Chapter 3 - The First Strike
Three days after Claire was cast out, the quiet of the Whitmore estate was shattered by a headline on the front page of the Nashville Business Journal:
"WHITMORE DEVELOPMENT FACES LEADERSHIP CRISIS AMID FAMILY ELDER ABUSE ALLEGATIONS"
Nathan sat at the breakfast table, staring at the digital tablet screen. The article, written by an anonymous source "close to the family," claimed that Nathan Whitmore had unlawfully confined his aging mother to his estate while firing long-time domestic staff to cover up family financial mismanagement. It cleverly inverted the truth, casting Claire as the protective daughter-in-law who had been forcibly ejected from her own home for trying to seek medical help for Eleanor.
"They're twisting everything," Maria said softly, setting a plate of fresh scrambled eggs and toast in front of Nathan. She was dressed in comfortable, neat clothes provided by Eleanor—no longer the faded gray maid's uniform.
"It's Claire's work," Nathan said, setting the tablet down. "She's trying to tank our stock credibility before the City Council votes on the riverfront contract on Friday."
"Nathan," Eleanor said, entering the sunny breakfast room leaning on a wooden cane. Her color was better than it had been in months; the constant shadow of anxiety seemed to be lifting, though the news clearly distressed her. "Let me go to the press. Let me tell the reporters what she did to me."
"No, Mom," Nathan said firmly, rising to kiss her cheek. "I won't throw you into a media circus. You've endured enough. Let David and me handle the public relations."
"Mr. Nathan?"
Lily stepped into the doorway, holding a small, crumpled piece of paper. She looked timid, her big brown eyes wide.
"What is it, Lily?" Nathan asked, his tone softening instantly.
"A man in a black car gave this to me near the front gate while I was playing by the mail post," Lily whispered, handing him the note.
Nathan’s heart dropped. He snatched the paper. The front gates were supposed to be locked, but delivery drivers often used the keypad side post.
The note was short, written in sharp, familiar handwriting:
> "A child's word means nothing in court, Nathan. Drop the divorce financial demands and hand over the riverfront architectural files, or the press will get the medical records I fabricated for your mother six months ago. You have 48 hours."
Nathan's hands shook with sudden, fiery rage. She had approached the child. She had trespassed on his property to deliver a direct threat using a seven-year-old girl.
"Maria," Nathan said, turning slowly, keeping his voice dangerously calm. "From this second, Lily does not go near the perimeter fence without security. I'm hiring a two-man private security team for the house perimeter starting today."
"Is... is she going to hurt us?" Maria asked, pulling Lily close to her side.
"She's desperate," Nathan said. "And desperate people make fatal mistakes."
Within two hours, David Vance was back at the house, along with Marcus Vance (no relation), a retired police detective who ran a high-end private security firm in Nashville.
"She violated a boundary by approaching the child," Marcus said, laying out a series of aerial property maps on the desk. "We can get an emergency temporary restraining order based on this note, but without physical video evidence of Claire delivering it herself, the police won't arrest her immediately."
"I don't just want a restraining order, Marcus," Nathan said, leaning over the maps. "I want her and her brother caught red-handed. Julian Ross is using her to steal the riverfront contract. They're meeting somewhere."
"We've been tracking Julian's car," David revealed, pulling out a tablet. "He met with Claire twice in the last forty-eight hours at a private club in downtown Nashville. But here's the kicker, Nathan—Claire didn't just steal money from your household account. She’s been leaking Whitmore Development’s internal bidding prices to Julian's firm for six months."
Nathan sat back, stunned. "That’s how Ross Capital beat us on the Midtown Tower bid last autumn. We lost by less than fifty thousand dollars."
"Exactly," David said. "It's corporate espionage. If we can prove Claire passed confidential trade secrets to Julian, it's no longer just a messy divorce—it's a federal crime."
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"How do we get the proof?" Nathan asked.
David smiled thin, dangerous smile. "We feed her a fake file. A file so valuable that Julian won't be able to resist using it at the City Council hearing on Friday."
