One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 87: Chapter 87

Rain streaked down the high-rise windows of Haven Tower like tears on glass, streaking the sky in heavy gray layers. Arielle stood alone in the executive conference room, her fingers brushing the edge of Damien’s old chair at the head of the obsidian table. It still bore faint scratches from his rings. His presence clung to this room like dust no one dared sweep away.
But today, that room would offer her something far more chilling than nostalgia.
Patrice entered without knocking. “We have something. From the internal audit.”
Arielle turned. “Tell me.”
“The recovered documents from the encrypted servers—the ones we thought were wiped? We restored fragments from the finance server. There are signatures. Wire transfers. High-level internal authorizations. All routed offshore just a week before Damien disappeared.”
Arielle’s heart dropped. “From who?”
Patrice hesitated, then slid a thin folder across the table. “You should read it.”
Arielle opened the folder. It was all there—transaction records, meeting schedules, cryptic notations. But it was one name that froze her.
Martin Whitaker.
Board chairman. Damien’s mentor. Godfather to Elijah.
The room spun slightly.
“He was involved?”
“More than that,” Patrice said. “He orchestrated something. We don’t have everything yet, but Damien’s last encrypted message was routed to Whitaker’s private server. Disappeared two hours after that message was sent.”
Arielle’s mind reeled. Memories surfaced—Whitaker visiting their home, holding Lily as a baby, laughing with Damien over brandy.
He had always been family.
Now, he was a suspect.
That night, she sat with the journal Damien left her, flipping back through his final entries. There—buried on a page she had skimmed in exhaustion—was a clue.
“If Whitaker calls a board vote without me, don’t trust the agenda. He’s been quiet lately. Too quiet. And he keeps asking questions I never answered.”
Arielle closed the book slowly, her fingers cold.
The betrayal wasn’t distant.
It had been sitting at the table all along.
At the next board meeting, Arielle walked in ten minutes early. Whitaker was already there, sipping his black coffee like every other day. Calm. Unbothered.
She took her seat at the head of the table. “Morning, everyone.”
A few murmured greetings.
“Before we begin today’s financial overview,” Arielle said, her voice sharp and clear, “I’d like to address a few discoveries from our latest internal audit.”
She laid down the folder.
Whitaker didn’t blink.
“These documents trace financial misconduct to several unnamed accounts. But there’s one—” she turned to him, “—with your name directly attached.”
He laughed. “That’s absurd. Where did this come from?”
“Our recovered internal servers.”
“You know those were compromised.”
“Were they?” She tilted her head. “Because I’ve got legal counsel verifying these signatures. And the transfer logs. You were moving funds, Martin. Offshore. Quietly. Weeks before Damien vanished.”
The room was ice.
“I had authorization,” Whitaker said quickly. “We discussed options—Damien and I. Global expansion.”
“No such plans were on the books,” Patrice said, entering from the hallway, holding a USB stick. “And your private server shows deletion logs the night Damien disappeared.”
Whitaker stood. “You’re making a mistake.”
“No,” Arielle said quietly. “You did.”
Security entered.
The boardroom watched, stunned, as Whitaker was escorted out, not in cuffs—but in shame. His eyes met Arielle’s one last time.
“You’ll regret this.”
She met his stare with steel. “No, Martin. You will.”
That night, she stood in the kitchen holding a photo of Damien and Whitaker on the yacht from two summers ago—smiling, arms slung around each other’s shoulders.
She tore it in half.
Later, Elijah came into her office, his face solemn. “I heard about Mr. Whitaker.”
“I’m sorry you had to,” she said gently.
“He used to bring me chess puzzles,” Elijah whispered. “He was like a second grandfather.”
Arielle nodded slowly. “People aren’t always what they seem, sweetheart.”
Elijah looked at her then, truly looked. “Are you okay?”
She smiled sadly. “I haven’t been okay for a long time. But I’m surviving. For you. For your siblings.”
He walked to her side and hugged her tightly.
“You’re doing more than surviving, Mama,” he said. “You’re fighting.”
The betrayal stung.
But it also clarified something.
This wasn’t just about power.
This was about truth.
And Arielle was done with shadows.