Chapter 67

Chapter 67
Elias

The CFO, investment director, and general counsel filed into my office at ten sharp, arranging themselves across from my desk with the wary efficiency of people who'd been summoned without explanation.

I didn't waste time. "Suspend all negotiations with Whitmore Group. Immediately. The waterfront development, the tech park—everything. Inform their people we're conducting a strategic review."

The CFO's eyes widened. "Sir, we've committed nearly twenty million to those projects—"

"Bill it to my personal accounts." My voice came out flat, brooking no argument. "This is my decision, not corporate. You just execute."

The investment director leaned forward carefully. "May I ask what prompted this?"

"No." I met her gaze steadily. "This is personal. I'm separating my interests from our business relationships. You don't need to understand—you just need to make it happen. Today."

The general counsel cleared her throat. "Abruptly terminating these partnerships could expose us to breach claims—"

"Then find the legal justification. Review every clause, find provisions for strategic realignment, and use them. Minimize exposure, but don't let legal concerns slow us down."

They exchanged glances, recalibrating. Finally the CFO ventured, "If word gets out we've pulled back, other investors might follow. It could trigger a cascade—"

"That's Whitmore's problem." I leaned back in my chair. "If they can't weather one strategic withdrawal without collapsing, that tells you everything you need to know about their stability. We're better off not being tied to that."

They left, and I picked up my phone. Five calls to five carefully selected people—fund managers, investment advisors, people whose opinions moved markets. Each conversation was nearly identical.

"It's Elias. Quick heads up—we're pulling back from some Whitmore Group ventures. Just a strategic reassessment, nothing dramatic, but you might want to take a closer look before deepening your exposure there."

"Appreciate it, Elias. We were considering increasing our position, but if you're stepping back..."

By the third call, I could already feel the machinery beginning to turn. By the fifth, Whitmore's carefully constructed house of cards was starting to sway.

My intercom buzzed. "Sir, Noah's here with the market update."

Noah entered with his tablet already displaying charts. "Whitmore Group opened down three percent. Trading volume's elevated—someone's selling."

"We are," I said. "What's the institutional response?"

"Confusion mostly. Several major funds are reassessing their positions. Goldman's telling clients to wait for clarity before adding exposure." He paused. "Sir, Whitmore's office has called twice asking for a meeting. The assistant sounded... stressed."

"Tell them I'm unavailable today." I turned back to my screen. "Maybe later this week."

---

At three o'clock, Noah returned. "Whitmore Group is down eight percent. Market cap dropped three hundred million. And the Ashford family just requested they postpone the merger talks."

I didn't look up from the contract I was reviewing. "Their reason?"

"Need to 'reassess Whitmore's commercial stability.'"

A cold smile touched my lips. "That should help Richard understand the situation."

"Sir, if they reach out directly—"

"Let them wait." I signed the document with a flourish. "I'll decide later when I'm ready to take their call."

Noah hesitated at the door. "For what it's worth, Mrs. Voss is lucky to have you."

"I'm the lucky one," I said quietly. "She didn't want me to do any of this. Worried about what people would say. But sometimes protecting someone means making choices they're not comfortable with."

---

The next morning, Noah appeared at my door at ten fifteen. "Sir, Richard and Leo Whitmore are here. They've been waiting in reception for twenty minutes."

I glanced at my watch. Earlier than I'd expected—Richard must be feeling the squeeze. "Tell them I'm occupied. They can wait."

"Sir, Mr. Whitmore senior indicated this was extremely urgent—"

"I'm sure it is." I returned my attention to my computer screen. "That doesn't change my schedule."

Noah withdrew, and I allowed myself a moment of satisfaction. In any negotiation, the person who could afford to wait longer held the power. Right now, that was me.

I pulled up the video calling app and dialed home. Sofia's face appeared almost immediately, grinning.

"Dad! We were just talking about you!"

"Nothing too incriminating, I hope. How's the patient?"

She angled the camera to show Lila on the sofa, ankle propped on pillows, wrapped in a blanket and cradling tea. She wore one of my shirts, and despite the tired lines around her eyes, she looked peaceful.

"She tried to hop to the kitchen earlier," Sofia reported. "I had to physically block her and threaten to call you."

"Good work." I caught Lila's eye, saw the faint blush. "Two weeks rest, Mrs. Voss. No exceptions."

"I was just getting water," Lila protested without heat. "Sofia's being a tyrant."

"Someone has to be." Sofia's grin widened. "Otherwise you'd be on your laptop pretending nothing hurts." She paused. "Dad, did you actually punch Leo Whitmore? The group chat is exploding and I need confirmation for bragging rights."

My jaw tightened, but I kept my voice light. "The group chat should find better topics. And yes, I may have expressed my displeasure physically."

Sofia whooped. "I knew it! Dominic owes me fifty bucks—"

"Sofia," Lila warned, though she was fighting a smile.

"What? I'm just stating facts. Anyway, I'm taking excellent care of her, so don't worry. Snacks, movies, and I've threatened to sit on her if she moves."

"Appreciated." I looked at Lila directly. "How are you really feeling?"

Her expression softened. "Better. The medication helps. You don't need to worry."

"I always worry. Apparently it's in the job description now."

Lila said softly, and the reproach in her voice cut through everything else. "You're at the office handling... whatever you're handling, and I'm here worried about what you might be doing."

The laughter died in her eyes, replaced by genuine concern. Guilt settled over me—she was right. I was orchestrating the Whitmore situation while she sat home anxious and in pain, kept in the dark because I'd decided it was better that way.

"I'm being careful," I said, wishing I could reach through the screen. "Nothing illegal, nothing that will blow back on us. Just adjusting certain business relationships."

"That's what I'm afraid of. Your version of 'careful' might be different from mine."

My door opened and Noah appeared, apologetic. "Sir, Mr. Whitmore senior is asking again. It's been thirty minutes and he's becoming agitated."

I checked my watch. Long enough to make my point without crossing into rudeness. "Tell them five minutes." I turned back to the screen. "I have to go. But I'll be home early and we'll talk about everything. No more secrets."

Lila nodded slowly, unconvinced. "Just remember what you promised. Don't do anything you'll regret."

"I won't," I said, and meant it.

The call ended. I straightened my tie, adjusted items on my desk for psychological effect, and prepared to receive the two men who'd hurt the person I cared about most.

I pressed the intercom. "Noah, bring them in. And make sure we're not disturbed."

"Understood, sir."

I sat back, fingers steepled, and waited for the door to open.