Chapter 6 - The Fall of Whitmore
By two o'clock that afternoon, the iron gates of the DeLuca estate opened to admit a black SUV escorted by two security vehicles.
I ran down the stone steps into the cold air just as the car came to a stop.
The rear door flew open, and Olivia tumbled out, her long dark hair messy, wearing an oversized college sweatshirt and jeans. She looked confused, terrified, and bewildered.
“Evelyn!” she cried, throwing her arms around my neck.
I pulled her into an embrace so tight I could barely breathe, burying my face in her hair, smelling her sweet, familiar perfume. “You’re okay,” I sobbed, kissing the side of her head. “You’re safe, Liv. You’re safe.”
Olivia pulled back, looking around at the grand stone mansion, the armed security guards standing discreetly near the perimeter, and then at Roman, who was standing at the top of the stone steps watching us with a quiet, impassive expression.
“Evelyn, what is going on?” Olivia asked, her voice shaking. “Two men in suits walked into my dorm room, told my roommate I was being relocated for my safety, packed up my entire wardrobe, and drove me here! Dad has been calling my phone non-stop for three hours shouting about federal marshals!”
I looked up at Roman, who gave me a subtle, reassuring nod.
I took Olivia’s hands in mine. “Dad is in very big trouble, Olivia. His company is collapsing, and he’s being investigated for financial crimes.”
Olivia’s eyes widened in horror. “What? But... what about you? Are you okay? Did he—” She stopped, her eyes dropping to my high collar, a familiar, instinctual fear flashing across her young face.
“I’m safe here, Liv,” I said firmly, pulling her toward the warm house. “This is Roman DeLuca. My husband. He is protecting us.”
Olivia looked up at Roman as we reached the top of the steps. Roman bowed his head respectfully to my sister.
“Welcome to my home, Olivia,” Roman said, his voice unusually gentle. “Martha will show you to your room on the second floor. Anything you need—anything at all—you only have to ask.”
Olivia looked between Roman and me, sensing the strange, powerful dynamic that existed between us. “Thank you, Mr. DeLuca.”
“Call me Roman,” he replied softly.
Once Olivia was settled upstairs with Martha, eating a late lunch and catching her breath, Roman and I returned to his private study on the ground floor.
The room was lined with floor-to-ceiling leather-bound books, featuring a massive dark oak desk equipped with three computer monitors displaying real-time financial markets and news feeds.
Every local news channel in Chicago was broadcasting the same breaking story.
BREAKING NEWS: WHITMORE LOGISTICS HEADQUARTERS RAIDED BY FEDERAL AGENTS.
STOCK PLUMMETS 78% FOLLOWING ALLEGATIONS OF MASSIVE TAX EVASION AND MONEY LAUNDERING.
CEO CHARLES WHITMORE HELD FOR QUESTIONING.
I stood in front of the television screen, watching live helicopter footage of federal agents in blue jackets carrying heavy cardboard boxes of files out of my father’s downtown glass skyscraper.
My father himself was captured briefly by news cameras—his face bright red, his midnight hair disheveled, shouting furious threats at reporters as he was escorted into the back of an unmarked federal sedan.
He looked broken. He looked exposed.
The terrifying titan who had ruled my childhood with absolute, violent authority was being stripped of his power on live television in front of the entire country.
Roman walked up behind me, resting his hands lightly on my shoulders. I didn't flinch. I leaned back slightly into his broad chest, feeling the steady, powerful thud of his heartbeat against my spine.
“He will be released on bail by tonight,” Roman said quietly near my ear. “His corporate lawyers are good. They will post a ten-million-dollar bond to get him out of federal custody until the trial.”
I turned my head to look at him. “Where will he go?”
“He’s coming here,” Roman replied simply.
My heart skipped a beat. “Here?”
Roman’s mouth curved into that dark, lethal smile. “He has been calling my personal line every ten minutes from the federal holding facility. He knows I was the one who handed the offshore ledger keys to the Justice Department. He knows I took his company. And he knows I have both of his daughters.”
A surge of anxiety flared in my chest. “Roman, he’s dangerous when he’s cornered. You don't know what he’s like when he feels like he’s lost everything—”
May you like
Roman leaned down, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that burned through my fear like a torch.
“Evelyn,” Roman said, his thumb coming up to stroke my cheekbone. “Charles Whitmore spent ten years making you feel small in his house. Tonight, he steps into my house. Let him come.”
