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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 Aloïs 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 Aloïs 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?”
