Chapter 4 - Unmasking the Whitmore DynastyBy Sunday afternoon, the fallout from the cancelled engagement had exploded across the front pages of the Boston Globe and the financial blogs.
SOCIALITE ENGAGEMENT COLLAPSES AMID FINANCIAL SCANDAL: WHITMORE CHASE INVESTMENTS UNDER FEDERAL SCRUTINY.
Inside the secure, high-tech home office of Roman’s Back Bay townhouse, three computer monitors glowed with cascading columns of bank records, shell corporation diagrams, and encrypted email threads.
Evelyn sat in an ergonomic leather chair, a cup of black coffee steaming beside her right hand. She wore a pair of oversized tortoiseshell glasses, her hair pulled back into a messy bun, looking entirely absorbed in the data stream.
Roman walked in carrying a tray with two plates of warm pastries from a bakery down the street. He set them on the desk, watching her work for a moment before speaking.
"You’ve been staring at those offshore trust accounts for four hours, Evelyn," he said gently. "You need to eat something."
"Look at this," Evelyn ignored the food, pointing a slender finger at the center screen. "This isn't just Grant’s work. Look at the authorization stamps on these wire transfers from three years ago."
Roman leaned over her shoulder, his chest brushing lightly against the back of her chair. The warmth of his body sent a sudden, electric shiver down her spine. He focused his dark eyes on the screen.
"That's Lorraine’s signature," Roman muttered, referring to Grant’s mother.
"Exactly," Evelyn said, her voice sharp with triumph. "Grant didn't invent this scheme on his own. The Whitmore family fortune was built on a foundation of hollow shell corporations and fraudulent municipal bonds managed by Lorraine’s side of the family. Grant was just the frontman. When his gambling debts got out of hand, they decided to sacrifice the company—and me—to cover up decades of systemic embezzlement."
The intercom on the wall buzzed softly.
Roman pressed the receiver button. "Report."
"Boss," a gruff voice came through the speaker. "We’ve got movement at the Whitmore estate in Chestnut Hill. Grant and his mother are packing up two vehicles. Looks like they’re heading for Logan Airport. Private charter booked to Zurich under an assumed name."
Roman’s face hardened into stone. "Intercept them?"
"Not yet," Evelyn intervened, standing up from her desk. Her hazel eyes burned with cold determination. "Let them get to the tarmac."
Roman looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "And why is that?"
"Because if we stop them at the estate, Lorraine’s high-priced defense attorneys will claim it was a domestic dispute or a misunderstanding," Evelyn said, walking over to grab her wool coat. "If we catch them trying to flee the country with millions in embezzled investor funds right as federal warrants are issued... there'll be nowhere left for them to hide."
Roman stared at her for a heartbeat, then threw his head back and let out a short, genuine laugh of pure admiration.
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"Remind me never to get on your bad side, Evelyn Carter," he murmured, pulling his own suit jacket from the coat rack.
"Too late," she replied with a sharp, fearless smile. "You interrupted my wedding."
