Chapter 8 - The Unexpected VisitorIt was nearly 6:00 p.m. when the executive suite finally quieted down. Naomi had gone home for the evening, and the cleaning crew was softly vacuuming the hallway outside my office.
I sat alone at my desk, reviewing the final drafts of the employee profit-sharing trust I was establishing in my father’s name, when a soft knock sounded on my frosted glass door.
I looked up.
The door pushed open slowly. Standing in the doorway wasn't a board member, an attorney, or an executive assistant.
It was Arthur Sterling—Evan’s former high-priced corporate defense attorney who had bolted from the boardroom twenty-four hours earlier.
He looked distinctly uncomfortable, holding his leather briefcase tightly against his chest like a shield.
“May I come in, Ms. Whitmore?” Sterling asked, his voice lacking the arrogant legal bravado he had displayed during the morning ambush.
I leaned back in my leather chair, locking my fingers together on the desk. I didn't invite him to sit, nor did I tell him to leave. I simply let him stand there in the doorway, feeling the full weight of the room.
“You terminated your representation of Evan yesterday, Mr. Sterling,” I said evenly. “As far as I’m concerned, you have no business in this office.”
Sterling took a hesitant step forward, clearing his throat. “I did terminate my representation, Ms. Whitmore—the very second I reviewed the forensic audit report your general counsel provided. As an officer of the court, I cannot knowingly subvert justice for a client engaged in active white-collar fraud.”
“Then why are you here?” I asked, my voice cutting like dry ice. “Did Evan send you to beg for a severance package?”
“Good heavens, no,” Sterling said quickly, holding up a hand in defense. “Evan doesn't even know I’m here. He’s currently holed up at a fleabag motel off Route 9, threatening to sue everyone from the governor to the parking lot attendants.”
He stepped a bit closer, setting his briefcase down on the edge of a side chair.
“I am here on my own accord, Ms. Whitmore, to offer my professional services to Whitmore Freight,” Sterling said smoothly. “Your legal team handled the internal audit brilliantly, but you’re going to face complex multi-jurisdictional litigation regarding the asset recovery from Barbara Cain’s shell entities. My firm has the premier civil recovery department in the state. I want to work for you.”
I stared at him for a long, silent moment.
The man who had stood beside Evan yesterday, ready to help my ex-husband tear my inheritance apart, was now offering his sword to the victor without a moment's hesitation.
“You have a very flexible moral compass, Mr. Sterling,” I observed quietly.
Sterling didn't flinch. He offered a tight, pragmatic smile. “In corporate law, Ms. Whitmore, loyalty belongs to the balance sheet. And right now, Whitmore Freight is the only balance sheet in town worth protecting.”
I stood up slowly from my desk, walking over to the window to look out at the evening lights of the city.
“Leave your retainer proposal with Naomi Price tomorrow morning,” I said without turning around. “If her team approves your rates, and if you successfully recover every last dollar stashed in Barbara’s offshore accounts, we’ll talk about a contract.”
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Sterling’s eyes lit up with professional triumph. He gave a respectful nod. “Thank you, Madam Chair. You won't regret this.”
“I never regret business decisions, Mr. Sterling,” I replied, turning to face him. “Only personal ones. And I corrected my biggest personal mistake yesterday morning.”
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