Chapter 1 - The First Call at 5:17 A.M.
At exactly 5:17 the next morning, Andrew Whitmore woke to the sound of his phone vibrating across the nightstand.
He reached for it without opening his eyes.
“Yeah?”
The voice on the other end was trembling.
“Mr. Whitmore, we have a problem.”
Andrew sat up.
Beside him, Brenda stirred beneath the sheets.
“What problem?”
“Three of our operating accounts have been frozen.”
Andrew frowned.
“What?”
“The corporate accounts.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I thought so too.”
Andrew swung his legs over the side of the bed.
“Call the bank.”
“We did.”
“And?”
“They won’t release the funds.”
Andrew stood.
“Then call Henderson.”
“I already called him.”
A pause followed.
“He resigned twenty minutes ago.”
Andrew froze.
Henderson had been the company’s chief financial officer for eleven years.
He didn’t resign.
He barely took vacations.
“What do you mean he resigned?”
“He sent a letter to the board at 4:42 this morning.”
Andrew walked toward the window.
The mansion grounds were still dark.
“Get him on the phone.”
“He isn’t answering.”
“Then go to his house.”
“Sir...”
“What?”
“He’s not the only one.”
Andrew’s hand tightened around the phone.
“Who else?”
“Two board members resigned.”
Another pause.
“And three institutional investors requested emergency meetings.”
Andrew’s irritation became unease.
Behind him, Brenda sat up.
“What happened?”
Andrew raised one finger, silencing her.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“No, sir.”
Andrew’s voice hardened.
“Then find out.”
He ended the call.
Brenda wrapped the sheet around herself.
“Business trouble?”
“Nothing serious.”
Andrew walked toward the bathroom.
He had barely taken three steps when the phone rang again.
This time, it was his mother.
“Andrew!”
Margaret sounded hysterical.
“What?”
“Someone took my car!”
Andrew stopped.
“What are you talking about?”
“My Bentley.”
Margaret was practically screaming.
“I looked outside and it’s gone.”
Andrew closed his eyes.
“Mother, nobody stole your Bentley.”
“Then where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“And the Mercedes is gone too.”
Andrew turned slowly.
Brenda was watching him now.
“And my driver says he was told not to come back.”
“By whom?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
Andrew’s jaw tightened.
Then he remembered Mariana standing in the ballroom.
Blood on her lip.
That strange smile.
Tomorrow morning, every one of you will be on your knees asking for my forgiveness.
Andrew shook the thought away.
Impossible.
Mariana had no power.
No money.
No connections.
She had arrived in his life four years earlier carrying one suitcase and that ridiculous old leather purse Margaret constantly mocked.
Andrew had been the successful one.
Andrew had given her everything.
At least, that was what he believed.
His phone rang a third time.
He stared at the screen.
NATHAN COLE - FIRST NATIONAL PRIVATE BANKING.
Andrew answered immediately.
“Nathan.”
“Andrew.”
Nathan sounded uncomfortable.
“I wanted to call you personally.”
“About the frozen accounts?”
Silence.
Andrew’s stomach tightened.
“Yes.”
“Fix it.”
“I can’t.”
Andrew laughed once.
“Of course you can.”
“No.”
Nathan lowered his voice.
“I really can’t.”
“Why?”
“The credit facilities supporting Whitmore Holdings have been withdrawn.”
Andrew stopped breathing for a second.
“Withdrawn by whom?”
“I’m not authorized to discuss the beneficial party.”
“Then become authorized.”
“Andrew—”
“I have forty-eight million dollars moving through those facilities this week.”
“I know.”
“Payroll is Friday.”
“I know.”
“We have construction obligations.”
“I know.”
“Then fix it!”
“I can’t.”
Andrew’s face turned red.
“Who owns the facilities?”
Another silence.
Then Nathan said something strange.
“You should talk to your wife.”
Andrew’s expression changed.
“My wife?”
“Yes.”
“Mariana?”
“Yes.”
Andrew laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was absurd.
“My wife doesn’t know the difference between a credit facility and a checking account.”
Nathan said nothing.
Andrew’s smile slowly disappeared.
“Nathan?”
“I have another call.”
“Wait.”
The line disconnected.
Andrew stared at the phone.
Behind him, Brenda spoke carefully.
“Andrew?”
He turned.
“What exactly did Mariana say before she left?”
Andrew didn’t answer.
Because for the first time since the ballroom humiliation...
He was remembering every word.
Freeze everything.
He hadn’t heard Mariana say that.
But somewhere deep inside him, something was beginning to tell him she might have.
Then an engine sounded outside.
Andrew crossed the bedroom.
He pulled back the curtain.
A large recovery truck was entering the driveway.
Behind it came another.
Then another.
Men in dark uniforms stepped out.
One approached Andrew’s silver Rolls-Royce.
Another walked toward Margaret’s vintage Jaguar.
Andrew’s face went pale.
He ran downstairs.
“What the hell are you doing?”
The recovery supervisor turned.
“Mr. Whitmore?”
“Yes.”
The man checked a tablet.
“These vehicles are being reclaimed.”
“By whom?”
“The registered owner.”
“I am the registered owner.”
The supervisor looked at him.
“No, sir.”
Andrew stepped closer.
“Excuse me?”
“These vehicles are registered to EAH Asset Management.”
Andrew had never heard the name.
“Who owns EAH?”
The supervisor tapped the screen.
“I’m not authorized to provide that information.”
Andrew grabbed the edge of the tablet.
“Who owns it?”
The man calmly pulled it back.
Then a black sedan entered the driveway.
A woman in a navy business suit stepped out.
Andrew recognized her immediately.
His corporate attorney.
Rebecca Shaw.
Andrew spread his hands.
“Finally.”
Rebecca didn’t smile.
She walked directly toward him.
“Andrew, we need to talk.”
“What is happening?”
Rebecca looked toward the mansion.
“Inside.”
“No.”
Andrew pointed toward the tow trucks.
“Tell these people to leave.”
“I can’t.”
“You’re my attorney.”
Rebecca stared at him.
“Actually, as of 6:00 this morning, I’m no longer authorized to represent Whitmore Holdings.”
Andrew went completely still.
“Why?”
Rebecca opened her briefcase.
She removed a thick envelope.
On the front was a gold emblem Andrew had never seen before.
A capital E surrounded by a crown of laurel leaves.
Rebecca handed it to him.
Andrew looked at the emblem.
“What is this?”
Rebecca’s answer was quiet.
“The Escalante Group.”
Andrew frowned.
Then Brenda appeared in the doorway behind him.
She was wearing a silk robe.
Margaret came rushing down the staircase.
“What’s happening to my cars?”
Nobody answered her.
Andrew opened the envelope.
The first page contained only three lines.
NOTICE OF TERMINATION OF FINANCIAL SUPPORT.
Effective immediately.
By order of Mariana Isabella Escalante.
Andrew stared at the name.
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Rebecca watched his face.
“You should probably sit down.”
Andrew looked up.
“Who is Mariana Isabella Escalante?”
Rebecca’s expression changed.
For the first time, Andrew saw something in his attorney’s eyes that frightened him.
Disbelief.
“You really don’t know?”
Andrew’s throat tightened.
“Know what?”
Rebecca slowly closed her briefcase.
“Your wife is Mariana Escalante.”
“I know her name.”
“No.”
Rebecca shook her head.
“I don’t think you do.”
She took out her phone.
She opened a financial publication.
Then she turned the screen toward him.
Andrew looked down.
A photograph filled the screen.
Mariana.
Not wearing the simple dress she had worn the previous night.
Not carrying the purse Margaret mocked.
Mariana stood beside an older silver-haired man at an international economic summit.
Beneath the photograph was a headline.
ESCALANTE HEIRESS RETURNS TO ACTIVE CONTROL OF FAMILY EMPIRE.
Andrew stopped breathing.
Below it was another line.
Estimated family holdings: $38.6 billion.
Margaret grabbed the phone.
“What?”
Brenda’s face drained of color.
Andrew stared at Mariana’s photograph.
Then at the number.
Then back at Mariana.
Thirty-eight point six billion dollars.
His knees nearly gave way.
And somewhere across the city...
May you like
Mariana Escalante was already awake.
Waiting for sunrise.
