Chapter 6 - The Desperate Ploy
By Friday afternoon, the reality of their destruction had completely enclosed the Whitmore family.
Cole Whitmore had been suspended by his investment firm pending an internal investigation into the missing trust funds. Ryan’s agency had received an official eviction notice from the landlord of Whitmore Plaza; the locks had already been changed, and his five employees had walked out after their payroll checks bounced.
I was finishing my grocery shopping at the neighborhood market near my home, picking up fresh strawberries and cream for Mom, when a figure suddenly stepped out from between the parked cars in the shaded parking lot.
“Anna.”
I stopped in my tracks, my hand instinctively tightening around my car keys.
It was Ryan.
He didn't look like the arrogant executive from the lake house or the furious monster who had kicked my front door three days ago. He looked broken. His shoulders were slumped, his expensive polo shirt was wrinkled, and his face was pale, lined with terror.
“Anna, please don't run away,” he pleaded, raising both hands in a surrender gesture. “Just give me five minutes. That’s all I’m asking. Please.”
I didn't lower my keys, but I didn't run either. The parking lot was bright, busy with shoppers, and completely safe.
“You shouldn't be here, Ryan. Julian Vance made it very clear that any harassment would result in legal action.”
“This isn't harassment! I’m begging you!” Tears welled up in his eyes, spilling over his red cheeks. “The agency is done, Anna. They locked the doors this morning. My name is ruined in Charlotte. Nobody will touch me. The bank froze my personal accounts because of the cross-defaults on Cole’s debt!”
“You chose to link your credit to Cole’s fraud,” I said coldly. “You made that bed.”
“I didn't have a choice!” he cried, stepping forward before stopping himself when I took a step back. “Mom pressured me! She said Cole would go to federal prison if we didn't balance the ledger! She was the one who insisted we bring your mother to the reunion!”
I narrowed my eyes. “What does my mother have to do with Cole’s fraud?”
Ryan swallowed hard, his voice trembling with shame. “Mom… Mom thought that if we invited Evelyn, if we showed her how wealthy and refined we were, and then… then made her feel a little inferior, you’d be so eager to prove you fit in that you’d sign the guarantee without asking questions. Mom said country people are easily intimidated by old money.”
A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my throat.
“Your mother thought she could intimidate *my* mother?” I looked at Ryan with nothing but sheer pity. “Ryan, my mother buried her husband in a thirty-dollar dress, raised a daughter on minimum wage, and never owed a single dollar to any human being on this earth. Your mother lives in a rented illusion held together by second mortgages and stolen trust money. Who do you think has the real dignity?”
“I know! You’re right!” Ryan fell to one knee right there on the asphalt of the grocery parking lot, heedless of the shoppers glancing over in shock. “I was wrong! I should have defended Evelyn! I should have told Cole to shut his mouth! I love you, Anna! We can fix this! We can still get married—we can do it quietly at the courthouse! Just help me clear the bank debt! Please… I’ll do anything!”
I stared down at the man I had once thought was my future husband.
There was no love left in my heart. No anger, even. Just the profound, clean clarity of someone who had narrowly stepped over a rattlesnake on the trail.
“Get up off the ground, Ryan,” I said softly. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
He looked up, hope flickering faintly in his eyes. “Anna?”
“You don't love me,” I said. “You love my credit score. You love my job at Vance & Sterling. You love the idea that a girl from the country could work herself to the bone so your family could keep pretending to be aristocracy.”
I unlocked my car door and placed the grocery bags in the backseat.
“Anna, please!” he sobbed, scrambling to his feet. “Where am I supposed to go? What am I supposed to do?”
I paused with my hand on the driver’s door.
“You should go home to the lake house, Ryan,” I said with a faint, chilling smile. “And tell your mother to start packing. The cure window expires next Friday.”
May you like
Before he could process my words, I got into the car, locked the doors, and drove away, leaving Ryan Whitmore staring after my taillights in utter confusion.
***
