B15. THE BILLIONAIRE’S WIFE THREW A NEWBORN BABY OFF THE BALCONY AND SCREAMED, “THEN CATCH HER!” BUT SHE NEVER EXPECTED THE HOUSEKEEPER TO SAVE THE BABY—OR THE TEENAGE BOY TO RECORD EVERYTHING. WHAT HAPPENED NEXT DESTROYED HER PERFECT LIFE!

"Surprised, nephew?" Arthur Whitmore said, his voice like dry autumn leaves scraping across concrete. "You always were short-sighted, Daniel. Just like your father."

Daniel stood frozen, the reality of the Whitmore empire crashing around him in sickening waves. "You're dead. The estate went to my father because your yacht was found abandoned off the coast of Bermuda."

"My yacht was scuttled because the federal government was preparing twenty-seven indictments for money laundering through our Caribbean holding companies," Arthur said, taking a sip from a snifter of brandy. "Your father and I agreed on the strategy. I would 'disappear,' he would consolidate the family assets under his sole name, and Lauren would serve as my eyes and ears inside the family. When your father died, the assets were supposed to be repatriated to my shell companies in Panama."

"Except my father changed the will," Daniel realized, his voice trembling with disgust. "He found out Julian’s crash wasn't an accident. He found out Lauren was working for you. So he left the controlling interest in the trust to me—and to Grace."

"Precisely," Lauren chimed in, adjusting her grip on Grace. The baby let out a sharp cry, and Emily instinctively took a step forward, only to have the barrel of a mercenary’s rifle pressed hard against her sternum.

"Don't move, darling," Lauren smiled, her eyes wild with a manic, unhinged triumph. "Grace was the glitch in the system. The trust explicitly stated that if Daniel produced a direct biological heir, sixty percent of the capital locked permanently into a generational trust that even the board of directors couldn't touch. You see, Daniel, I didn't throw Grace off that balcony because I had postpartum psychosis. I threw her off because she was costing me two hundred and fifty million dollars."

Emily’s heart beat so violently she could feel it in her teeth. "You tried to murder an infant for a bank account."

"It’s not just a bank account, you pathetic little planner," Lauren hissed, stepping toward the open terrace doors that led out over the fifty-foot cliff above the raging surf. "It is an empire. And empires don't share power with middle-class runts from Queens."

Arthur checked his gold pocket watch. "Enough theater, Lauren. The private helicopter will be at the helipad in eight minutes. Give them the documents. Let Daniel sign the renunciation of trusteeship, take the key to Julian's diagnostic drive, and let’s end this."

Lauren looked down at Grace, who was now crying openly, her tiny fists waving against the cold salt spray blowing through the open doors.

"You know, Arthur," Lauren said softly, her voice taking on a terrifying, sing-song cadence, "I’ve been thinking. If Daniel signs the papers, he’s still alive. He’ll always be a threat. Emily will always be a threat. But what if... what if Daniel and Emily were so overcome with grief after finding Grace’s body at the bottom of the cliffs that they drove their car into the ocean together?"

Arthur frowned, stepping forward. "Lauren, that wasn't the plan. The authorities will look too closely—"

"I don't care about the plan!" Lauren shrieked, her mask of sanity slipping away completely. Her eyes bulged as she backed onto the wet flagstones of the terrace, the wind catching her hair, whipping it across her face. "They put me in a cage for a year! They made me wear orange! They made me eat slop while the whole world watched that stupid boy's video!"

She turned toward the edge of the cliff.