The Bloodline Inheritance That Kept My Daughter From Her Millionaire Father
The cold November rain beat against the glass facade of the Whitmore Group tower.
My hands shook as I adjusted the pink blanket over Lily.
She was four months old, sleeping soundly against my chest in her carrier.
I took a deep breath and pushed past the receptionist on the forty-second floor.
“You can’t go in there, Mrs. Whitmore,” she called out, her heels clicking on the marble floor.
I did not stop.
I threw open the heavy oak doors of the main boardroom.
The smell of polished wood and expensive coffee filled the air.
Nathan sat at the far end of the long mahogany table.
He held a silver fountain pen over a stack of legal documents.
To his right sat his father, Richard Whitmore, looking immaculate in a gray wool suit.
Mr. Hayes, the family attorney, stood by the window with a leather briefcase.
Nathan looked up, his jaw tightening when he saw me.
“Emily?” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“I am stopping you from signing those,” I said.
Richard stood up immediately, his face darkening with anger.
“Get her out of here,” Richard ordered the security guard who had followed me into the room.
“Touch me, and I will call the police,” I said, keeping my voice steady.
I looked directly at Nathan.
“You need to see your daughter, Nathan.”
Nathan froze, the silver pen slipping slightly in his fingers.
“My what?” he whispered.
“She is lying, Nathan,” Richard barked. “We settled this. She is trying to extort you.”
I stepped closer to the table and pulled back the edge of the pink blanket.
Lily stirred, squinting against the bright lights of the boardroom.
She reached out a tiny hand, her fingers curling into a fist.
Her eyes were the exact same striking blue as Nathan’s.
Nathan stood up so fast his leather chair rolled back against the wall.
He walked toward me, his eyes locked on the baby’s face.
“Is this… is she mine?” he asked, his voice cracking.
“She was born four months ago,” I said. “While you were in London.”
“You never told me,” Nathan said, staring at the baby. “You walked away from me.”