Chapter 23

Wes

The last time I was this sick to my stomach I was coming off quite an awful bender.

This time it’s because I’m about to confess to the entire world – on a live streaming event – my family’s deep, dark, dirty little secret they had successfully kept hidden for literal decades.

Why wouldn’t I feel like I’m about to fucking vomit everything I’ve consumed since the last time I felt this way?

“ Stop it ,” Evie hisses from her position directly in front of me in our Frost Luxury Hotel suite living room area. “ You’re going to start sweating again. ” She less than gently dabs at my forehead. “Hair and makeup just fixed you.”

I poorly swallow my grumbles and glance to the left where I catch Bryn finally ending her call on a polite note. “I’ll be in touch.” She carelessly tosses the device on the nearby bar counter, flicks a messy loose strand away from her blue mascara coated eyelashes, and exasperatedly sighs, “Gotta admit. That shit went better for me than it did when Kirk faced the Academy Board.”

Leaning into the urge to smile isn’t resisted. “It should’ve considering you weren’t the one who cheated in this scenario.”

“Uh, I’m with Kirk on that one. You creating a ‘no-win’ test is cheating.”

“I’m with Spock,” I effortlessly counter. “He missed the point the test was trying to make.”

“Is this heaven’s lobby?” J.T. interjects from beside me around light chuckles. “Are we really all engaging in a highbrow Star Trek debate?”

“Not all of us,” Evie sneers.

Grateful for the distraction, I redirect the conversation back to Bryn, “What happened?”

“Well, after Renee Drake, the head of the entire board, felt reassured that I wasn’t going to sue the organization, which would practically bankrupt them-”

“Wouldn’t it just be Wilcox money either way?” my best friend ponders out at the same time he crosses one, navy blue covered pant leg over the other.

“-she offered me Raquel’s job.” A small tug at the belt of her bright yellow, floor length, gathered shirtdress is given. “And educationally I’m beyond qualified to do it. Experiencely-”

“Not a word.”

“-on the other fin, I’m not so sure. Running an entire department is vastly different than running a rescue team.”

“Vastly might be an oversell, little prey.”

Her quirked eyebrow indicates she’s listening.

“To effectively run a department, you are running a team. It may be bigger, there may be more on the line, and there will ultimately be larger scale consequences as well as rewards; however, the fundamentals are the same. The skills that make you great at R however, before I can join Monica in the presentation space she’s created, the love of my life abruptly winds both arms around my neck and knocks her mouth into mine.

Our lips spread just enough to allow a brief brushing of our tongues, but it’s enough.

Enough to reassure me everything will be fine.

Enough to remind me that unlike what I had convinced myself earlier in this journey to be the truth, I’m not alone.

I’ll never be alone.

When Bryn pulls back, she adoringly whispers, “ I love you, Mr. Wayne. ”

Warmth spreading throughout my chest has me cooing, “ And I love you, Miss Kyle. ”

One affectionate squeeze of shoulders from her along with one supportive nod from J.T. propels me to the area where Monica is adjusting her blouse. She doesn’t even bother looking up when she comments on my wardrobe, “How nice of you to wear black and a touch of white, Wes.” The bright lighting around us is moved around a smidge. “It will help emphasize the transparency your family lacks.” At that, she lets her gaze find mine. “ I mean our family. ”

Instead of giving into the instinct to glare and gripe about how ridiculous she’s being, I merely straighten my spine and push my shoulders back.

Lift my chin.

Inhale a deep breath and remember that hiding her from the world was our father’s choice.

Not mine.

I don’t speak for him.

I speak for me.

The man I am.

The one he raised me to be.

The one I have taught myself to become.

“Ooooo, silent and brooding,” mocks Monica while angling her crossed legs in my direction. “Saving it all for the cameras.” She brushes her dark locks over her shoulder. “ Love it. ”

And I will love when this is over.

There isn’t much of a delay between her last statement and the first she makes into the cameras, “Hello, everyone. I’m Monica Simmons with Global Laundry and am fortunate enough to be sitting here with the recently engaged, billionaire, philanthropist, Weston Wilcox of Wilcox Enterprises to conduct an exclusive interview regarding some striking accusations that have been made regarding his lineage.”

I keep my increasingly sweaty palms on my black casual pants as I politely greet, “Hello, Monica.”

“You are known for being the sole heir to the extensive Wilcox fortune, correct?”

“Yes.”

“However, recently , there’s been documentation presented to you regarding the possibility that that fact, isn’t a fact after all, correct?”

Additional tightening occurs in my chest during my answering, “Yes.”

“And how did you respond when you first received the news?”

Like a recalcitrant child with easy access to alcohol.

“I struggled to process the idea,” slips past my lips in the open, honest tone Evie coached me into showcasing. “I had been led to believe my entire life that I was an only child, so the notion of that not being true, the concept that those who loved me could keep something like that to themselves, hurt.” My stare stays locked onto hers. “ Deeply. ”

Against her own volition sympathy is flashed in her stare. “I completely understand.”

Yes, Batman’s greatest foes often have the most tragic backstories themselves.

“Since receiving the claim, would you say you and your team have been provided with adequate time to review it?”

Adequate is a bit of a fucking stretch.

“Yes.”

“And now that you have, how do you feel in comparison to your initial feelings?”

“ Informed. ”

My response receives a curious twitch of her brow. “Oh?”

“Analyzing and exploring and investigating the allegations brought new insight to who my parents were, who they surrounded themselves with, and the lengths they felt were necessary to go to in order to do what they believed to be right for them , their marriage , and the brand at the time.”

“Do you agree with their decisions?”

“It is not my place to agree or disagree. To judge or condemn.” One hard swallow is abruptly stolen. “And I cannot and will not be held accountable for their decisions, simply my own.”

The response seems to displease her by the tightening of her mouth. “ Which are? ”

“I agreed to a non-bias, 3 rd party DNA test to confirm the individual in question is indeed a blood relative. Once the information is verified, I will provide them documentation that gives them their rightful shares – from my existing shares – that should’ve been theirs upon our shared parent’s death compensating them financially and welcoming them into the brand.” My fingers fold together between proclamations. “ And me, my fiancée, my best friend – also known as the face of the company – as well as a few other important people in my personal life will be inviting this person over for an early dinner this evening. If the test proves that we are related, we look forward to getting to know all about them.”

Her mouth stumbles in what I am assuming is shock. “ You’re just going to welcome them with open arms? ”

“ Yes. ” Maintaining eye contact isn’t difficult. “Because that is one of my choices , which are the only ones I am to be held responsible for.”

Monica sucks in a deep breath, nods, and resumes her media stoic presence to the cameras. “For those watching, I’m sure you’re wondering about the aforementioned person. Who they are. What they do. Where they came from.” Her nude pump bearing ankles cross. “Well, the potential long, lost heir, is me. ” She pauses for what I’m sure she’s envisioning to be a sea of gasps from those watching. “My mother Marzia Simmons passed away late last year after a lengthy battle with pancreatic cancer.”

According to what I read, it was brutal.

For them both.

I used to wonder what was worse.

The abrupt, unexpected death of losing a loved one, or the slower, longer agony of watching them go.

On one page, they’re basically here one moment and gone the next, leaving you with questions and what ifs, yet only memories of their life, while on the other page, when it’s paced out, you may be left with all the answers, no missed opportunities of time with them, but a haunting, hard to shake mental picture of their final days.

Truthfully, I don’t believe either side is harder than the other.

I believe both sides are difficult and painful.

Just different types.

“On her deathbed, she revealed to me a relationship with a man named Will Cox that she had kept hidden for my entire life. She explained how he was the most important man she’d ever had in her life and after her death – like a good journalist – I went in search of him and answers. That search is what led to me discovering that Will Cox was an alias used by billionaire, William Willard Wilcox.” Another opportunity is given for the audience to react. “Upon this finding, I extended my exploration and when the time was best, reached out to Wes to collaborate my deductions only to uncover he had no idea.”

Of course, she’s going to paint herself as the fucking saint instead of a snake in this scenario.

“We agreed to him and his team conducting their own investigation as well as the DNA test that was mentioned, which we will now be reading the results of.” Her hand lifts to make a summoning motion. “My assistant is now presenting me with the sealed information.”

The blonde from the other night wordlessly delivers her the envelope doing her best not to make eye contact with me.

That’s wise.

I haven’t quite decided her fate yet.

Raquel not only has multiple restraining orders against her regarding my family – and extended family – she’s lost her job and has been blackballed to the point that minimum wage won’t simply be a starting point but the only point she reaches for decades to come.

Based on the amount of pain and misery she caused me – and more importantly the love of my life – she should consider herself grateful I didn’t sentence her to death, a thought that did cross my mind until I realized I would be hurting an innocent child in the process.

Taking away their only real parent.

Practically orphaning them.

Abruptly.

Like I was.

The choice to let her live was certainly merciful and said mercy continued when a charity stepped in to help cover the cost of her daughter’s hefty medical bills – in their entirety – as well as provide cost-of-living funds to her for a few months.

Charities can be wonderful like that.

Particularly the ones I donate to.

She nods to the young woman in a dismal fashion prior to meeting my gaze. “You ready?”

As ready as I can be to have my family’s legacy destroyed in the press.

A cordial grin is forced onto my face. “Whenever you are.”

Monica victoriously smirks, slides her finger along the edge to open it, and smoothly slides out the results. “Antecedentcorp – out of Vlasta, Wisconsin – was contracted to provide a more objective test and testing facility given its location.” Her attention drops to the paperwork. “According to the highly accredited organization, Weston William Wilcox and me, Monica Leigh Simmons, are not genetically related.”

It's impossible to stop myself from leaning forward, certain I misheard her. “ Excuse me? ”

“The test says…” her jaw bobs in bewilderment, “that…we’re… not genetically…related.” My brow pulls together in blatant confusion as her watery stare shifts to mine. “I am not your half-sister.”