Chapter 4 - A Bitter Family Rivalry Arrives
"Well, well, Uncle Arthur," Richard’s sharp voice echoed down the sterile hallway. "I received an alert from the corporate treasury that you just authorized an unrestricted emergency expenditure from the executive healthcare trust. Care to explain why our company funds are being used to treat charity cases?"
Richard looked to be in his late thirties, with slicked-back dark hair, cold blue eyes, and an expensive platinum watch that glinted under the lights. He looked at Annie and me with blatant disgust, curling his lip as if we were vermin that had crawled into his private club.
Arthur didn't flinch. He gripped his walnut cane, planted it firmly on the marble floor, and stood tall, towering over his nephew with an aura of raw power that age had not diminished.
"First of all, Richard," Arthur said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous growl, "that healthcare trust was funded entirely by my personal assets before you were even old enough to shave. Second of all, you are speaking in the presence of guests who have more dignity in their fingernails than you possess in your entire rotten body."
Richard let out an obnoxious laugh, turning to his two lawyers. "Guests? You mean street urchins? Uncle, you've completely lost your mind. First, you lock yourself in that decaying mausoleum for twenty years, and now you drag dirty beggars into St. Jude's private wing? The board of directors is already questioning your mental fitness to hold majority voting shares."
I felt a surge of anger boil inside my chest. I stood up from my chair, stepping between Richard and Annie. "Don't talk about our sister like that. She works harder in one day than you've ever worked in your life."
Richard looked down at me, his eyes flashing with irritation. "Quiet, boy. You don't speak to me. You should be in a juvenile facility, not sitting in a private hospital wing."
"That is enough!" Arthur roared, slamming the brass tip of his cane onto the marble floor. The sharp crack echoed through the corridor like a gunshot. "One more word out of your mouth, Richard, and I will have hospital security drag you out to the curb by your expensive collar."
Richard’s smirk faded, replaced by a cold, calculating glare. "You think you can threaten me, old man? My father built the modern infrastructure of Whitmore Logistics while you were busy mourning your dead wife. I control the day-to-day operations now. If you think you can start funneling family money into the pockets of Thomas Foster's forgotten brats, you have another thing coming."
Arthur stepped closer to Richard, his eyes narrowing into slits. "So, you know exactly who they are."
A brief flicker of panic flashed across Richard’s face before he masked it with arrogance. "Of course I know who they are. Their father was a criminal who tried to sabotage our family legacy. And if you try to use company dividends to support them, I will file an emergency injunction in probate court declaring you legally incompetent by tomorrow morning."
"Try it," Arthur whispered coldly. "File your paperwork, Richard. Bring your high-priced attorneys to court. Because when we stand before a judge, I will not only present Harold's personal journals detailing your father's fraud—I will also present the forensic audit I commissioned last week regarding the offshore accounts you've been using to embezzle millions from our European division."
Richard’s face drained of all color. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. The two lawyers behind him shifted uncomfortably, exchanging nervous glances.
"You... you're bluffing," Richard stammered, though his voice lacked any conviction.
"I never bluff, nephew," Arthur said, his voice deadly calm. "Now, get out of this hospital before I instruct the board to suspend your executive privileges before the markets open tomorrow."
Richard glared at Arthur, then shot a venomous look at Annie and me. "This isn't over, old man. You can't protect them forever."
Without another word, Richard spun on his heel and stormed down the hallway, his lawyers hurrying behind him to keep up with his frantic pace.
Annie let out a breath she seemed to have been holding for minutes, grabbing my hand. "Caleb... he was scary."
"Don't worry, Annie," I said, squeezing her hand, though my own heart was hammering against my ribs.
Arthur turned back to us, the anger on his face melting into deep fatigue. He slumped into one of the armchairs, resting his forehead against his hand.
"I apologize that you had to witness that," Arthur sighed. "Richard is dangerous because he is cornered. He knows his reign over my company is built on a foundation of lies."
"Why did he hate our dad so much?" I asked, sitting beside him.
"Because your father had something Richard could never buy," Arthur said softly, looking at me. "Integrity. Thomas was a man of honor, and men like Richard despise those who cannot be bought."
Arthur looked toward the ICU doors where Grace was resting.
"Grace will be in recovery here for at least two weeks," Arthur continued. "And while she heals, I will not allow you two to return to that freezing apartment where Richard’s thugs could intimidate you. You are coming to stay at the Whitmore estate."
May you like
"At your mansion?" Annie asked, her eyes widening.
"Yes," Arthur nodded. "It is time that house had life in it again. And more importantly, it is time I showed you the truth about what your father truly built."
