“Something is wrong, Rebecca,” I whispered. “By Monday morning, everyone will understand.”
My name is Margaret Collins, and I had just endured the most humiliating dinner of my life. Richard Whitmore, my son’s future father-in-law, had offered me a job cleaning toilets while his wealthy family laughed. He assumed I was a struggling widow who needed his charity. What he didn’t know was that I owned Collins Industrial Holdings, the corporation employing him as regional president. I called my chief legal officer, Rebecca Hayes, and requested eight years of financial statements, employee complaints, and internal investigations. What she uncovered was far worse than I expected.
