Chapter 9 - THE FIGHT BACK
We left before sunrise, driving ourselves. No staff. No guards. No one knew where we were going.
William Ashworth lived in a quiet, stone house deep in the hills three hours away. He was in his late seventies, retired, and according to Arthur, had never cared for money or power—only for justice.
When we arrived, he greeted us warily. He had seen the news. He knew what the world was saying. But when I mentioned Arthur’s name and showed him the ledger, he invited us inside and locked the door.
We sat in his study, surrounded by old books and leather furniture, and told him everything. Rachel’s plot. The fake documents. Arthur’s murder. The anonymous threats. The way every door had been slammed in our faces.
When we finished, Ashworth sat quietly for a long time. Staring at the coded ledger pages. At the medical report. At the offshore records.
Finally, he looked up.
“They have been very thorough,” he said. “Whoever this A.W. is… he has planned every step. He controls the narrative. He controls the investigation. He has made you look like the villains so no one will believe your version of events.”
“But it is all lies,” Daniel said.
“Lies repeated loudly enough become truth to most people.” Ashworth leaned forward. “Which means you cannot fight them on their terms. You cannot fight them in their courts. You cannot fight them through their newspapers.”
He tapped the ledger. “You must fight them with what they fear most. The truth. But you must reveal it slowly. Carefully. One piece at a time. And you must find out who A.W. truly is before you show your full hand.”
“He could be anyone,” I said.
“He is not anyone.” Ashworth looked at me steadily. “He is someone Arthur knew well. Someone who hated him enough to destroy everything he built. Someone who has waited years to take his place.”
He stood up and walked to a bookshelf. Pulled down an old, bound volume. Opened it on the desk between us.
“Forty years ago,” he said, “Arthur founded Whitmore Holdings with two partners. One was myself. The other was a man named Alan Whitmore.”
Daniel frowned. “I never heard of him. A relative?”
“A distant cousin. And Arthur’s greatest mistake.” Ashworth turned the page. “Alan Whitmore was ambitious. Brilliant. But also greedy. Dangerous. Arthur eventually bought him out and sent him away. Paid him a fortune to disappear. He told everyone he had no family left. He told you nothing about Alan because he wanted to protect you.”
Ashworth looked at me. “Alan Whitmore’s initials are A.W.”
The room fell silent.
“Where is he now?” I asked.
“Arthur believed he had died abroad years ago.” Ashworth met my eyes. “But what if he didn’t? What if he simply waited? Bided his time. Found a way to strike back at the man who cast him out.”
“Sent Rachel,” Daniel whispered. “Killed Father. Destroyed us to take back what he believes is his.”
“Everything fits,” Ashworth said. “The initials. The knowledge of the company. The long game. The hatred that would only exist between men with such a bitter history.”
I looked at the name written in Ashworth’s book. Alan Whitmore. A man I had never met. A man Arthur had never spoken of. A ghost who had haunted our lives for years.
“Then we know who we are hunting,” I said. “But how do we prove it? And how do we stop him?”
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Ashworth closed the book.
“We start by finding him. And then we show him that Arthur left something behind that he never expected. A witness. A record. And a family that will not be destroyed.”
