The Billionaire Heir Called Me a Freeloader-I’d Bankrolled His Family for 600 Years Chapter 02

The next morning, I arrived at the Whitmore Group’s ground-floor lobby as usual.

After living so long, I needed a few routines.

I’d moved between countries and cities over the years. Still, I liked going to the same place each day to sit quietly in the sun.

The Manhattan headquarters was in an excellent location, with a rooftop terrace garden that caught the sun at just the right angle.

I approached the executive elevator and scanned my access card.

The reader flashed red and gave two short beeps.

The screen read, “Access denied.”

Surprised, I raised an eyebrow at the message.

An employee elevator beside me opened just then. A few young employees heading upstairs saw me and huddled together, whispering.

“Is that Ms. Bennett from the top floor?”

“The one Vivian called out at dinner last night. I heard she doesn’t have any actual duties.”

“They’ve even disabled her access card. What’s she still doing here?”

I went to the reception desk.

The young receptionist glanced at my card, then looked away.

“Ms. Bennett, Vivian had security revoke your executive elevator access this morning.”

I nodded. I didn’t hold her responsible for management’s decision.

“What about the regular elevators?”

“You can still use those for now.”

I stepped into a regular elevator that had just arrived.

When the doors opened on the top floor, I heard furniture being dragged across the floor.

Several cleaners with carts were moving the orchids out of my office.

The antique porcelain tea set I regularly used had been dumped into a cardboard box. A piece had chipped off the teapot lid.

Vivian stood in the middle of the office, directing them.

“Get all this old stuff out. It smells like a neglected antiques warehouse in here. Bring in Italian leather sofas. Order a solid wood desk—ebony will do.”

She turned and saw me in the doorway. She smiled at once.

“Claire, you still plan to use this office?”

She walked toward me in her high heels.

“Nathan thinks my current office is too small. As director of strategy, I need somewhere to meet clients. Yours sits empty most of the time, so I decided to make use of the space.”

I said nothing as I looked at the damaged teapot lid in the box.

I’d commissioned a European porcelain maker to create that tea set in the eighteenth century. I didn’t care what it might sell for now. After so many years, I’d grown accustomed to its weight and feel.

Vivian followed my gaze.

“Can’t bear to part with that old junk?”

She took out her phone.

“I’ll Zelle you two hundred dollars. Find a thrift store to take the stuff off your hands. It’ll save you the trouble of moving it again.”

Then she waited for my reaction, as if she’d been remarkably generous.

Just then, Nathan approached from the far end of the hallway with several assistants.

He glanced at the box by the door.

“What’s going on here?”

Vivian went straight to his side, dropping her smile.

“I’m moving offices, and Claire seems to have a problem with it. She’s not involved in the business, yet she has the biggest space on the top floor. I’m just reallocating space based on what we actually need.”

Nathan patted the back of her hand, then turned to me.

“It’s just an office, Claire. Vivian is handling next year’s key overseas project. She needs somewhere to meet clients.”

He stopped explaining and simply began assigning me a new place to sit.

“You can sit in the general staff area. If you don’t want to sit with everyone else, there’s an empty storage room by the stairs on the second floor. Have someone clear it out; there’s enough room for you.”

One assistant pressed their lips together to suppress a laugh; another looked down to hide a smile, shoulders giving a slight shake.

They all knew this wasn’t about allocating office space.

Nathan wanted the woman receiving sixty percent of the profits to accept being relegated to a storage room.

I looked at him. He didn’t look away. Instead, he seemed a little relieved, as if he’d finally shed a troublesome expense.

The eighth-generation head of the Whitmore family had once gambled away almost all the family’s assets.

After loan sharks came to his door with knives, he waited outside my home for three full days and nights, begging me to save him.

I opened my underground vault and took out a chest of gold bars. With it, I saved the last of the family’s assets.

On his deathbed, he’d clutched my sleeve and wept, promising that no matter who took over the company, I’d never have to bear a loss like that again.

Apparently, later heirs felt no obligation to honor those promises.

“You’re sure you want to put me in that second-floor storage room?” I asked Nathan.

He looked away for a moment, then straightened.

“This is a management decision, Claire. The company won’t keep a top-floor office for someone with no duties. If you won’t accept it, we can end the arrangement. I’ll have Finance pay you a settlement.”

I nodded.

“All right.”

I stepped around the fragments on the floor and headed toward the elevator.

Behind me, Vivian laughed, clearly pleased that I’d decided to leave. “Good. At least she’s accepted reality.”