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“Then tell me.” I push myself back in the chair, trying to act unbothered.
“Alexander isn’t your father.”
I huff. “You know, I expected you to be hard, calculated, and mean when you told me who you are. But jokester never crossed my mind.”
He stares at me a moment. “No jokes, Carmen.”
“Okay.” I roll my eyes. “If he isn’t my dad, then who is?”
He tips his head then leans closer to the camera. “William.”
All the air leaves my lungs. Almost my entire life, all I’ve wished is that William was my dad instead of Alexander, but hearing it from someone like Ghost… I can’t believe him. This is probably just some ploy to get me talking.
“Sure, and the sky is purple.” I laugh.
He hits something on his computer, and suddenly his voice echoes around me, coming from the laptop in front of me and speakers in the corners of the room. “Burly Bob.” He smiles at me with a wink. “Please come back and present Carmen with the evidence I sent you earlier.”
I try to turn in my chair to look at the door, but it’s pointless. I’m secured tightly. There is no moving, but within seconds, the door is opened again, and the man is back. He opens a manilla folder and holds it in front of my face.
First, it’s just a bunch of pictures. William with a beautiful woman, smiling, laughing, and embracing one another with small red numbers in each corner. They’re clearly dated, judging by how thick and brown William’s hair is.
I wonder if this was his wife. The woman he had a child with that he never spoke to me about.
She’s beautiful with long, flowing auburn hair, sparkling hazel eyes, and a thin frame with legs that seem to go on for miles.
I’m not done admiring her beauty when he flips the page. I try to focus my eyes on the words, but it’s hard. It’s all bold, black font. One short sentence after another, almost bleeding together.
Mrs. Shultz can be seen with the alleged suitor here. March 10th. See picture #1.
Mrs. Shultz was seen leaving the residence with the alleged suitor. March 15th. See picture #5.
Mrs. Shultz met with the alleged suitor at the ‘Annalee Hotel’. March 17th. See picture #10.
Shultz? My mother.
I try to let the words sink in. I’ve never met this woman, let alone seen her, and now I’m being presented with shit that is painting her as a cheater? I want to combat it and say it’s all fabricated, but then I’d only be lying to myself. I knew there had to be a reason my father kept her existence so quiet. Why he never talked about her or reminisced. I wanted to believe it was because it was painful and he really was heartbroken, but I never imagined it would be a pain like this.
Now his dislike for me makes sense. I’m the child of his late wife, who had an affair. A constant reminder of what she did. That’s why I don’t have his name, and even more, why I never earned his love. I’m not his, and the dates from when the pictures were taken prove that.
The list goes on and on, detailing my mom’s every move for weeks. It’s the perfect report of her obvious infidelity. He flips to the next page, where bank statements, receipts, and GPS coordinates are organized by date, only solidifying what I already know.
“Where did you get this?” I ask, swallowing the lump in my throat. Now isn’t the time to cry or show weakness.
“I’m good at what I do. Everything you’ve been told up until this point has been a lie, Carmen, but I can help you see the truth.” He shrugs.
I shake my head, trying to process what he’s even saying. “You… you killed my mother?” The tears I’ve been holding back threaten to fall as my heart contorts with pain.
“Everything in this world has a price. It’s just a matter of who’s willing to pay it to get what they want. When I saw you walk out of that hotel room, I knew you had potential, and I knew there was a reason you hit my radar, yet again. Taking you so Cyrus will give himself up was selfish, but it’s not the only reason you’re here.”
I blink a few times and will my racing heart to slow down so I can wrap my mind around what he’s trying to get at. “You’re offering me a job? You just told me Alexander isn’t my father, that you killed my mother, and now you’re asking me to work for you?”
“Precisely.”
I focus on my heartbeat drumming in my ears and block out everything else. If I tell him I accept, I have a better chance of saving Cyrus. If I tell him no, I’ll probably end up dead. And then what about everything with William, Alexander, and my mother? I don’t have the time to even unpack all that shit right now. I can’t.
I have so many questions. So many emotions. I just want to escape, forget any of this ever happened, but I know I can’t.
“I—I can’t kill people,” I finally reply honestly.
