Chapter 8
The security team moved immediately. The bright, natural light of the foyer caught the polished steel of their watches as they stepped toward Mark and Claudia. There was no hesitation; they were fiercely loyal to Richard Whitaker, and the sight of the freezing, barefoot three-year-old girl in their boss's arms told them exactly what kind of people they were dealing with.
"Hey! Get your hands off me!" Mark yelled, his voice cracking in panicked desperation as two large guards grabbed him by the arms, effortlessly lifting him off his feet. "Dad! Tell them to stop! You can't do this!"
Claudia shrieked, kicking her high heels wildly against the hardwood floor as the third guard hauled her up by her designer dress. Her fair, rosy face was a mess of tears, running makeup, and the vivid, swelling bruise from Richard’s thunderous slap.
"Take your hands off me, you ape!" Claudia screamed, her crisp American accent turning shrill and hysterical. "I'll sue you! I'll sue all of you! Richard, you are a monster!"
"I am the man who pays the bills," Richard replied with icy authority. He turned to the lead security guard. "Take their phones. Confiscate their wallets, their keys, and their credit cards. Everything that has the Whitaker name attached to it stays in this house."
The guards efficiently stripped Mark and Claudia of their belongings, ignoring their frantic struggles and pathetic screams. Mark’s expensive watch was unclasped; Claudia’s diamond earrings were left alone, but her designer purse was tossed onto the entryway table.
"Dad, please!" Mark begged, tears finally streaming down his cowardly face. "Where are they taking us? What are you doing?"
"I am freezing the bank accounts. I am locking the doors to this estate. I am firing you from the company," Richard listed, his voice devoid of any pity. He looked at his son with eyes as cold as the blizzard outside. "You have no money. You have no shelter. You have no power."
"You can't just throw us out into the street!" Claudia cried, her arrogant superiority completely shattered. "It's a blizzard out there! We'll freeze!"
Richard looked at the woman who had left his tiny, innocent granddaughter outside in the snow for nine hours. The irony was not lost on him; it was deliberately orchestrated.
"You left a three-year-old girl outside in a torn T-shirt and bare feet," Richard said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that echoed in the bright room. "You have warm sweaters and long pants. You are vastly more prepared for the weather than she was."
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"Dad, we'll die out there!" Mark wept, thrashing against the guards.
"Then you had better start walking," Richard commanded. "Throw them out."
