Bursting through the front doors of the manor, I shout, “Clark!” When there’s not an immediate response, I repeat at the top of my lungs, “Clark! Clark!”
This time when there’s no answer I give my face a good rub and storm off towards my office. Inside, I rip off my jacket, toss it on the couch, and hit the HH button on the phone, making sure it’s on speaker.
“This is Lauren, how may I be of service?”
“Clark,” my voice chomps incapable of making a complete sentence.
“He is in the main house, sir. Would-”
His face suddenly appears in the door way, and I end the call.
“You called, sir?”
Bracing myself against the edge of my desk, I take in a long, deep breath.
From the moment I left the office until I damn near ripped the handle off the front door, my mind has been reeling out of control. How is this even possible? How is this not all some sick joke just to watch me jump through hoops? Something for Monica to encourage the other press to laugh about while my company figures out how to fade me back into the background? Maybe I should just go back into the dark. Everything was less complicated. Flaws much less visible.
“I need to ask you something,” I start slowly, the words simmering on the tip of my tongue. “And I expect you to answer honestly. Understood?”
Clark stands up straight, folds his hands behind his back, and nods.
The bitterness of the words churns my stomach. “Did my father have an affair?”
His eyes do not drop from mine, yet he remains silent.
My heart pounds harder against my chest as I repeat the question, “Did my father…cheat on my mother?”
He doesn’t allow his posture to waiver. “I am not at liberty to comment on the subject.”
Rage ripples throughout me straight into my voice, “What the fuck do you mean you’re not at liberty to comment?!”
“I am legally not at liberty to say, sir.”
“He’s dead! Any legal documents at this point involved in the subject matter at hand are null and void!”
“They are not, sir.” His correction narrows my stare. “There is a clause that includes nothing to be permitted to be said regardless of his life status. I will find the paperwork if you wish for your legal team to verify my statement.”
My hand harshly curls around the edge of the desk.
“However, even if there wasn’t, sir, I still would not speak on the subject.”
“Excuse me?”
A gloomy glaze crosses his eyes. “Out of respect for your parents, I would not speak where it is not my place. And I am asking you out of respect for them to let this subject, like the two of them, rest in peace.”
“No!” I shout with enough velocity it shakes my entire body. “I wanna see that paperwork! I wanna see the extremes they were willing to go to cover this up! I want fucking answers, Clark! I expect fucking answers! I deserve to know everything! I deserve to know the truth!”
“The truth is simple, Weston.” His clipped tone shuts my lips tightly. “Your parents loved one another. They loved you. Let that be enough.”
“That is not enough!” Anger sends my hand flying, objects on my desk crashing to the floor. He glances down at them as if instinctually fighting the urge to pick them up. On a low rumble, I demand, “Go.…Find me that fucking paperwork and stay the hell out of my sight until otherwise commanded.”
Clark gives me a polite nod and disappears back the way he came.
Rather than deal with the mess on the floor I cross the room past the conference table for the stash of whiskey I keep on hand in the corner bar. I pop the lid to the crystal decanter and pour a portion of the amber liquid into the nearest glass. Without hesitation, I toss it back, anxious to have the burn soothe my unsettled nerves.
Who the hell does Clark think he is? How the hell can he protect someone who is no longer living? Someone no longer around to put this fucked up situation in better perspective than what it seems?
Another groan of irritation sails through my veins, and I pour a second shot into the glass. The distinct flavors coat my senses yet spiral my mind further down the rabbit hole of madness.
Does this company even rightfully belong to me? If I’m not the sole heir shouldn’t my sibling be entitled to something? Maybe not any of the shares, but a settlement? A million? Two? Ten? A billion? And if I write that fucking check, how does that make me any better than the man who cheated on my mother then locked the secret away for decades?
Thoughtlessly, I pour another round into the glass, dark memories of the relief I found at the bottom of the bottle calling to me like the somber, sirens they are. I gulp it down. And another. And another. And another until the questions in my mind are momentarily silenced.
I exhale a deep breath, eyes focused on the contents in the bottle.
My so-called legacy.
My so-called family.
Lies.
Everything.
Everyone.
Is there anyone I can trust? Has there ever been? Is the woman I love actually pregnant with my child, or is this another fucking cover up in the works? Does Monica indeed know more about my family…our family than I ever have?
Outrage slams into my stomach, and I hurl the glass at the wall. Liquid drags itself down the wall in a slow taunting nature.
I grab the decanter and prepare to drink straight from it when I’m interrupted.
“What the hell happened in here?” J.T. asks from the doorway.
Slowly, my body turns to face him, noticing his empty hands. “Where the fuck are the boxes?”
“In the car-”
“Why aren’t they in here yet?”
“I just walked in-”
“Then just fucking bring them in here!”
His mouth cracks open tempted to argue when a growl seeps free.
He turns on his heels to retrieve the information, and I steal several swallows from the decanter.
“Whoa, didn’t know it was this kinda party,” Brynley’s voice suddenly invades the room.
Lowering the decanter, I divert my eyes to hers. The concern in them only calls to me to drink more. To finish the contents. To hide from the possibility of being made an even bigger idiot than I already was today.
“Rough day at the office?”
I lean against the edge of the conference table, decanter sailing towards my lips. “You could say that.”
After I’ve had another sip, she cautiously questions, “Wanna talk about it? I mean I can’t drink with you but-”
“No.”
Brynley’s crystal stare poorly hides the pain of rejection. “What about the meeting with that blog bitch? Did she-”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
And until I have answers, concrete answers, there is nothing to say. She doesn’t need to know the details when I barely have them. She doesn’t need to see what a broken fucking family I apparently come from. She doesn’t need to witness as it tries to break me again…you know…since once wasn’t fucking enough.
She folds her arms firmly across her chest. “Do you wanna talk at all?”
“No.”
The word covered in resentment shoots her eyebrows into the air.
I ignore the nagging voice in the back of my head to let her into this situation. To treat her with love and remind her that regardless of whatever it is I discover in these old boxes or files or whatever the fuck is waiting for me to rifle through, I will never be like the man I looked up to. I will always be faithful. I will always love her with everything I have, even if it’s just tiny shattered pieces.
Disgust and disdain melt together in my mouth, and I quickly take another gulp to shove it down.
J.T. and Nathaniel stroll into the office with stacked boxes in their hands.
“On the conference table,” I command coldly.
“What is all of that?” Brynley quickly questions.
“It’s not your concern.”
My answer receives me a rightful scoff. “Since fucking when?”
“Since I learned my entire fucking life is one giant fucking tabloid scandal!”
J.T. attempts to calm me down, “Wes-”
“It’s fine,” Brynley says from behind gritted teeth. “Let the big bad wolf huff and puff and go fuck himself.” She offers me her middle finger and sweetly says to my best friend, “I’ll be watching Kirk and Spock argue while Wes silently stews over the fact he will not be boldly going where no other man shall ever go again any time soon.”
She sneers, spins, and stomps out towards the living room.
My best friend pins me with a look of disapproval. “Wes-”
“Not. Now.”
Tearing off the lid of the box closest to me with my free hand I am immediately blinded by the sight inside. On top there is a photograph of a much younger version of my father tightly embracing a pregnant woman who is not my mother.
Bile bumps into the booze causing me to immediately begin heaving.This can’t be real. This can’t possibly. Be. Real.