Chapter 3 - The Counter-AttackThe next forty-eight hours were a whirlwind of high-stakes maneuvering. Everett and Nora had escaped the mansion under the cover of the storm, taking refuge in a private penthouse apartment overlooking Boston Harbor—a property registered under a shell company that Vivienne had no knowledge of.
Nora had quickly adapted to her new role. She was no longer wearing the black maid's uniform; instead, Everett had arranged for a wardrobe of sharp, professional attire to be delivered to the penthouse. She sat at a large glass conference table, a laptop open in front of her, managing a secure communication line that Everett had established with his few remaining loyal allies.
"The media is in a frenzy, sir," Nora reported, reading the latest headlines. "'The Miracle of Newport: Everett Whitmore Rises from the Dead.' Whitmore Grand Holdings stock dropped 15% yesterday, but it’s stabilizing because the market is waiting to see who actually holds the reins."
Everett paced the room, his gait still slightly uneven, but he was no longer using a cane. The sheer force of his willpower, combined with a clean diet and the cessation of Vivienne's toxic medications, was working wonders on his nervous system.
"Vivienne will try to file for temporary guardianship," Everett analyzed, his voice sharp and calculating. "She will claim that my sudden recovery is a temporary manic episode caused by neurological trauma. If a judge grants her an injunction, she can freeze my voting shares before the emergency board meeting on Thursday."
"We can't let that happen," Nora said, her fingers flying across the keyboard. "I've reviewed the financial logs on the flash drive you gave me. Mr. Whitmore, it's worse than we thought. Grant didn't just skim money from the European resorts. He used Whitmore Grand assets as collateral for massive personal loans from an offshore syndicate. If he doesn't repay them by the end of the month, the syndicate takes ownership of our flagship hotel in Manhattan."
Everett stopped pacing, his face darkening with a dangerous fury. "My son put the crown jewel of my company on the line to fund his gambling and failed tech investments? Foolish boy."
Suddenly, Nora’s phone buzzed. It was an restricted number. She looked at Everett, who nodded. She answered, putting it on speaker.
"Nora, darling," Vivienne's voice purred through the speaker, dripping with false sweetness that quickly turned to venom. "I know you're with him. You're committing a federal crime by harboring a medical patient against his family's wishes. I’ve already contacted the police. But I'm a reasonable woman. Tell me where you are, help me bring Everett home to a proper facility, and I will write you a check for five million dollars. Your mother will have the best medical care money can buy for the rest of her life."
Nora felt a surge of anger, but she remembered Everett's training over the last two days. She kept her voice perfectly calm and detached. "Mrs. Whitmore, my mother taught me that some things aren't for sale. Dignity happens to be one of them. And as for Mr. Whitmore... he isn't being harbored. He is standing right next to me."
Everett stepped closer to the phone. "Vivienne. Enjoy the mansion while you can. The board meeting is in forty-eight hours. I suggest you bring a very good lawyer. You’re going to need one."
He ended the call before his wife could scream.
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"She's desperate," Nora observed, looking at Everett. "Desperate people do dangerous things."
"Let her be desperate," Everett said, his eyes narrowing. "Nora, contact Marcus Vance. He was my chief of security before Vivienne fired him three years ago. Tell him I need him and a team of trusted men at the New York headquarters by Thursday morning. We are going to walk right into their trap, and we are going to spring it on them."
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