Preston yesterday.”
Raymond frowned.
“You heard it?”
“Only part.”
Emily thought back.
Preston had taken the call in their kitchen.
He had lowered his voice.
She remembered two words.
Not yet.
Then another.
Monday.
“What happens Monday?” Detective Ortiz asked.
Raymond knew.
“The Saint Claire board meets Monday.”
Emily stared at him.
“For what?”
“To vote on the Northstar merger.”
The merger would combine Saint Claire Holdings with a national medical network.
Worth nearly four billion dollars.
A controlling vote from Emily could approve or block it.
Detective Ortiz leaned forward.
“Who benefits if Emily cannot vote?”
Raymond did not answer immediately.
Then he said.
“Whitmore Management.”
Emily understood.
The merger would terminate several decades-old management contracts.
Including contracts funneling tens of millions annually to Whitmore-controlled companies.
Preston’s family did not merely risk losing prestige.
They risked losing their financial empire.
Emily whispered.
“So they needed me incapable before Monday.”
Raymond nodded.
“Or dead.”
The room went quiet.
A knock sounded at Emily’s hospital door.
A nurse entered.
“There is someone asking to see you.”
“Who?”
The nurse hesitated.
“Charles Whitmore.”
Emily looked at Raymond’s face on the tablet.
May you like
Raymond said one word.
“Record everything.”
