Chapter 6 - The Purge of Cedar Ridge
The warmth of the fireplace reflected off the glass of the large window behind me. I looked down at my parents and my brother.
Five years ago, when I walked out on Mark after finding out he had gambled away my savings and threatened me, I went to my parents’ house looking for a place to stay. My mother had refused to unlock the door, telling me through the intercom that I had "made my bed" and that a Whitmore woman didn't bring shame upon the family by getting a divorce.
Tonight, the positions were reversed.
"Grant," I said, my voice steady and devoid of anger—only cold, sharp clarity remained. "You mentioned earlier that you were concerned about proper seating and propriety."
Grant swallowed nervously, taking a half-step back. "Natalie... look, sister... let's talk about this in private—"
"You are no longer an employee of Whitmore Enterprises," I said simply. "Effective immediately, your contract as Managing Partner is terminated. A formal audit of the firm’s development funds will begin at nine o'clock on Monday morning."
Grant’s face turned white. "You can't fire me! Dad!"
My father looked at me, his lip trembling. "Natalie... please. He's your brother."
"He stood on that porch while Mom locked Eli out, Dad," I replied, looking him dead in the eyes. "He suggested I take my son to the caretaker's cottage while he drank my champagne."
"Natalie," my mother whined, stepping forward with tears of pure self-pity streaming down her face. "You can't do this to us! What will people say? It’s Christmas Eve!"
"You didn't care about Christmas Eve ten minutes ago when my son was freezing in the driveway, Mom," I said.
I looked over toward the entrance, where two security officers hired for the event were standing near the coatroom.
"Officers," I called out.
The two tall guards immediately stepped forward, walking briskly to the edge of the stage.
"Mrs. Whitmore?" the senior guard asked respectfully.
"Please escort Mr. Grant Whitmore, Mr. Richard Whitmore, and Mrs. Denise Whitmore off the property," I said cleanly. "They are no longer welcome at Cedar Ridge Lodge."
A sharp gasp echoed across the room.
"Natalie!" my father roared, his pride finally breaking through his shock. "You can't throw your own father out of his house!"
"It isn't your house, Richard," Eleanor said, stepping forward with her cane. "It never was. You were merely a steward, and you failed miserably. Leave now, before I have the Sheriff press charges for elder financial abuse regarding the funds you've been secretly transferring from my trust."
My father gasped, staring at Eleanor as if she had just struck him. He knew—and now everyone else knew—that his financial games were over.
Grant tried to say something else, but the senior security guard firmly placed a large hand on his shoulder. "Sir, it's time to go. Please don't make this difficult."
Denise began to sob loudly, covering her face with her designer clutch as the two guards gently but firmly ushered my mother, father, and brother toward the front doors.
May you like
The guests made a wide, silent path for them as they walked down the central aisle. The heavy oak front doors opened, letting in a gust of cold winter air, and then closed behind them with a definitive, heavy THUD.
The lock clicked.
