Chapter 4 - The Aftermath at the Mansion
While we were driving toward my father’s estate in the hills overlooking the city, absolute chaos was unfolding back at the celebration.
The string lights suddenly felt like an interrogation spotlight. Forty guests were standing around in awkward clusters, whispering, finishing their drinks in record time, and making swift exits toward their cars. No one wanted to be caught in the fallout of offending the CEO of the company that employed half the men in attendance.
Lorraine was pacing back and forth across the patio, her face flushed crimson beneath her heavy makeup.
“It’s a trick!” she shrieked, waving her empty champagne glass at the retreating backs of the neighbors. “It’s some kind of sick joke! Emma doesn't have a father like that! She’s from a working-class family in Ohio, her mother was a nurse, they had nothing!”
“Mom, shut up!” Adam roared, his voice snapping with a fury his mother had never heard before. He stalked back onto the patio, his tie ripped off and thrown onto the grass. “Just shut your damn mouth!”
“Don't you dare use that tone with me, Adam Whitmore!” Lorraine screeched back. “I threw this party for you! I spent thousands on the catering and the lights! And now you’ve let some little gold-digging liar ruin your entire career because you couldn't keep her in check!”
“My career?” Adam laughed hysterically, running both hands through his hair until it stood up in wild tufts. “Mom, do you have any idea what you just did? Do you know who Richard Whitmore is?”
“He’s just an old man—”
“He owns the entire company!” Adam yelled, stepping right up to her face. “He is the sole owner, founder, and chairman of Whitmore Construction! I was one week away from being named vice president of operations! One week! And you stood up in front of forty people—including three regional directors—and called his daughter a gold digger who wouldn't inherit a weed!”
Lorraine froze. The color drained from her face a second time, leaving her looking hollowed out. “His... his daughter? That’s... that’s Richard Whitmore’s daughter?”
“Yes!” Adam slammed his fist down onto the wooden snack table, sending a plastic cup bouncing into the dirt. “She’s his only daughter! She’s the heir to the entire Whitmore estate! And you just told her she won’t inherit a weed from your piddling little suburban property!”
Lorraine sank heavily onto one of the patio chairs, her hands flying to her mouth. “Oh... oh God. Adam... call her. Call her right now. Apologize! Tell her it was a misunderstanding, tell her your mother is senile—”
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“My phone is blocked, Mom,” Adam whispered, staring numbly at his screen where his messages to me were already failing to deliver. “She blocked me. And my company email... I just checked my phone. My access badge has been deactivated.”
He stood there under the yellow string lights, the music still playing softly to an empty yard, realizing that in less than ten minutes, he had gone from a rising corporate star to a man with no wife, no promotion, and a target on his back in the industry he had spent years trying to conquer.
