Chapter 392

Penelope clutched her trembling hands together, desperation lacing her voice. "Professor Whitmore, we're begging you. Think of something! We've exhausted every possibility."

Alistair Whitmore shook his head slowly. "You're asking the wrong person. There's only one who can help you now."

"Who?" Penelope leaned forward, hope flickering in her eyes.

"Harrison." The name dropped like a stone.

Gasps rippled through the Whitmore family. "Harrison? What could she possibly do?" Margaret's wrinkled face twisted in disbelief. "Is she supposed to catch that imposter Dr. Sinclair? Save our family from ruin?"

Isabella and Penelope exchanged skeptical glances. The idea of Harrison solving their crisis seemed laughable.

"Exactly," Alistair confirmed.

The family erupted in protests. "That's absurd!"

Alistair gave them an inscrutable look. "I've shown you the path. Whether you take it is your choice." Without another word, he turned and disappeared inside.

Margaret remained frozen, mouth agape. "Why would Professor Whitmore suggest Harrison?"

Victoria scoffed. "She's just a homemaker! What could she possibly do?"

"We don't believe it either," Frederick muttered.

"This makes no sense," Cassandra interjected. "Our only real option is to go to Oliver for help." With Alistair refusing assistance, the Whitmores saw no alternative but to approach Oliver.

The family gathered outside Oliver's estate, only to be blocked by the butler. "I'm sorry. No visitors today."

Rejection after rejection - the Whitmores couldn't catch a break.

Isabella stepped forward carefully. "Please, it's urgent. We need to speak with Mr. Oliver."

"Wait here. I'll inform him." The butler shut the door with finality.

The family fidgeted on the doorstep. Minutes stretched with no response. Thirty minutes passed. An hour. The butler never returned.

Dusk settled over Willowbrook. The Whitmores hadn't eaten all day. Isabella shivered as the temperature dropped, wrapping her arms around herself.

"It's freezing," she whispered.

Then the first raindrops fell, heralding an approaching storm.

Margaret slapped her knee in frustration. "Now rain? The universe is mocking us!"

Penelope huddled closer to her mother for warmth. They pressed against the mansion's exterior, seeking shelter under the narrow eaves.

Margaret rounded on Penelope. "This is all your fault! You trusted that fraud Dr. Sinclair! Not only did you lose your inheritance - you dragged us all down with you!"

Penelope opened her mouth but found no defense.

Frederick and Cassandra immediately jumped to her protection. "It's not just Penelope's fault. Isabella shares the blame too."

The accusation turned toward the second branch.

Margaret's sharp eyes pinned Isabella. "You spineless girl! Nathaniel and Harrison divorced ages ago, yet you still haven't secured your place as Mrs. Falcon. Now Nathaniel won't lift a finger to help us. Proves you mean nothing to him!"

Isabella's face drained of color, injustice burning in her eyes.

Theodore and Victoria pointed angrily at Penelope's parents. "How dare you? This isn't Isabella's fault!"

The second and third branches erupted into heated arguments, voices rising. A physical altercation seemed imminent.

Margaret had had enough. "Enough! Your bickering solves nothing. Where are the Whitmore family's prized daughters now? Utterly worthless!"