Chapter 4 - Ambush at the Office
The front glass doors of the administrative entrance rattled violently as someone shoved a key into the deadbolt.
“Open the door, Becca!” Harper’s voice shrieked through the glass partition. “I know you’re in there! Your car is parked outside!”
I looked down at the Manila envelope in my hands, quickly slipping it into my canvas tote bag along with Dad’s black moleskin journal. Then I stood up, smoothed down the sticky fabric of my dress, and stepped out of Dad’s office into the main reception foyer.
Caleb walked beside me, his tall frame radiating quiet menace.
Harper didn't wait for us to open the inner security gate. She had used Dad’s master key to unlock the outer lobby door and was now storming through the foyer. Behind her was her husband, Greg Vance.
Greg looked like a man standing on the edge of a firing squad. He wore an expensive polo shirt that didn't hide the sweat soaking through his armpits, his face pale and blotchy, his thinning hair unwashed. In his hands, he held a black leather document folder.
“You have no right to lock those accounts!” Harper screamed, marching right up to the mahogany counter separating the waiting area from the administrative desks. “The bank just declined my card at the gas station! My card! The corporate card Dad gave me five years ago!”
“Dad didn't give you that card, Harper,” I said, keeping my hands resting calmly on the counter. “He gave it to Mom for domestic household emergencies when he was first diagnosed. You took it from her purse and added your name as an authorized user without corporate board authorization.”
“Arthur Whitaker was my father-in-law!” Greg barked, stepping up beside Harper, trying to puff out his chest. “He promised us that money! We had a verbal agreement!”
“Shut up, Greg,” Caleb said.
Greg flinched, finally noticing his older brother standing in the shadows by the corridor. “Caleb? What the hell are you doing here? This is family business!”
“I am Whitaker Fine Woodworking’s operations manager,” Caleb said coldly, stepping into the light. “I’ve worked in this building for twenty-three years. You haven't worked an honest forty-hour week in your entire miserable life. Get out of this office.”
“You don't tell me what to do!” Greg snarled. “Arthur promised to back my distribution hub! I’ve got forty containers of imported lumber sitting in a rail yard in Newark right now accumulating three thousand dollars a day in demurrage fees! If Rebecca doesn't release that seventy-eight thousand dollars by five o'clock today, the freight company will seize the shipment and sue my company into bankruptcy!”
“Then you’d better call a bankruptcy lawyer, Greg,” I said without a trace of sympathy. “Because that seventy-eight thousand dollars was stolen from Dad’s payroll reserve.”
Harper slapped the mahogany counter with both hands, leaning forward until her face was inches from mine. “You self-righteous little parasite! You think you’re smart? You think because Dad left you some piece of paper you can destroy my family? What about Miles? What about your own flesh and blood? Do you want your nephew to grow up on food stamps?”
“Miles didn't seem very concerned about family when he dumped a cup of soda all over Dad’s birthday dress while you and Mom cheered him on,” I replied.
Harper sneered. “It was a joke! It was a child’s prank! You’ve always been so pathetic, Becca. Always crying in the corner, always playing the martyr. Dad felt sorry for you. That’s the only reason he kept you around! He knew no man would ever want you, he knew you couldn't build a life of your own, so he let you play office assistant while I gave him a grandson!”
Caleb took one sudden, heavy step forward.
The air in the room instantly dropped below zero. Caleb didn't shout. He didn't raise a fist. But the look in his eyes was so terrifying that Greg instinctively grabbed Harper’s arm and yanked her back three feet.
“Harper,” Caleb whispered, every syllable vibrating with venom. “If you speak to Becca like that one more time in this building, I will personally carry you out to the gravel lot and throw you into Elm Creek. Do you understand me?”
“You wouldn't dare,” Harper hissed, though her voice wavered. “Greg, call the police! Tell them Arthur’s crazy daughter is trespassing and Caleb is threatening us!”
“Go ahead, Greg,” I said calmly, pulling my phone from my pocket. “Call Chief Harrison. Let’s invite the Hamilton County Sheriff down here right now. We can show him the surveillance logs, the forged check copies Margaret Lawson just certified, and the unauthorized corporate lien you filed against this building.”
Greg looked at the phone in my hand, then at Caleb, and finally at Harper. The sheer terror in his eyes was unmistakable.
“Harper,” Greg muttered, his voice cracking. “Let’s go.”
“What? No! Greg, make her sign the release!”
“She’s not signing anything, Harper!” Greg yelled, his nerve finally breaking entirely. “Look at her! She’s holding the corporate trust! The lawyer is already involved! If the cops show up here right now, I’m the one who gets cuffed for the loan paperwork!”
Harper looked at her husband with utter disgust. “You coward.”
She turned back to me, her eyes burning with pure, unadulterated venom. “This isn't over, Rebecca. Mom is calling Uncle Dan’s attorneys right now. We are filing an emergency petition to invalidate Dad’s trust on Monday morning for undue influence. We will prove you coerced him while he was on painkillers. And when the judge throws you out of this company, I will make sure you don't even leave with the clothes on your back.”
“You’d better hurry, Harper,” I replied, keeping my voice completely level. “Because according to Dad’s safe, the locks on this building are being re-keyed in twenty minutes. And the bank’s fraud division already has your names.”
Harper let out an inarticulate scream of rage, kicked the lower wood paneling of the reception desk, and stormed toward the exit. Greg followed her, practically running to avoid Caleb’s gaze.
The front glass doors slammed so hard the safety glass shuddered in its metal frame.
Outside, Greg’s car engine roared to life, tires spitting gravel as they accelerated out onto the main road.
Caleb let out a slow, ragged breath. He walked over to the reception desk, looked down at where Harper had kicked the baseboard, and shook his head.
“You okay, Becca?”
I looked down at the tote bag containing Dad’s secret envelope.
May you like
“I’m fine, Caleb,” I said softly. “Lock the gate. It’s time to see what Dad really left behind.”
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