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But no. No no no.
Somethingtells mebe damned. I wasn’t falling into the same trap again. The same cycle. The same tired situation of being manipulated by men who wanted what I didn’t want to give. I’d lived this once before, and I didn’t want to be the same scared twenty-two-year-old. For God’s sake, I wanted to believe that I had learned something. That I had grown a spine. That I could make a choice that benefitedme, and things would be okay.
My nostrils flared. I stepped so close I could have kissed him. But there would never be any of that anymore. “Fuck. You.”
I turned on my heel before I could think better of it, snatched up my briefcase and stormed out of the restaurant. I didn’t care that I left a wake so angry I could have capsized a ship. I didn’t care that I’d turned down Eli in front of curious eyes.
All I cared about was trying. Moving forward.
Grasping forsomething else.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
AXEL
“Good morning.” I tapped the small black microphone attached to the podium I stood in front of. A sea of eyes looked up at me, bright stage lights making me squint. We’d called for an emergency press conference in the huge conference space of a nearby hotel—neutral ground. My voice floated magnified through the room. “We’re ready to begin.”
My brothers stood solemnly on either side of me. This was our first public reaction to the allegations that had surfaced inBig Apple Mag, three days after the story had hit. We’d needed every second of those three days to investigate, contact lawyers, and craft our response.
And here we were. Ready, if not a little fucking terrified.
“Go ahead,” Damian urged me, nodding in the direction of the microphone.
I cleared my throat, trying to pick out any familiar faces in the crowd. The press conference marked the official start to the legal proceedings to convinceBig Apple Magto retract their story.
“Thank you all for coming. The three of us never expected to have to set something like this up, to address such serious and mind-boggling allegations. So forgive me if I sound…confused. Or maybe just exhausted. Because the past three days have been a whirlwind for us. One that I hope never to repeat.”
I drew a fortifying breath. Public speaking had always been easy for me. But it hit different when I was defending my reputation in front of a world that wanted to find a new villain at the top of every news cycle. It didn’t feel as lighthearted or easy when my brothers and I were clinging to the edge of the cliff of our reputation, and the journalists were the ones lifting the heels of their boots, ready to stomp.
I knew it didn’t matter what I said or did—I couldn’t reach everyone who had already made up their mind from what they’d initially read. But we also couldn’t let this go unaddressed. We’d already lost one of our most important clients, and every hour with this misinformation out there felt like a threat. Would others follow in Goodwyn’s wake now? We still didn’t have a clear reason why they’d left. We didn’t want to give others any hint of a reason to follow suit.
“As you all know,Big Apple Magpublished a very concerning article that directly affects our reputation. We're here to clear up the rumors and to set the record straight.Big Apple Magdidnotdo their due diligence. They didn’t even reach out to us for an interview, much less a comment, and we are responding appropriately with our legal team. But the crimes they incorrectly linked tousdid in fact exist in the history of the business that we recently acquired.”
Cameras flashed as I spoke, and the heat from the extra lighting we’d set up beat down on me. Sweat prickled at my temples, though I wasn’t sure if it was from the lighting or the heightened intensity. Trace shifted beside me as I reviewed the notes in front of me.
“We acquired the tech company Strata a year ago. Unbeknownst to us”—This was where I chose to fib. It was best not to admit what we had known about the CEO prior to purchase, nor what we’d ensured happened to him as a result—“the CEO of that company was actively involved in overseeing a sex trafficking ring. He used his business for a cover. When we integrated Strata into our operations, we completely restructured it, keeping only the brand name. Everything was reworked into our existing operations framework, which meant the illegal activities came to a screeching halt.
“As far as we know, the author based his reporting solely on rumor and innuendo. The facts of the matter are that we have never been involved in any trafficking operations. Not then. Not now. And not ever. In fact—”
I swallowed, my vision blurring slightly as I toyed with the idea of going off script. I wanted everyone to understand just how ridiculous this notion was.
“Axel,” Damian whispered, as if he knew what I was struggling with. Because he always knew.
I ignored him. “I’d like to share something with you all, just so you understand where I’m coming from.” I gripped the sides of the podium, surveying the sea of reporters.
“You don’t have to do this,” Damian said in a low voice, which I ignored again.
He was wrong. I did have to do this. We’d been on a rampage—barely eating. Practically living at the office. I saw Cora only to sleep and kiss her goodbye in the morning. We just wanted this to be in the rear-view mirror. And the only way to do that was to bare our truth.
“Our younger sister was a victim of human trafficking,” I said quietly, studying the wood grain of the podium. A murmur rippled through the room. “Her name was Kaylee, and she died when she was sixteen. She’s the main reason my brothers and I fight to ensure that stories like hers don’t keep happening. Why we dump millions of dollars a year into anti-trafficking coalitions. We have the receipts. But this journalist didn’t care to do his job. He couldn’t have made a grosser error. We’ll take questions now.”
Reporters sprang out of their seats, the volume of the room flipping from reverent to chaotic in an instant. Arms waved in the air as journalists vied for our attention.
“Mr. Fairchild! Right here please!” A reporter from CNN got my attention first. I pointed at her to speak, and the room quieted.
“There’s no record of any Kaylee Fairchild in the public information available for your family. Only you, Damian, Trace, and two parents—Gary and Deb—are listed. Can you explain?”
“Kaylee wasn’t a Fairchild,” I said into the microphone. “Damian and I were adopted by Trace’s family when we were eleven and twelve, respectively. We took our adoptive family’s last name. Kaylee was a Haynes.”
