Chapter 200 The Bastard Whitmore Heir
"You spent three billion dollars on a shadow syndicate just to get a meeting?" I asked. I kept my hands folded on the polished mahogany table.
"I spent three billion dollars to see how you bleed," Julian Whitmore replied.
He stood at the opposite end of the Johnston boardroom. He did not wear tactical gear. He did not look like a criminal proxy. He wore a charcoal bespoke suit cut to absolute perfection. He possessed the aristocratic, sharp jawline of the Whitmore bloodline, but his eyes held a distinct difference. Celeste Whitmore had eyes full of vanity and panic. Thomas Whitmore had eyes full of cold cruelty.
Julian had eyes like a predator doing math.
He tossed a thick, leather-bound document onto the center of the table. The heavy thud echoed in the massive room.
"Oliver Pembroke was a stress test," Julian said. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and took a seat. He moved with unquestioned ownership. "I needed to see how the great Chairman handled a crisis. I must admit, I expected more from you. Hiding in a tower while your husband burns the eastern sector down? It lacks finesse."
Tristan shifted beside me. His hand rested flat on the table, inches from mine.
"The eastern sector is ash," Tristan stated. His voice held the low, gravelly threat of the titan. "Your syndicate is dead. Your proxy is dead. You have no leverage left."
Julian smiled. It was a terrifying expression.
"You think I care about a few stolen cargo ships?" Julian asked. He leaned back in his leather chair. "Oliver Pembroke was a useful idiot. I handed him the dark money because his ego made him loud. He distracted you. He made you look in the dirt while I walked through the front door."
"What is that?" I asked.
"That is my birthright," Julian said. "And your eviction notice."
I reached forward and pulled the document across the table. I opened the heavy cover. The first page bore the seal of the highest federal court in the capital.
My blood ran cold. The Serrano Trust held the controlling shares of the Johnston Group. It was the foundation of my empire.
"You are an illegitimate child," I said. I scanned the dense legal text. My mind raced, searching for the loophole. "Thomas Whitmore kept you a secret. You have no legal standing to challenge a corporate trust."
"I had no standing yesterday," Julian corrected. He steepled his fingers. "But yesterday, Thomas Whitmore signed a full power of attorney. He legitimized my claim. He transferred his entire dormant estate to my name. I am no longer a secret, Minerva. I am the sole recognized heir to the Whitmore legacy."
"The Whitmore legacy is bankruptcy and a federal prison sentence," Tristan countered.
"The Whitmore legacy is blood," Julian said. His gaze snapped to Tristan. The amusement vanished. "And blood dictates the terms of the Serrano Trust. Harriet Montgomery tried to use the DNA test against you months ago. She failed because she was an outsider with no direct claim. I am not an outsider. I am Thomas Whitmore's son. You are his daughter. The trust requires a legitimate heir to hold the majority vote. You built your claim on a lie. You took the Johnston name through fraud."
"I took the Johnston name through marriage," I fired back. I slammed the document shut. "My shares are legal. The board voted."
"The board voted for Alexander Johnston's daughter," Julian stated. He leaned forward. The predator locked onto the prey. "They did not vote for the bastard child of a ruined rival. When I take this to open court, the stock will plummet. The investors will panic. They will see a fraudulent Chairman clinging to stolen power, propped up by a violent husband who orders extrajudicial purges in the eastern sector."
"You cannot prove Tristan had any involvement in the eastern sector collapse," I said. I kept my voice dead flat.
"I do not need to prove it to a jury," Julian replied. "I just need to suggest it to the media. The Johnston Group survives on public trust. I will drown that trust in reasonable doubt."
Julian stood up. He buttoned his jacket. He looked down at me, and I saw the toxic, undeniable echo of our shared father in his face.
"Thomas threw Celeste away because she was weak," Julian said. His tone lacked any empathy. "He used you because you were convenient. He kept me in the shadows because I was the weapon he saved for last. I spent my entire life watching legitimate heirs squander their power. I am taking the Serrano Trust. I will give you forty-eight hours to step down as Chairman. If you refuse, I file the injunction. I burn your reputation, and I take Elias's inheritance."
He spoke my son's name.
Tristan moved. The restraint shattered. He stood up, his chair scraping with brutal force against the floorboards. He grabbed the heavy glass water pitcher from the center of the table and hurled it.
The glass shattered against the wall, inches from Julian's head. Water and sharp shards rained onto the carpet.
Julian did not flinch. He did not even blink.
"Speak my son's name again," Tristan whispered. The lethal, unrestrained monster bled through every syllable. "I dare you."
Julian looked at the shattered glass, then back to Tristan.
"Violence is the refuge of a man who lost the argument," Julian observed. He sounded bored. He turned his attention back to me. "Control your husband, Minerva. Or the courts will do it for you. Forty-eight hours."
Julian Whitmore turned and walked out of the boardroom. The heavy doors clicked shut behind him.
The silence in the room deafened me. The shattered glass on the floor sparkled under the harsh fluorescent lights.
I stared at the closed doors. The eastern sector syndicate felt like child's play compared to this. Pembroke wanted to steal money. Julian wanted to steal my right to exist. He weaponized the blood in my veins. He planned to use the very legal system I relied on to tear me apart.
Tristan stood breathing heavy. His fists clenched at his sides. The veins in his neck stood out in stark relief.
"He is a dead man," Tristan swore.
"No," I said.
I stood up. My legs felt heavy, but I locked my knees. I looked at the man I loved. The man I fought with last night. The man who burned a city to keep me safe.
"If you touch him, we lose everything," I told Tristan. I pointed to the injunction on the table. "He laid a trap. He wants you to act like a thug. He wants you to attack him so he can prove to the board that we are unstable. You cannot fight a lawyer with a bullet."
"He threatened Elias's inheritance," Tristan argued. He turned to face me. The desperation and the rage warred in his gray eyes. "He has Thomas Whitmore's money and Harriet Montgomery's legal strategy. He is going to drag your mother's name through the mud."
"I know what he is going to do," I said.