“No.”
“Claire—”
“She threw my belongings into the street this morning. Tonight she’s spending money she doesn’t own, inside property she doesn’t own, to celebrate a future built on fraud.”
Daniel nodded.
“Then we do it your way.”
The Whitmores had always assumed I was financially insignificant because I rarely talked about money.
Before marrying Ethan, I’d worked as a forensic accountant specializing in trusts, acquisitions, and asset protection. When my father died, he left me a private investment company through a protected family trust.
I’d never needed Ethan’s money.
But during our marriage, I discovered something unexpected.
The Whitmore estate was drowning in debt.
Five years earlier, Margaret had quietly borrowed against nearly everything—commercial buildings, investment accounts, even the mansion.
When their primary lender threatened foreclosure, my family trust acquired the distressed loan through a holding company.
Margaret never knew.
All she knew was that an anonymous investment firm had saved her.
