Chapter 3 - Confrontation on the 40th Floor
"Do not let them up," I ordered the guard. "Revoke all master keycards for my floor."
"Julian, she’s threatening to call the police," the guard warned.
"Let her," I said coldly. "This is private property."
I slammed the phone down and turned to Mara. "Stay in here with the boys. Lock the door from the inside."
"Julian—"
"Trust me, Mara. Just this once, trust me."
I walked out to the foyer, locking the heavy mahogany study door behind me. Five minutes later, the private elevator doors opened with a soft chime. My mother stepped out, flanked by Richard Vance—the Whitaker family’s chief legal counsel—and two hulking security officers in suits.
Eleanor Whitaker was impeccably groomed as always, wearing a tailored Chanel suit and pearls, but her eyes held a storm of cold fury.
"Have you completely lost your mind?" she spat, stepping onto my marble floor without waiting for an invitation. "You abandoned Brielle at the conservatory! The Cartwrights are threatening to pull their investments from our European expansion! Do you have any idea how much money you lost us in a single evening?"
"Money is replaceable, Mother," I said, standing in the center of the room with my hands in my pockets, blocking their path to the hallway. "Truth is not."
Eleanor scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. " don't give me your philosophical nonsense. I know who is in this apartment. Security at the restaurant called me last night. You found that gold-digging waitress and her illegitimate brats."
A surge of white-hot anger washed over me, but I kept my voice dead level. "Careful, Eleanor. You are talking about my sons."
"Sons?" Eleanor laughed bitterly. "You think a girl who worked in a diner in Boston had four of your children and kept quiet for six years? She’s setting you up! She knew you were getting engaged to Brielle, and she planted herself in that restaurant to stage an ambush!"
"She didn't know I was coming to that restaurant," I countered. "She was trying to find a warm place for four six-year-old boys to sleep because she was evicted three days ago. And those boys don't need a DNA test, Mother. They are Whitakers through and through."
Richard Vance, the lawyer, stepped forward, clearing his throat nervously. "Julian... if these children are indeed yours, it creates an enormous legal and financial liability. The trust funds, the board structure, the Cartwright contract—"
"Shut up, Richard," I snapped, glaring at the attorney. "You were the one who drafted the fake non-disclosure agreement six years ago, wasn't you? You helped my mother threaten a twenty-one-year-old pregnant girl."
Vance’s eyes flicked nervously toward Eleanor, failing to maintain eye contact.
Eleanor took a step closer to me, her sharp chin raised. "I did what was necessary to protect this family, Julian! That girl was a nobody! She would have ruined your reputation before you even took over the company! Look at you now—you are one of the most powerful men in New York! You owe that to me!"
"I owe you nothing," I said, my voice dripping with ice. "You stole six years of my life. You stole six years of my sons' lives. You left them to starve in cheap motels while you sat in your penthouse."
"I am your mother!" she yelled, her composure finally breaking.
"And I am their father," I replied firmly. "Get out of my house."
"If you walk away from the Cartwright engagement," Eleanor warned, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits, "I will call an emergency board meeting. I still control thirty percent of the board’s voting rights. I will have you removed as CEO on grounds of personal instability."
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"Try it," I stepped up to her, towering over her frail, arrogant frame. "And I will release the complete story of your extortion of Mara to the press, complete with signed affidavits. Let’s see what happens to the Whitaker stock price when the world finds out what kind of monster runs the foundation."
Eleanor stared at me, realizing for the first time in her life that her son was no longer a pawn she could move across a chessboard. Without another word, she turned on her heel and strode back into the elevator, her entourage trailing behind her.
