Chapter 208 Visiting the Monster in Prison
"Did you take a bullet?" I asked, gripping the leather armrest of the SUV.
"Not yet," Tristan said. The satellite connection hissed with static. "We reached the riverbank. The canopy blocks the sun. Diego took point. The perimeter is a mile out."
"Are you hurt?" Tristan asked. His voice cut through the distance. The warlord faded. The husband remained. "Vargas told me Julian sent men to the school. He told me you stepped out of the vehicle."
"I bought them," I stated. "I wired five million dollars to the strike team leader. They drove away. Elias is safe in the penthouse. Ricardo increased the guard detail."
A harsh breath came through the speaker. "I should be there. I should tear Julian apart with my bare hands."
"You are saving your brother," I reminded him. I leaned my head against the cold window. The exhaustion pulled at my bones. "I need you to bring Alexander home. I can hold the line here. I am the Chairman."
Silence stretched between us. The miles felt heavy. The war demanded our separation, but the bond refused to break.
"I miss your hands," I confessed. The admission cost me my armor. I offered it to him.
"I will hold you against the wall the second I get back," Tristan promised. The raw heat in his tone sparked a fire in my chest. "I will not let you go. Keep our boy safe, Mina. I am cutting the signal."
The line clicked. I lowered the phone. The fire in my chest cooled, turning into solid iron. I opened the door and stepped onto the pavement.
I stepped into a small, sterile room. A thick wall of reinforced glass split the space in half.
Thomas Whitmore sat on the other side.
He picked up the black telephone receiver mounted to the wall.
I sat in the metal chair opposite him. I picked up my receiver.
"You look tired, Minerva. The Chairman seat is heavy. I imagine it feels heavier today. Julian put on a fantastic show for the cameras. He bled your stock price."
"You gave an illegitimate child a loaded gun," I said. I kept my posture rigid. I refused to break eye contact. "You signed the power of attorney. You handed him the ghost accounts. You watched him attack your own grandson."
"I watched him attempt an attack," Thomas corrected. "He failed. You bought his mercenaries with pocket change. You proved my point. Julian possesses ambition, but he lacks vision."
"He sent armed men to a primary school," I countered. The anger flared, but I clamped down on it.
Thomas tilted his head. The mention of the school did not surprise him. It bored him.
"Julian is desperate," Thomas said. "Desperation breeds mistakes. He thinks he is a predator. He is a scavenger. He spent his entire life watching the legitimate heirs eat. Now he wants a seat at the table. He wants your seat."
"He wants the Serrano Trust."
"He wants validation," Thomas spat the word like poison. "He came to this prison three weeks ago. He sat in that exact chair. He wore a suit that cost more than a car. He begged me for the power of attorney. He promised to ruin you. He promised to restore the Whitmore name to the top of the financial food chain."
"And you believed him."
"I believed he would cause chaos," Thomas stated. His eyes locked onto mine. A chilling realization passed between us. "I am dying in this cage, Minerva. The doctors give me six months. My liver is failing. I have no legacy. I have a daughter who hates me and a bastard son who worships me. I gave him the money because I wanted to watch the two halves of my bloodline tear each other to pieces. I wanted a show."
"You are a monster," I told him.
"I am a realist," Thomas replied. "You defeated me because you learned my tactics. Julian has the money, but he lacks the intellect. He is a coward in a bespoke suit. He hired a shadow syndicate because he fears the sight of his own blood."
I processed the information. Julian leaked the DNA test to wage a public war, but he used anonymous dark money to fund the physical attacks.
"He wants the public to love him," I realized. The pieces of the puzzle clicked together.
Thomas smiled. "Julian wants to be a savior. He wants the Johnston board to view him as the rightful king returning to claim his stolen throne. He cannot take the throne by force. Force makes him a tyrant. He needs you to surrender it."
"Julian is terrified of humiliation," Thomas continued. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "He spent his life as a secret. The worst thing you can do to Julian is ignore him. The second worst thing you can do is give him what he asks for."
"If I give him the Chairman seat, he takes control of the empire," I argued.
"If you offer him the seat, his ego will blind him to the trap," Thomas corrected. "He is a starving animal. Throw the meat on the floor. He will not check for poison. He will eat. He wants the validation more than he wants the money. Offer him a public surrender. He will drop his guard. Then, you slit his throat."
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked. "You want us to destroy each other."
"I do," Thomas agreed. "But Julian bored me. He is predictable. You, Minerva... you are a masterpiece. You locked me in a cage. You survived a hostile takeover. I want to see how you end him. Consider it a final gift from a proud father."
The word struck my ear like a physical blow. I felt the bile rise in my throat. I stood up. My metal chair scraped against the concrete floor.
"You are not my father," I said. I kept my voice flat and dead. "You are a genetic accident. I do not need your gifts. I do not need your approval."
I placed the receiver back on the metal hook.
Thomas Whitmore kept his receiver pressed to his ear. His cruel smile widened. He watched me with a terrifying, absolute satisfaction. He recognized his own reflection.
I turned my back on the glass. I knocked on the heavy steel door. The guard opened it a second later.
I walked out of the sterile room. I marched down the hallway. I left the prison and stepped back into the morning air. The wind whipped my hair across my face.
I pulled my phone from my pocket. I bypassed Ricardo's number and dialed Arthur Vance. The senior board member answered on the third ring.
"Minerva," Vance said. His tone held caution. He expected me to beg for my job.
"Call an emergency press conference for tomorrow morning, Arthur," I ordered. I walked toward the waiting armored SUV. "Invite Julian Whitmore. Invite the major shareholders."
"A press conference?" Vance asked. Confusion bled into his voice. "To announce what?"
"To announce my resignation," I stated. "I am stepping down as Chairman.”