Chapter 5
The emergency hearing was the next morning.
Mr. Hale presented all our evidence to the judge: the original will, the birth certificate proving Olivia was Lila Carter, the voice recording, the journal entries. The judge listened carefully, flipping through every document, asking question after question.
Victoria and Olivia’s lawyer tried to argue that the will was fake, that the recording was doctored, that I was a disgruntled daughter making up lies to get attention. But the judge didn’t buy it.
She granted the temporary restraining order.
The sale of Whitmore Industries was frozen, effective immediately. No shares could be transferred. No assets could be sold. Everything was on hold until the full trial in three months.
I walked out of the courthouse feeling lighter than I had in two years. We’d won the first battle.
But the war was just starting.
By noon, the news was everywhere. Heiress Clara Whitmore fights for family empire. Stepmother and aunt accused of fraud. Murder investigation reopened into Eleanor Whitmore’s death.
I thought the public would be on my side. I thought they’d see the evidence, see what Victoria and Olivia had done, and support me.
I was wrong.
Olivia held a press conference that afternoon, tears streaming down her face, her voice shaking as she spoke to the cameras.
“Clara has been troubled for years,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “Ever since her mother died, she’s been angry, violent. She’s been stealing from the company for months. We have the bank records. When we confronted her, she made up these terrible lies about me and Victoria to get revenge. She forged that will. She doctored that recording. She’s sick, and we just want to get her the help she needs.”
She held up a stack of papers—fake bank records, fake emails, fake text messages, all made to look like I’d been embezzling money from Whitmore Industries for a year.
Within an hour, the video was viral.
My social media accounts were flooded with hate. Murderer’s daughter. Liar. Thief. You should be ashamed. I hope you rot in jail. People posted my address, my phone number, photos of me at the gala in the waitress uniform, calling me a gold digger, a spoiled brat, a criminal.
I turned off my phone after the tenth death threat.
I hid out at the cottage, the curtains drawn, too scared to leave. Mr. Hale called every hour, telling me not to worry, that he’d prove the records were fake, that the truth would come out. But it didn’t feel like it. It felt like Olivia had already won. She’d turned the whole world against me with one fake press conference and a stack of forged papers.
I was sitting on the couch that night, staring at the wall, when my phone buzzed. I’d turned it back on just to take Mr. Hale’s calls, and I almost didn’t answer the unknown number. But something made me pick up.
No one spoke on the other end. Just the sound of wind, and distant traffic.
“Hello?” I said, my voice tight.
A man’s voice came through, low and quiet. “I know what they did to your mother.”
My breath caught in my throat. “Who is this?”
“Meet me at the old pier at midnight,” he said. “Come alone. If you bring anyone, I won’t show. I have proof. Real proof. Not the fake stuff Olivia is showing the news.”
He hung up before I could ask anything else.
I stared at my phone, my heart racing. It could be a trap. It could be Victoria or Olivia, luring me there to hurt me, to make good on their threat to kill me. Mr. Hale would tell me not to go. He’d tell me to call the police.
But what if it was real? What if this person had the proof we needed to take them down for good?
I looked at the clock on the wall. 10:15 p.m. I had an hour and 45 minutes to decide.
I thought of my mother. Of the way her voice had cracked on that recording, scared but determined. Of the way she’d told me to be brave.
I grabbed my jacket, shoving a small can of pepper spray my mother had given me for my 16th birthday into the pocket. I slipped out the back door, making sure no one was watching, and drove to the pier.
The old pier was on the edge of town, abandoned for years, the wood rotting, the lights broken. No one came here anymore. It was the perfect place for a secret meeting. Or a murder.
I parked my car a block away, walking the rest of the way, my shoes crunching on the gravel. The wind blew off the water, cold and sharp, stinging my cheeks. The pier was dark, except for a single flashlight beam bobbing at the very end.
I walked slowly, my hand tight around the pepper spray in my pocket, every nerve ending on high alert. As I got closer, I could see a man leaning against the railing, his back to me, the flashlight pointed at the water.
He turned when he heard me.
I recognized him immediately. Marcus. My father’s former head of security. He’d worked for our family for 10 years, until Victoria fired him three months ago, saying he’d stolen jewelry from her room. I’d never believed her. Marcus was honest. Loyal. He’d taught me to shoot a gun when I was 14, after a stalker had sent me letters. He’d walked me to my car every night after work for a year.
“Marcus,” I said, relaxing my grip on the pepper spray. “It’s you.”
He nodded, his face grim. “I’m sorry I didn’t reach out sooner. I was scared. They threatened my daughter. Said if I talked, they’d hurt her.”
My heart sank. “What do you have?”
He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small USB drive.
“Dashcam footage,” he said. “From my car. The night your mother died. I was following her. Victoria had been making threats, and I was worried. I saw everything.”
He paused, swallowing hard.
“Victoria was driving a black SUV. She ran your mother’s car off the road. Olivia was in the passenger seat. They got out, looked in the car to make sure she was dead, then drove away. I have it all on video. Every second.”
I stared at the USB drive in his hand, my hands shaking. This was it. The proof we needed. The proof that would put Victoria and Olivia in prison for the rest of their lives.
“Why didn’t you give this to the police two years ago?” I said.
“Victoria found out I had it,” he said. “She stole the original from my house. But I made a copy. Hid it. She fired me when she couldn’t find it. Threatened to kill my daughter if I ever told anyone. I’ve been in hiding ever since.”
He held the drive out to me.
“I can’t hide anymore,” he said. “Your mother was good to me. She paid for my daughter’s cancer treatment. Saved her life. I owe her this. I owe you this. Whatever you need. I’m with you. All the way.”
I took the drive, my fingers closing around the cold plastic.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice thick with tears. “Thank you so much.”
He nodded. “We need to get this to the DA. But first—we need to get your father away from them. He’s the key. If he testifies against them, it’s over. But as long as he’s with them, they’ll keep drugging him, keep threatening him, keep making him do whatever they want.”
“Drugging him?” I said, confused.
Marcus’s face darkened. “I’ve seen it. They put something in his tea every night. It makes him confused, compliant. He doesn’t know what he’s signing half the time. That’s how they got him to sign the company over. That’s how they got him to sign the sale papers. He’s not himself, Clara. He hasn’t been himself for months.”
I thought of my father the last time I’d seen him, at the gala, his eyes glassy, his face slack. I’d thought it was just coldness. Just cruelty. But maybe… maybe he was sick. Maybe he was being controlled.
“We have to get him out,” I said. “Tonight.”
Marcus nodded, already pulling out his phone to call a friend who worked at a private clinic.
“Tonight,” he agreed.
We walked back to our cars, the wind blowing off the water, the USB drive safe in my pocket.
May you like
For the first time all day, I didn’t feel scared.
I felt hopeful.
