The Billionaire Heir Called Me a Freeloader-I’d Bankrolled His Family for 600 Years Chapter 03

I didn’t go to the second floor. I went straight downstairs and left the Whitmore Building.

The sun was still out, but I no longer wanted to find a lounge chair.

I spent the morning at a nearby café serving tea and snacks.

At noon, Nathan’s father called. Richard Whitmore, the eleventh-generation head of the family business, was good at preserving the status quo. But he always tried to avoid conflicts that forced him to take a side.

He paused after I answered.

“Claire, do you have a few minutes?”

“Go ahead.” I took a sip of tea.

“I heard about last night and this morning. Nathan and Vivian shouldn’t have acted without talking to you first.”

He spoke softly, as if they’d merely forgotten to email a meeting request.

“But I’ve stepped back from day-to-day management. Nathan’s running things now. He grew up mostly in Europe and judges everything by results. He still doesn’t really understand the agreements we made with you.”

I leaned back, watching people pass outside the window.

“So what do you want me to do?”

Richard paused for a few seconds.

“He appointed all the current executives. They’ve made it clear they oppose your share of the profits. I have a solution I’d like to suggest.”

He’d finally gotten to the reason for his call.

“Let’s reduce your profit share to ten percent. I’ll rearrange the offices so you can have another floor to yourself. If you accept that percentage, I’ll go back to them and try to persuade them. Then we won’t have to keep arguing.”

I gave a quiet laugh.

“Richard, I have to give up what’s already mine before they’ll stop trying to throw me out?”

There was silence on the other end.

“The group nearly went bankrupt after your father’s stroke. Who put up the money, found you clients, and arranged the loans? You should remember what you took over: a company with almost nothing left but debts I had to pay.”

I set my teacup back on its saucer.

“Now that the company’s recovered, you think you can pay me less than we agreed?”

Richard hurried to answer.

“No. Claire, that’s not what I meant. I’m just trying to find a solution everyone can accept.”

“That’s enough,” I cut in.

“You can decide what to do with your shares and your position. But you can’t give up my rights for me. I expect my dividends in full, as agreed.

“Since you’ve all decided I add no value, let’s see how much business survives without my support.”

I ended the call.

When I returned to the Whitmore mansion that afternoon, my luggage was already piled by the door.

Vivian sat on the living room sofa, doing her nails. She didn’t even lower her hand when she saw me.

“Claire, we’re having our engagement party next month. We’re also renovating this house for Nathan and me to live in. Your things take up a lot of space, so I had them packed.”

She blew on her freshly painted nails.

“Nathan’s rented you a one-bedroom apartment outside the city. It’s quiet. It should suit your pace of life these days.”

The cardboard boxes by the door had no protective padding. The old books, paintings, and prints I’d collected over the years were crammed together, and some of the artwork had even been folded.

I walked over to the sofa.

“Who gave you permission to enter my room and touch my things?”

Vivian finally looked up. She shrank back a little, then stood.

“The Whitmores own this house, and you’ve never paid rent. They want it back, and we’ve already arranged your apartment and the move. What more do you want?”

She pointed a finger at me, almost touching my nose.

“For years, all you’ve had to do is tell people what to do. Now someone says no, and you can’t take it? You’re moving out today, and I’m not changing my mind.”

I looked at her. She clearly didn’t understand that deciding how this house was used was one thing, and moving my belongings without permission was another.

I didn’t raise my voice. I just stepped back, away from her hand.

“I’ll leave. Get your hand out of my face.”

I took out my phone and called my personal assistant.

Within ten minutes, two custom black Maybachs pulled up outside the mansion.

Several security guards in black suits came inside. They carefully lifted the boxes, secured the contents, and loaded them into the cars.

Vivian’s smile vanished at the sight of the two cars, worth more than ten million dollars between them.

Then she curled her lip.

“Car rental companies offer this service now? We really must be paying you too much in dividends.”

I didn’t answer. I walked straight to the cars.

Before getting in, I looked back at her.

“Vivian, remember what you did today. You’ll pay for every damaged item, and I’ll hold you accountable for every agreement you’ve broken.”