My heart stopped. I looked at Mr. Whitmore. The seasoned lawyer’s face suddenly went rigid. His eyes darted to the document in Eleanor’s hand, and for the first time tonight, I saw a flash of genuine panic in his eyes.
“No…” Mr. Whitmore muttered, his voice dropping an octave. “That waiver was supposed to be voided upon his marriage.”
“Supposed to be,” Eleanor mocked, her laughter sounding like broken glass. “But Nathan never filed the amendment. I filed the original with the state repository yesterday morning. As CEO, I don’t need your permission to unfreeze the accounts, Olivia. I just need twenty-four hours for the federal court to process this overriding deed. Which means by tomorrow night, I control the money, I control the company… and I will have enough resources to buy every lawyer, judge, and politician in this state to take that child from you. You haven’t ruined us. You’ve just handed me everything.”
She stepped closer, her breath hot against my face, ignoring the security guard.
“Enjoy your remaining twenty-four hours with my grandson, Olivia. Because tomorrow at sunset, I am coming back with the police. And I am taking what is mine.”
With a sharp turn, Eleanor marched down the porch steps, her heels clicking loudly against the concrete, dragging a trembling, panicked Ryan behind her.
The heavy silence returned, heavier and colder than before.
I turned slowly to Mr. Whitmore, my breath catching in my throat, my hands beginning to shake for the first time in twelve days.
“Arthur…” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Tell me she’s lying. Tell me she can’t do that.”
Mr. Whitmore didn’t look at me. He kept his eyes fixed on the empty driveway where Eleanor’s luxury sedan was speeding away into the dark. He slowly took off his glasses, his hands trembling slightly, before turning to me with an expression that made my blood run entirely cold.
“Olivia,” he said softly, his voice filled with dread. “We have a massive problem. There is a clause in Nathan’s hidden files that we haven’t opened yet… and if what Eleanor said is true, we just walked into a trap.”
Suddenly, from the second floor of the house, the baby monitor in my pocket flared to life.
But it wasn’t the sound of my son crying.
It was the sound of a window shattering upstairs, followed by heavy, hurried footsteps right outside my baby’s nursery door.
