Chapter 14

Wes

It’s not possible.

Monica Simmons cannot be my half-sister.

She just can’t be.

“First floor personal office,” I practically bark at Hurst who is leading the box toting parade. “I want. Every. Single. Box. In that fucking room.” Firmly pointing occurs mindlessly. “ No exceptions. ”

“Yes, sir,” mutters one of the housekeeping attendees that’s assisting.

“Where the fuck is Park?!” is shouted to the guard that’s opening the door. “I told him to meet me immediately!”

“He’s on his way,” my best friend informs as he steps into the entry way, fingers moving quickly across the screen.

“And Clark?!”

“Idontknow,” J.T. mumbles out the answer prior to commanding into his device, “Hawthorne tell me what we can do.” Tugging at his collar is done in tandem with him marching forward. “Tell me what clauses we have in place to deal with the possibility of an unknown heir.” He snaps his fingers multiple times at a member of the staff that was headed to help unload. “ Cuban. Trinidad. Reyes. ” He grumps into the phone. “Yes, I’m deadly fucking serious, Hawthorne.” Once more he meets the servant’s stare. “Two fingers. Neat. Aged. Nothing less than ten years. Got it?”

“Make that two,” leaves me without a second thought.

His stride stumbles, clearly preparing to question my remark, when head of legal snaps, “ Start at the beginning, Mr. Reese! ”

Grumbles from him precede additional ones from me.

That’s what I should’ve done.

I should’ve had Monica start at the very beginning versus letting myself get baited.

Trapped.

Exploited.

The very thing journalist like her are trained to fucking do.

Low rumbles echo throughout the opening space as the convoy of property continues to make its way into my personal downstairs office. “ Where. Is. Clark?! ”

“Your summoning is steeped in impatience,” the man I’m not even sure I can trust anymore mirthfully states upon his arrival at the bottom of the stairs. “This does not typically bode well for what remains of the evening.”

“Does the name Alo?s mean anything to you?” There’s no hesitation to interrogate. “Is it of any familiarness?”

He politely folds his hands behind his back. “Perhaps.”

“I am not looking for perhaps and perhaps nots, Clark. I am looking for certainties. ” Stepping towards him blocks his view of the items being hauled inside. “And I expect to receive them. Is that understood?”

The smallest twitched stare is attached to his agreement, “ Understood, Sir. ”

“Does the name Alo?s mean anything to you?”

“He was your mother’s first husband.” Clark’s neck noticeably tightens. “They were young. Eighteen or nineteen when the marriage occurred. It lasted less than six months.”

“Why is there no mention or record of it anywhere?”

“It was concealed. Per your father’s request.”

“ Why? ”

“To protect your mother from slanderer’s claims.”

“Such as?”

“Her only being interested in your father’s wealth.”

“And is that the only reason for his concealment?” Rage rolls its way down my spine. “Did it have anything to do with the fact that he was worried it might embarrass him or the brand or the family or our legacy?”

His lack of responding merely fuels my resentment.

“You needed to see me, sir?” Park suddenly asks, appearing near our situation, redirecting our attention to him. “You expressed it was urgent.”

“I need you to run the name Will Cox .”

Ignoring Clark’s slight attire adjustment is impossible.

“Will Cox. Owned a sizeable ranch in Stovlen Springs, Texas a few miles south of Sunshine Bend about twenty-five years ago.”

More nervous fidgeting.

“He might’ve signed the property over to a woman named Marzia Simmons at some point.”

And more.

“Find out everything you possibly can about him, her, and their relationship.” A sharp finger is stabbed in his direction. “ And I mean fucking everything. Down to how often they bought fucking toilet paper and condoms. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Park promptly nods. “I’ll get cyber digging and have Soni reach out to one of our P.I. contacts for actual footwork.”

“ No one sleeps until I have the answers I want ,” I unhappily seethe. “ The clock is ticking. ”

He nods a second time and hastily rushes away to get to work leaving me alone once more with the man I know has answers even if he wished he didn’t.

“Do those names mean anything to you, Clark?” Folding my arms firmly across my chest precedes me invading his space further. “ Either of them?”

Thankfully, he doesn’t deny what we are both already aware of. “ Yes. ”

“What?” It’s a struggle to keep my tone and volume steady. “ What do they mean to you?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“What the hell do you mean you’re not at liberty to say?!”

“I am legally not at liberty to say, sir.”

“He’s dead!”

“I am aware.”

“Any legal documents or agreements at this point involved in the subject matter at hand are null and void!”

“They are not, Mr. Wilcox.”

“ Do not call me that! ”

“There is a contingency clause in the aforementioned documents that prevents me from speaking on the topic you are currently inquiring about regardless of their life status.”

“ That’s. Asinine! ”

“That is the legally binding agreement I signed.”

“Then send it to fucking legal for review!”

“Yes, sir.”

New waves of frustration not only lead to my jaw throbbing but me barking, “ I cannot believe you never told me my father had an affair! ”

“I cannot speak on the subject.”

“ That he cheated on my mother! ”

“I cannot speak on the subject.”

“ She was supposed to be your friend too! How could you let him get away with it?! ”

Clark’s mouth twitches in what appears to be agony, yet he repeats, “I cannot speak on the subject.”

“ How could you let him hide a fucking child from her?! ”

“I cannot speak on the subject.”

“ From me?! ”

Finally, his stoic demeanor along with the repeated robotic phrasing cracks, “ Weston, I am begging you on behalf of them both…on behalf of this family…to let them as well as this subject lie in peace. ”

“ No. ” The viciousness of my bite buttons his lips. “ Now, get that document to Hawthorne by morning or me your resignation letter. ”

Without another word, he politely moves past me, hopefully to retrieve the former rather than write the latter.

Because its existence has to be the only reason, he would’ve kept this from me.

That anyone would’ve kept this from me.

Could’ve.

But why?

Why have no record of it in any document, anywhere ?

Not even a secret file?

Why live under an alias?

Why cheat to fucking begin with?!

Why wasn’t my mother enough?!

Why weren’t we enough?!

Why did he need a second family before he could appreciate his fucking first?!

Roars rip from my chest as I storm into the office right after the last of the materials has been left behind.

I guide myself around the seemingly endless collection of belongings from Simmons family, gawking at the boxes.

Glaring at the possibilities that may be found inside.

The hidden truths.

The hidden lies.

Bitterness burns up the back of my throat during my continued surveying.

How much of my legacy is a lie?

How much of me ?

“Your glass,” speaks a member of the kitchen staff, holding up the item for display.

“ Desk. ” The second it’s placed down, I growl, “ Leave. ”

Sounds of their feet scurrying away barely precede my fiancée’s displeased voice, “ Redecorating, Weston? ”

I reluctantly force myself to turn and face her. “ No. ” Bryn attempts to come further into the room prompting me to bite again, “ No. ”

“No, what?”

“ Do not come in here. ”

Confusion and consternation alike collide in her complexion. “Excuse me?”

Uncertainty regarding what exactly I’m going to tell her along with when, pushes me to proclaim, “This area is off limits for now.”

“ To me? ”

“ To. Everyone. ”

Additional unhappiness appears in her tone, “ Why? ”

“I cannot speak on the subject,” mockingly leaves me.

“Okay.”

Her surrendering is easy.

Too easy.

“How about you speak on the subject of standing me the fuck up at the opening of Maxximum Effort?” Bryn’s scowl instantly deepens in tandem with her vision narrowing. “You know the new fucking comic bookstore you personally promised the owner we’d be at?”

Guilt tries to claw its way under my skin yet fails.

Because there’s no room.

No room for anything that isn’t hostility.

Frustration.

“Care to comment on where you were or why I waited there for two hours for you to show or fucking call?!”

Against my better judgement, I sneer, “How would you know? Your phone was probably stashed under the seat in the SUV or between the cushions in the aquarium room or behind a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.”

Her jaw cracks just enough to remind me of the terrible mistake I just made.

How I’m directing my irateness at the wrong person.

For the wrong reasons.

“ Where. Were. You? ”

My hands shove themselves into my black pants pockets at the same time I announce, “Something came up.”

And by something, I mean a meltdown of epic proportions that resulted in Zaidee having to schedule repairs for the conference room.

Post my very physical response to the news that came from following Monica to her storage unit.

Seeing the reveal.

Watching carefully as everything was loaded.

While she smugly smirked.

Giggled.

Made plans to publicly harangue me as my best friend tried to swim through the deep end of the social hell I selfishly threw us into.

Except I’m not the only selfish one here.

My so-called father was selfish.

And a fucking cheater.

And liar.

And left me a house of cards to build an entire brand on.

Concern carves itself into her gaze in spite of my demeanor. “Would you like to tell me what?”

“No.”

“Fine.” Understanding struggles to slide into her expression. “Would you like to have dinner?”

“No.”

“Would you like to talk about our wedding?”

Our wedding?

Would I like to talk about love and commitment and what’s supposed to be the most significant and monumental moment of our relationship on the same day I discover it didn’t mean shit to the man I’ve spent my entire existence looking up to?

“ No. ”

“Would you like to tell me about your meeting from earlier?”

“ No. ”

“Would you like to spend time with me at all?”

“ No. ”

The bluntness stumbles her backward; however, rather than verbally retaliate, something I can usually count on, she surrenders.

Again.

Suspiciously.

“Okay.” Bryn tosses the tiny black bag she’s holding into my empty nearby chair. “There’s the Foes of DC wordsearch I had custom made to surprise you at the opening.” Her Batman crop top covered shoulders slightly bounce. “Hope you like it.”

Being unsure of what hurts more, the irony or the thoughtfulness, is what leads to me remaining silent.

Pressing my lips tightly together.

Not even thanking her.

“Enjoy your space. Perhaps Puppet Boy can spare some time for me.”

“ He. Can’t. ”

My curtness receives an instant arched eyebrow.

“He is also currently unavailable for the foreseeable future.”

“I’m sorry, you’re both unavailable for the foreseeable future?”

“Yes.”

“Foreseeable as in you don’t know when you’ll step out of your bat cave here? The bat cave I’m not allowed in?” She lets her head cock to one side, disbelief deepening. “You’re basically saying you don’t know when you’ll see me again? Me, your pregnant fiancée .”

“ I just need… ” one hand lifts to give the side of my face a sobering scrub. “ Some…time, Brynley. ”

“ Then I guess I’ll just go find someone who can spare some for me, Weston. ”

Unbridled ire savagely spews past my lips, “ What are you gonna do? Run away to another state? Go have an affair? Become exactly like my fucking father? ”

Shock sends her mouth to the ground. “What?!”

“ Just. Go. ” Kicking my chin to the open door she’s near occurs before another word can leave her mouth. “ Close it behind you. ”

“ No. ” Familiar defiance is attached to her exiting movement. “Close it your goddamn self.”

Her stomps away are echoed by mine crossing the room.

Reaching the desk.

Lifting the glass of aged liquid up to my lips.

I shouldn’t do this.

I shouldn’t have a sip.

I shouldn’t start down this path.

Nothing good will come of it.

Nothing good every fucking does.

Glancing over my shoulder at the sprawling packages containing only Commissioner Gordon knows what evidence convinces me to concede.

To cave.

To give into the darkest and dirtiest temptation I can fathom.

Just like my father did.