Chapter 3 - THE DESPERATE BEGGING
By 1:00 PM on Monday, the executive wing of Whitaker Construction was entirely cleared. Forty-seven members of the Collins family had been escorted out of the building by armed security guards, clutching clear plastic bags containing their desk trinkets.
Outside on the snowy pavement, the scene was chaotic. Local news vans had drawn up after reports of massive corporate liquidations at the city's largest construction firm. The Collins family members were arguing hysterically on the sidewalk as tow trucks pulled away four BMWs, two Audis, and a Range Rover—all company-owned assets that had been seized on the spot.
Inside my corner office, I stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass, drinking a hot black coffee.
My desk phone buzzed. It was my executive assistant, Sarah.
“Mr. Whitaker, your wife... excuse me, Mrs. Claire Collins-Whitaker is in the lobby downstairs. Security is holding her, but she’s causing a massive scene. She’s demanding to come up.”
I took a slow sip of coffee. “Send her up. Alone.”
“Yes, sir.”
Three minutes later, the private elevator chimed.
Claire rushed into my office. Her usual immaculate appearance was entirely shattered. Her hair was messy, her eyes were bloodshot, and her breath came in frantic, shallow gasps. She was wearing an expensive coat, but her hands were trembling so badly she couldn't even button it properly.
She stared at me—standing behind a massive black marble desk in a suit that cost more than her family’s monthly mortgages combined.
“Daniel...” she breathed out, stepping forward, her voice cracking with pure desperation. “Daniel, please... tell me this is a bad dream. Tell me this is some kind of sick revenge prank you’re playing on my family.”
I didn't answer right away. I walked over to my desk, picked up a pen, and signed an executive requisition form before looking up at her.
“You wanted a divorce, Claire,” I said calmly. “You gave me the papers yourself on Christmas Eve. In front of forty people. You told me you were done being embarrassed by me.”
“I didn't know!” Claire screamed, tears streaming down her face as she rushed up to the desk, slamming her hands down on the marble. “I didn't know you owned the company! Why would you hide this from me?! Why would you let me think you were broke?!”
I laughed—a sharp, humorless sound that echoed off the high glass walls.
“I didn't hide it from you when we got married, Claire,” I reminded her softly. “I told you I owned Whitaker Home Solutions. You were the one who begged me to hide it from your family. You told me your father had a fragile ego. You begged me to pretend to be a simple field worker so Martin wouldn't feel threatened.”
Claire bit her lip, fresh tears spilling over her lashes. “I... I meant just at first! I didn't mean for eight years!”
“And what happened when your father lost his job, Claire?” I continued, standing up and leaning over the desk toward her. “I gave him a job. What happened when your brothers needed work? I gave them executive titles. What happened when every lazy cousin, uncle, and nephew showed up looking for a handout? I put them all on my payroll. I spent nearly $8 million a year feeding your family, Claire!”
“Then why fire them now?!” she sobbed. “They have mortgages! Bradley just bought a home in Oakridge! Julian has a child on the way! If you fire them, they’ll lose everything!”
“They didn't seem very concerned about my family on Christmas Eve,” I said, my eyes turning to ice. “Your father dragged my sixteen-year-old daughter out into a sub-zero blizzard without a coat. He called her baggage. He called me trash. And you, Claire... you sat there, drank champagne, and shoved a folder into my chest.”
Claire collapsed onto her knees right in front of my desk, sobbing hysterically. She reached out, trying to grab the hem of my trousers.
“Daniel, please! I was wrong! I was stupid! My father forced me to sign those papers! He pushed me into it!” she lied frantically, looking up at me with wide, terrified eyes. “I love you, Daniel! I’ve always loved you! We can tear up the divorce papers! We can start over! I’ll make my dad apologize to Sophie! I’ll make him get on his knees and beg her for forgiveness! Just please... give my family their jobs back! Don't destroy us!”
I looked down at the woman I had spent eight years trying to protect, feeling nothing but profound disgust.
“Get up, Claire,” I said coldly.
“Daniel, please—”
“Get up!” I barked.
Claire scrambled to her feet, wiping her face with her trembling hands.
“You didn't love me, Claire,” I said, walking around the desk to stand right in front of her. “You loved the idea of a quiet, obedient handyman who took your family’s abuse without complaining. You loved using me as a scapegoat for your family’s deep-seated insecurities. The moment you thought I had no value, you threw me away like trash.”
I pulled out my phone and tapped the screen, turning on an audio recording.
“I’m done being embarrassed by you. These are divorce papers. I signed them. Get out of my house by tomorrow.”
Claire’s own voice echoed through the office, cold and cruel.
I paused the recording.
“That was you four days ago, Claire,” I said quietly. “There is no starting over. The divorce is moving forward. And as for your family...”
I stepped past her toward the door.
“...they aren't just fired. Marcus Vance has spent the last forty-eight hours reviewing company accounting records. Your father and brothers have embezzled over $1.2 million through fraudulent corporate vendor contracts over the last three years.”
Claire’s face went dead white. “Embezzled...?”
“It’s a felony, Claire,” I whispered in her ear as I opened the door. “By five o’clock today, the state prosecutor will have the files. Tell your father to spend less time worrying about his luxury car leases and more time hiring a good criminal defense attorney.”
“Daniel! No! Please!” Claire shrieked, running after me into the lobby.
Two large security guards stepped into her path, blocking her completely.
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“Escort Mrs. Collins off the premises,” I instructed the guards without looking back. “If she sets foot in this building again, have her arrested for trespassing.”
“DANIEL! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO US! DANIEL!” Claire’s screams echoed down the hallway as the elevator doors slid shut between us, blocking her out forever.
