Chapter 7 Ultimatums And Secrets

• With its dark mahogany and the weight of long-forgotten memories, the Whitaker estate's large study was a stifling space. Standing close to the window, Ethan Whitaker's profile stood out against the icy light coming in through the thick drapes. Behind a huge desk, Alexander Whitaker sat with his hands clenched and his sharp eyes fixed on his oldest son.
• "Ethan, this isn't negotiable," Alexander said in a forceful although restrained tone. Stability is what the board anticipates. Your job as CEO will no longer be secure if you are not married by the time you are 33.
• Ethan grasped the edge of the windowsill, his jaw tensing and his knuckles turning white. That's it, then? Does meeting some archaic requirement determine my value to this organization?
• Leaning forward, Alexander's steely eyes never let up. "Everything I've achieved is at jeopardy because of your stubbornness. This is about the Whitaker name, not just about you.
• With a voice full of subdued rage, Ethan turned to confront his father. "You've never done as much for your father as I have for this company. I can prove myself without your demands.
• Alexander grinned, but his eyes grew gloomy. "Nathaniel would have recognized that."
• Ethan felt cold at the thought of his deceased sibling. Now his voice grew icier. "Avoid him from this."
• However, Alexander's subsequent remarks lingered like a tempest. "Nathaniel's death wasn't as straightforward as you've always thought."
• A glimpse of danger flashed across Ethan's face as his eyes narrowed. "What are you discussing?"
• Alexander dismissively waved a hand. "Ethan, consider your future. Put the past in its proper place.
• Ethan's anger was barely held as he walked out of the study, unable to bear another word. Alexander took up his phone and spoke in a quiet, authoritative voice as the door banged behind him. "He needs to be reminded of who is in charge."
• Clara stepped through Whitaker Architecture's office, where the sharp fluorescent lights seemed brighter than normal. Her coworkers' stares were veiled but piercing, and whispers trailed her like a shadow. The first person to speak, Gabrielle Richards, did so in a mocking tone.
• With her immaculately manicured fingers tapping against her coffee cup, Gabrielle remarked, "I see you're still playing dress-up." "Avoid getting too cozy."
• Clara stopped and raised her chin in defiance. "Don't worry, I didn't intend to make friends."
• Gabrielle's smile wavered, but she didn't say anything more. Clara proceeded to her workstation, where she found a substantial file. In the scathing handwriting of Evelyn Marlowe, a letter was attached to the front: Deliver this proposal by Friday. No justifications.
• Clara's stomach fell when she turned through the file. With dozens of pages of data, unfinished designs, and mysterious notes, the project was enormous. She couldn't afford to let it happen, even though it was a set-up for failure.
• She was immersed in the work when she noticed a specific document. It made reference to a previous initiative that Ethan had led years prior. Although the specifics were hazy, there were rumors of conflict.
• Clara became more interested, but there wasn't much time for diversions because of the approaching deadline. She engaged herself in the assignment, determined to prove herself, and mentally noted that she needed to do further research.
• By the time Clara transferred her work into the conference room with glass walls, the office was almost empty, and her aggravation was growing. Her plans were a jumbled mix of trial and error, and sketches were all over the table. It wasn't until he spoke that she realized Ethan had entered because she was so absorbed in her thoughts.
• He said, his voice as icy as ever, "You're still here."
• Glancing up, Clara brushed a flyaway hair out of her face. "Not everyone has the luxury of assigning everything to others."
• Ethan stepped forward to look at her work and arched an eyebrow. "You were aware that this would be difficult."
• Clara's tone was rougher than she meant when she said, "There's a difference between a challenge and sabotage."
• Ethan did not recoil. Instead, his face unreadable, he picked up one of her sketches. "You're protecting yourself."
• Clara folded her arms. "You're not possible."
• Their gazes briefly locked, and the tension between them was evident. With a small lowering of his voice, Ethan put down the sketch. "Problems cannot be solved by emotions."
• Clara leaned forward, her annoyance showing. "And you won't gain loyalty if you treat people like tools."
• Ethan didn't say anything, but he kept looking at one particular design while he examined her work. Something from his history, a design his late brother had once made, was hauntingly similar to the lines and structure.
• His voice was angry yet quiet as he questioned, "Where did you get this idea?"
• Clara blinked. "I invented it myself."
• Ethan's face became tense, but he remained silent. Clara called after him as he turned to go. "What's the matter?"
• With his back to her, he stopped in the doorway. His tone betrayed him, but he answered, "Nothing." "Miss Hawthorne, go to bed. You'll require it.
• Clara gazed at her sketch as the door shut behind him, her head buzzing with unanswered thoughts.
• Ethan found no solace in the vista of the city that stretched beneath his penthouse like a sea of flashing stars. The weight of the day pressed down on him as he leaned against the floor-to-ceiling windows, the cool glass against his forehead. Alexander's scathing remarks echoed in his mind, each syllable making his chest tighten.
• Ethan's thoughts were suddenly filled by Nathaniel's laughing, which was so clear that it seemed like a ghost in the room. In their gloomy upbringing, his brother had served as a beacon of hope, a diversion from Alexander's severe, unyielding demands. Ethan's jaw tightened as he was drawn into the past by a flashback.
• The scent of alcohol and leather filled the study. Younger and more animated, Nathaniel leaned over a drafting table and drew with a carefree ease that Ethan admired. From the other side of the room, Alexander's voice roared.
• "Ethan, this is not acceptable! Instead of stumbling around like an idiot, you should be leading.
• Nathaniel looked up, silent pity shining in his eyes. Their father put a touch on Ethan's shoulder when he hurried out. "Ethan, you'll disprove him. You always do.
• The recollection of Nathaniel's burial, with the rain pouring like tears and Ethan standing by himself with pain and shame bearing down on him, broke the warmth of that moment.
• Ethan jerked his breath out, fogging the window as he snapped back to the present. With his fingers grazing the edges of a battered envelope hidden behind papers, he turned and strode to his desk. He froze in place when he saw Nathaniel's handwriting on the front.
• The contents of the letter, which revealed secrets Alexander had concealed, warning that "not everything is as it seems," and undertones of betrayal, made his hands shake as he opened it.
• Ethan's determination solidified. He would face his father and find out, but his insomnia grew more intense as the night went on. With fatigue draining the fire from his mind, he slumped into a chair and gripped the letter tightly.
• Clara worked late into the night in a darkly lighted workplace that hummed with a peaceful stillness. Curiosity sparked by the maze of cabinets, she went to the storage area to grab old project files for her research. With its clean style that contrasted with the older ones around it, one stood out. She could see faded architectural sketches with strange initials N.W. through the glass front of the locked cabinet.
• Her thoughts were racing as her fingers lingered over the latch. Whitaker, Nathaniel? Why would the designs of Ethan's brother be kept secret here?
• Clara was startled out of her reverie by the sound of approaching heels. Gabrielle Richards was standing in the doorway with her arms crossed and a sour frown on her face when she turned around.
• "So, isn't this fascinating?" Gabrielle's voice was brimming with derision as she drawled. "Looking in places you don't belong."
• Clara straightened, trying to sound calm. "I was merely searching for references to previous projects."
• Gabrielle's smile remained unwavering. "And you discovered the one cabinet you shouldn't touch, conveniently? Please don't do the innocent thing to me.
• Clara stated in a stern voice, "I wasn't doing anything wrong."
• Gabrielle took a step forward, her eyes calculating and keen. Clara, you're playing with fire. And you're completely unaware of it.
• Gabrielle's words came with a disconcerting weight, and Clara's breath caught. But she was not going to give up. "Perhaps you ought to be concerned about getting burned if I'm playing with fire."
• Gabrielle's grin became icy. "Think of this as your only caution."
• Clara's heart pounded in her ears as Gabrielle walked away. Her mind was racing with questions as she gazed at the locked cabinet. Why was Gabrielle so determined to keep those sketches buried, and what secrets were concealed within them?
• Her resolve became firm. Even if it meant risking everything, she was determined to discover the truth.