Chapter 5 - THE WHISPERED WARNING
I stepped onto the stage,
the heat of the spotlights hitting my face,
the microphone standing cold and silver before me.
The murmur of the crowd died down instantly,
replaced by a heavy,
suffocating silence.
Nathaniel took two quick steps toward the stage,
his face darkening with anger,
his hands curling into fists.
But before he could reach the steps,
Daniel stepped into his path,
accompanied by two large security men I had hired personally.
Nathaniel froze,
realizing that any physical struggle would be captured by the live cameras.
I adjusted the microphone,
the high-pitched whine of the audio system cutting through the quiet.
“Good evening,
everyone,”
I said,
my voice echoing off the glass walls of the penthouse.
No one moved,
no one breathed.
I looked directly at Sienna,
who was standing next to the VIP tables,
her hand frozen on her champagne glass.
“I wasn’t scheduled to speak tonight,”
I continued,
“but as the majority shareholder of Whitmore Enterprises,
I felt it was my duty to welcome our guests.”
The word shareholder hit the room like a physical blow.
Nathaniel had spent months telling the board that he had bought out my shares.
He had lied.
I looked down at Sienna,
my eyes scanning the deep red fabric of her gown.
“That dress is stunning,
Sienna,”
I said,
my voice dripping with a terrifying sweetness.
Her lips parted,
her face turning pale under the makeup.
“It should be,”
I added,
leaning closer to the microphone,
“considering I bought it,
and my initials are still stitched into the left hem.”
A gasp rippled through the crowd.
Sienna’s hand instinctively dropped to the hem of the dress,
her fingers searching for the embroidered thread she thought she had destroyed.
She had pulled the white thread from the label,
but she had not found the hidden embroidery inside the lining.
A tiny,
delicate C.W.,
woven with metallic silver thread,
impossible to remove without destroying the silk.
Nathaniel’s face tightened,
the veins in his neck bulging as he tried to speak.
“Claire,
stop this now,”
he hissed from the bottom of the stage.
I turned my gaze to him,
looking down from my platform.
“No,”
I said,
my voice carrying a finality that silenced him completely.
I lifted my phone,
the screen glowing in the dim light of the stage.
I touched the screen once,
sending the signal to Daniel in the control booth.
Behind me,
the massive presentation wall,
which had been displaying beautiful photographs of the new resort,
suddenly flickered.
The images of luxury villas and blue oceans vanished,
replaced by a stark,
pitch-black screen.
For three seconds,
the room held its breath,
waiting for the technical glitch to be resolved.
Then,
the first document appeared on the screen,
projected in high-definition for everyone to see.
It was a bank transfer statement,
detailing a transaction of fifty million dollars,
from the company’s pension fund,
to an offshore account in the Cayman Islands.
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And the sole signatory on that account,
was Nathaniel Whitmore.
