Chapter 4 - FLOOR THIRTY-EIGHT
Whitmore Medical Systems occupied fourteen floors of a glass tower in Midtown Manhattan.
I had been there dozens of times.
Holiday parties.
Fundraisers.
Board dinners.
Once, Grant had taken me to the roof and told me he wanted our children to look down at the city and know their family built something important.
That memory made me sick now.
At 9:31 a.m., Maya and I walked through the lobby.
The receptionist stared at my swollen cheek.
“Elena?”
“Good morning, Dana.”
She looked at Maya.
Then at the three locked black cases being rolled behind us by two legal assistants.
“Is Mr. Whitmore expecting you?”
“No.”
The elevator doors opened.
We stepped inside.
Before they closed, someone shouted.
“Elena!”
Grant.
He was running across the lobby.
Tie loose.
Jacket open.
Face red.
“Hold the elevator!”
I pressed the close button.
His hand shot between the doors.
They reopened.
Grant stepped in.
Maya moved between us.
“Do not touch my client.”
He looked at her.
“Stay out of this.”
“She’s my attorney. That means staying out of it is literally not my job.”
Grant ignored her.
“Elena, we need to talk.”
“We’re talking.”
“Privately.”
“No.”
He glanced at the black cases.
“What are those?”
“Things your family should have destroyed better.”
His face lost color.
“Elena.”
The elevator started moving.
He reached for my arm, then stopped when Maya lifted her phone.
“You’re recording?”
“Yes,” Maya said.
Grant dropped his hand.
“Fine. You want an apology? I’m sorry.”
I stared at him.
“For what?”
His jaw tightened.
“You know what.”
“No. Say it.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Say what you did.”
Floor 31.
Grant looked at the camera in the corner.
Then at me.
“I slapped you.”
“Why?”
“You provoked me.”
Maya’s eyebrows went up.
Grant immediately realized his mistake.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Sounded pretty clear,” I said.
Floor 36.
He stepped closer.
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“I think I do.”
“No, you don’t. My father has spent thirty years building this company. Thousands of people depend on us.”
“Then maybe he shouldn’t have falsified safety reports.”
Grant froze.
Floor 37.
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
The elevator chimed.
Floor 38.
Executive offices.
The doors opened.
Richard Whitmore was standing there.
So were two members of corporate security.
For one second, nobody moved.
Richard looked at my face.
Something dark passed through his expression.
Then he looked at Grant.
“You hit her?”
Grant said, “Dad, she’s trying to destroy us.”
Richard slapped him.
Hard.
Grant staggered backward.
Everyone stared.
Richard straightened his cuff.
Then he said, “That’s for being stupid enough to do what I warned you never to do.”
My stomach tightened.
Not for hurting me.
For being stupid.
Richard turned to me.
“My office.”
Maya stepped forward.
“She doesn’t go anywhere alone.”
Richard looked at her.
“I know who you are, Ms. Chen.”
“I’m sure you do.”
He looked back at me.
“You want the truth?”
“I want all of it.”
Richard’s eyes moved toward the black cases.
“Then bring those.”
We followed him down the hall.
Inside his office, he shut the door.
Then he opened a safe behind a painting.
May you like
He pulled out one thin blue folder.
And when he put it in front of me, I saw my father’s name across the top.
