Chapter 6 - The Poisoned Pen
The peace of the vineyard did not last. Three weeks into their stay, the Whitman family launched their most vicious attack yet. Instead of fighting in the courts, they hired a notorious tabloid journalist named Simon Vance to write a series of articles aimed directly at Nadia’s character.
The headline on the online portal read: “THE BILLIONAIRE’S MAID: THE CALCULATED STRATAGEM OF NADIA CARTER.”
The article was a masterpiece of manufactured lies. It claimed that Nadia had planned the entire incident at the wedding, that she had deliberately placed herself in Vanessa’s path to provoke a confrontation, and that she had trained her five-year-old daughter to perform a theatrical scene in the ballroom to break up the marriage so she could move into Caleb’s Napa estate.
Nadia stood in the kitchen of the estate, her hands shaking as she read the words on her phone. The article included photos of her old apartment in Oakland, making it look dirty and derelict, and interviews with former coworkers who had been paid by the Whitmans to describe her as "ambitious and manipulative."
“They’re trying to ruin me,” Nadia whispered, her voice cracking as Caleb walked into the kitchen. “They’re making me look like a criminal who used her own child as a pawn.”
Caleb took the phone from her hand, his eyes scanning the screen. His face went rigid, the muscles in his jaw clenching until they looked like stone. “This is Simon Vance’s work. He’s on the Whitman payroll. He’s been doing their dirty work for twenty years.”
“My parents saw this, Caleb,” Nadia said, tears finally spilling over her lashes. “My father called me from Oakland. He was furious. He wants to come up here and take me home. He thinks I’m being used by you to fight your corporate war.”
Caleb stepped closer, his hands coming up to rest gently on her shoulders. He could feel her trembling through her sweater. “Nadia, look at me. Your father is right to be protective. But I swear to you, I am not using you. I am going to end this today.”
He pulled out his phone, calling Marcus immediately. “Marcus. Activate the contingency plan. I don't care about the stock price anymore. Leak the complete Whitman Foundation audit files to the federal prosecutor’s office. Every illegal offshore transfer, every bribe paid to the coastal commission, every tax evasion record from the last decade. I want it all on the front page of the Wall Street Journal by tomorrow morning.”
“Caleb, that will trigger an SEC investigation that might sweep us in too,” Marcus warned over the line. “Our joint venture contracts are still technically active.”
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“Then let them investigate us,” Caleb roared. “We have nothing to hide. The Whitmans do. I want them buried so deep in legal paperwork that they won't have time to write another word about Nadia or her daughter for the rest of their lives.”
He hung up, turning back to Nadia. Without thinking, he drew her into his arms, holding her close against his chest. Nadia buried her face in his shoulder, her hands gripping the fabric of his flannel shirt as the storm raged around them outside.
