Chapter 8: The Enemy Inside My Own House
I spent the entire night reviewing every person connected to Ashcroft Holdings.
Every executive.
Every advisor.
Every partner.
Every person who had access to information.
Trust was a luxury.
And I had just learned how expensive that luxury could be.
By sunrise, I had one conclusion.
The person helping Richard Whitmore knew me.
Not professionally.
Personally.
They knew how I operated.
They knew how my father structured the company.
They knew which protections existed.
That meant this was not a random attack.
Someone close to me had opened the door.
Claire found me still sitting in my office when she arrived.
“You didn’t sleep.””
“No.””
She placed a coffee beside me.
“You found something.””
I nodded.
“Someone is working against us.””
Her expression changed.
“Inside Ashcroft?””
“Yes.””
She was quiet.
Then she asked:
“Do you want me to investigate everyone?””
“No.””
“Why?””
“Because if they realize we know, they will disappear.””
Claire understood.
“We need to let them think they’re winning.””
I nodded.
“Exactly.””
For the first time in years, I understood Adrian’s mistake.
He believed power meant showing everyone he was in control.
Real power was patience.
Real power was knowing when not to move.
That afternoon, Adrian called.
I almost ignored him.
Then I answered.
“Eleanor.””
“What?””
“I found something.””
I stayed silent.
“About Richard.””
My grip tightened around the phone.
“What did you find?””
“I searched through old emails.””
“And?””
“He was planning something.””
“I know.””
Silence.
“You know?””
“Yes.””
A pause.
“How?””
“Because unlike you, I investigate before I trust people.””
The words hurt.
I heard it.
But I didn’t apologize.
“I deserve that,” he said quietly.
I looked out the window.
“Maybe.””
“I want to help.””
“No.””
“Eleanor—”
“You don’t get to help because you feel guilty.””
The silence was heavy.
Then he said:
“I’m not doing this because I want forgiveness.””
I waited.
“I’m doing it because I owe you.””
That surprised me.
Adrian had spent years avoiding responsibility.
Now he was finally accepting it.
“I’ll send you everything I have.””
“Fine.””
“Eleanor?””
“Yes?””
“I’m sorry.””
I closed my eyes.
A year ago, those words would have meant everything.
Now they were simply words.
“I know.””
I ended the call.
That night, I attended a private investor dinner.
The kind of event where people smiled while calculating your weaknesses.
Richard Whitmore was there.
Of course he was.
He approached me with a charming smile.
“Eleanor.””
“Richard.””
“I must congratulate you.””
“For what?””
“Taking control.””
His smile remained.
“You handled the situation beautifully.””
I studied him.
“Did I?””
“Absolutely.””
He raised his glass.
“Your father would be proud.””
The mention of my father felt deliberate.
“You knew my father.””
“Yes.””
“Then you know he trusted carefully.””
Richard smiled.
“He also knew everyone had a price.””
I looked at him.
“Did he?””
Richard laughed.
“Business is about understanding human nature.””
“No.””
I shook my head.
“Business is about understanding character.””
His smile faded slightly.
Interesting.
A person’s reaction to being challenged revealed more than their words.
Richard leaned closer.
“You should be careful, Eleanor.””
“Is that advice?””
“Consider it a warning.””
I smiled.
“Warnings usually come from people who are afraid.””
His expression hardened.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
Then he walked away.
And I knew.
Daniel was right.
Richard Whitmore was not waiting.
He was moving.
Two days later, the first attack came.
A financial report leaked.
The numbers were manipulated.
The headlines appeared within minutes.
*ASHCROFT HOLDINGS FACES QUESTIONS OVER FINANCIAL TRANSPARENCY*
The same media outlets that praised me suddenly questioned me.
A familiar strategy.
Destroy credibility first.
Then destroy power.
Claire rushed into my office.
“The stock is reacting.””
“How badly?””
“Enough to hurt.””
I looked at the report.
The numbers were fake.
But convincing.
Someone had spent months preparing this.
I looked at the signature.
Then froze.
Because the approval code belonged to one person.
Someone I trusted.
Someone who had worked beside my father.
Someone who had been part of my family for years.
I whispered the name.
“No.””
Claire looked at me.
“What?””
I handed her the document.
Her face changed.
“Eleanor…”
I nodded slowly.
“I know.””
May you like
The enemy was not outside my house.
They had been sitting at my table.
