Chapter 17 - THE FALLOUT
By Saturday morning, news of the attempted forty-billion-dollar heist at Whitmore Global dominated every financial news outlet in the country.
While the press praised Richard Whitmore’s sharp foresight in stopping the offshore fraud, the personal toll on the family was devastating.
Inside the Manhattan penthouse, Ethan sat on the outdoor terrace, staring out at the hazy skyline of Central Park. He hadn't eaten or slept in two days. The arrogant heir who had slapped his father in front of the entire family was gone, replaced by a broken man crushed under the weight of his own foolishness.
Victoria stepped onto the terrace, holding two cups of coffee. She set one on the small glass table beside him and stood against the railing.
"The DA refused her bail request this morning," Victoria said quietly. "Between the wire fraud, the forged corporate credentials, and the Federal Reserve evidence, she’s facing twenty to twenty-five years in federal prison."
Ethan didn't pick up the coffee. He kept his eyes fixed on the distant horizon. "I slapped him, Victoria," he choked out, his voice raw. "I laid my hands on my own father... because a stranger told me to."
"You were blind, Ethan," Victoria replied, her tone devoid of malice, but firm. "You let your desire to outshine Father consume your judgment."
"I don't deserve to be in this family," Ethan whispered, tears finally streaming down his face. "I gave her the keys to everything. I threatened to send Father to prison."
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The glass terrace door slid open.
Richard stepped out onto the balcony, wearing a simple cardigan, leaning lightly on a dark wooden walking cane. He stood beside Victoria, looking down at his son.
