“Don’t Make Any Plans for January,” My Husband Told Me at New Year’s Dinner – When Midnight Struck, I Understood Why
The Ultimate Betrayal
James said quietly: “There’s more. I found out who initiated contact with North Point about your properties. Who told them you owned the exact parcels they needed for their development corridor?” I asked: “Who?” He answered: “Your son-in-law, Derek.”
The cafe seemed to fade around me. “What?” James explained: “Derek works for Hastings, Mercer, and Cole, the law firm representing North Point. He’s not a partner, just a junior associate, but he has access to their client files.”
He continued: “Six months ago, he flagged your company’s holdings as potential acquisition targets. That’s how this whole thing started.” I couldn’t breathe. Derek—Joyce’s husband of eight years.
The man who’d sat at my table three nights ago, eating my food, toasting the New Year—he’d sold us out to criminals. I asked: “Does Joyce know?” James replied: “I don’t know. But Margot, there’s something else. Your children have been consulting with an elder care attorney. They’re building a case for conservatorship.”
A Vulture’s Strategy
I repeated the word: “Conservatorship?” The word felt foreign in my mouth. James explained: “Legal guardianship of an incapacitated adult. If they can convince a judge that you’re no longer mentally competent to manage your own affairs, they can take control of your assets, your medical decisions—everything.”
He added: “And with Robert apparently willing to sell the company, if they get conservatorship over you, they could block the sale, wait for Robert to die or become incapacitated himself, and then inherit everything.”
The pieces fell into place with horrible clarity. Derek had started this nightmare by identifying our properties to North Point. When Robert resisted, Marcato applied pressure—real, terrifying pressure—that made my husband willing to abandon everything.
Now Michael and Joyce—whether they knew about Derek’s involvement or not—were positioning themselves to seize control if Robert’s plan failed. My own children were circling like vultures. I asked: “How do I stop this?”
James leaned forward. “Legally, you can’t. Robert has the authority to sell the company. He owns 51%; you own 49%. Unless you can prove he’s under duress—which would require him to admit it—you have no legal recourse.”
He continued: “As for the conservatorship, that’s trickier. They’d need medical evidence of your incompetence. Have you seen any doctors recently?” I replied: “Just my regular checkup in November. Dr. Patterson said I’m healthy for my age.”
He advised: “Get that in writing. Get a full cognitive assessment from a neurologist. Document everything. But Margot, here’s the hard truth: your best legal defenses will take months to establish, and you have 11 days before Robert signs everything away.”
I sat back, mind racing. Legal channels were too slow. But there had to be another way.
Robert was capitulating because he thought he had no choice, because he believed Marcato’s threats were inevitable. But threats only worked if the victim remained isolated and afraid. I asked: “What if we went to the police?”
James shook his head. “Marcato’s too smart for that. His written threats are vague enough to be deniable. ‘Accidents happen’ isn’t legally actionable. And remember, he has connections. Filing a police report might just accelerate their timeline.”
I asked: “Then what do you suggest?” He answered: “Honestly? Take the 12 million and run. It’s not fair, it’s not right, but you’d be alive. Start over in Canada. Robert’s plan isn’t perfect, but it might work.”
Declaring War
I looked at the man who’d been our attorney for 15 years, who I’d trusted to protect our interests. He was telling me to surrender. I said: “No. Margot Whitman didn’t spend 43 years building something from nothing just to let criminals and my own children steal it because they think I’m too old and too weak to fight back. There has to be another way.”
James studied me for a long moment. “There might be. But it’s risky, possibly illegal, and would require you to lie to your husband.” I commanded: “Tell me.”
James explained: “Marcato’s pressure works because he operates in the shadows. He makes private threats, applies personal leverage. But men like him have vulnerabilities, too. They have business relationships they need to protect, reputations they’ve carefully cultivated.”
He continued: “If you could expose what he’s doing publicly, undeniably, he’d back off. The risk to his other operations would be too great.” I asked: “How would I expose him?”
He replied: “You’d need evidence. Recorded threats, documented pressure, proof of criminal coercion. You’d need Marcato to incriminate himself.” I asked: “And how would I get that?”
James pulled out a small device from his jacket pocket. “This is a recording pen. Looks normal, but it captures audio clearly up to 30 feet away. If you could get Marcato to meet with you, make him think you’re Robert’s weak point, get him to make his threats explicit—”
I interrupted: “He’d never meet with me. Robert’s kept me out of this entirely.” James added: “But what if Robert’s plan was failing? What if you suddenly became an obstacle? Marcato would have to deal with you directly.”
I understood what James was suggesting. I’d have to sabotage Robert’s cooperation, make myself a problem that Marcato couldn’t ignore, force a confrontation. James warned: “This could go very wrong. If Marcato suspects you’re recording him, if he gets violent instead of verbal—”
I countered: “I’ve been underestimated my whole life. By business competitors who thought a woman couldn’t run a logistics company, by clients who wanted to negotiate with my husband instead of me. Now by criminals who think I’m just a frightened old woman.”
I finished: “Let them underestimate me one more time.” James slid the recording pen across the table. “Be smart, Margot. Be safe. And for heaven’s sake, don’t tell Robert what you’re planning.”
I pocketed the device. “Thank you, James.” He replied: “Don’t thank me yet. This might be the worst advice I’ve ever given.”
