Fallen Grandeur, Shattered Oaths

Whitney came running in and tried to take the golf club from me. I coldly shook off her hand, and she staggered backward.

Immediately after, she approached Maxwell and Samuel. "Maxwell, Mr. Clarke, are you two alright? Are you hurt?"

I felt bitter knowing that all the blood, sweat, and tears I'd poured in for the past five years had been wasted on an ingrate who'd stab me in the back.

After consoling Maxwell, Whitney turned to me with eyes filled with disappointment and anger. "Harvey, I never thought you'd become so unreasonable—you're just like a violent thug."

Still holding the golf club, I stood upright. "Whitney, this house is under my name. They are trespassing on private property without permission. I have the right to call the police on them."

Whitney was peeved. "Even though that's the case, as your wife, I have the right to access the house. How is it wrong for me to allow my friend to stay here?"

She told me to leave.

Maxwell stole a glance at me. Although his eyes looked innocent, I noticed the provocative smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

He was challenging me.

Taking a deep breath, I suppressed the anger welling up in me. "Whitney, remember what you just said. You'd better not beg me for mercy later on."

With that, I left the manor. As I stood outside the house, I lit a cigarette.

After that incident, I immediately enlisted the help of a private investigator to look into Maxwell and Samuel.

Maxwell was never a hardworking, goal-driven person. Throughout the past five years, he'd gotten addicted to gambling and had owed a huge amount of debt.

Samuel wasn't sick either. His leg had been brutally broken while he helped Maxwell escape his debtors. They had returned to Reelsburg City because they had no other choice.

Meanwhile, Maxwell had deliberately schemed to secure a job in Spencer Group as a warehouse keeper.

I flung the file onto my office desk.

Whitney wasn't only blind to his true colors, but she had also lost the ability to discern between right and wrong.

That afternoon, I went to the office. I was the CEO of Spencer Group. Although Whitney was the vice president, the real authority lay with me.

When they saw me, the receptionists greeted me respectfully, "Mr. Spencer."

I headed straight for the vice president's office.

The employees watched me. Their gazes were filled with reverence.

With a cold expression, I opened the door.

What I saw next made me scoff.

Whitney was sitting at her desk, going through some documents. Meanwhile, Maxwell was standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders.

"Whit, your shoulders are very stiff. I'll give you a quick massage," he said in a sickeningly ingratiating tone.

When he saw me entering the office, he seemed flustered and withdrew his hands. "Harv… Mr. Spencer."

Whitney scowled. "Why have you come? Don't you know how to knock?"

I scoffed. "This is my company. Why should I have to knock? As for you two, what do you think you're doing during office hours?"

Whitney became increasingly displeased. "Maxwell was just offering to give me a massage because he saw that I was tired. You're the one with a filthy mind."

I cast the findings from the investigation on the desk before her.

"Read this, word by word. This is the person you labelled as hardworking and goal-driven. He's nothing more than a gambler with a mountain of debt who's been deliberately trying to get closer to you.

"Whitney, did you ask for my permission when you used the company's imprest fund to pay off his debts?"