by Xavier Neal
I attempt to scrub my face awake as I continue to observe everyone's movements the day before Lauren passed out. I assumed searching through the footage from that day alone would be enough, but Matt reminded me it could've hit Lauren's system up to twelve hours before it took effect. To say staring at the video feed is monotonous would be drastically overselling the activity. But between work and cooking for us, it's the only thing I do. I have to find the person responsible.
“Uh....Wes?” J.T.'s voice causes me to pause and minimize the window.
“Yeah?”
“Um...” his voice nervously, shakes, a sound I'm not accustomed to. “There's something you need to know and....you're gonna hate it.”
Jokingly I say, “How many millions did you lose?”
The expression on his face doesn't waver. Usually, a comment like that would receive at the very least a warranted eye roll. He cautiously approaches my desk and replies, “None. It's not about work, though, now that you bring it up phase two is ready to start next Friday.”
I knew his investment idea had two parts. While the rest of the company was only aware of the first half, which worked out better at securing new buyers than we imagined, the second half is all about securing new customers in social settings. We've arranged for places such as Fire and Ash to hold a private, invite-only gathering where our product is the sponsor, all across the country. We'll repeat the secret parties, once a month at various locations for six months before deciding whether or not to keep the project going.
“Then what's it about?”
“Before I tell you, I just wanna say...This could become a good thing if you let it.” I tilt my head in question and he announces, “You're trending.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means a photograph of you and Brynley kissing was leaked online and has gone viral.”
My jaw cracks.
“It's making headlines on the news pages. Gossip sites. Just article after article pouring in from various outlets. All highlighting the photo, all speculating on everything from where you've been for the past ten years to who is the woman in the picture.” He briefly pushes his lips together before pressing on. “Apparently the publicity department at corporate is pissed and having a shit storm to deal with. The other investors have been relentlessly calling, demanding to know when you'll be in the actual office for a board meeting...”
My trembling hands roam around to the nape of my neck. Anchoring them, I breathlessly ask, “How did that photo get online?”
He tenses.
“Were we hacked? Because the only two people who had that picture were me and Brynley.”
J.T. grimaces.
“Tell me we were hacked.”
He doesn't.
“Tell me. Tell me that's what happened. Tell me you got on your computer, trolled the internet until you found a way to see who leaked that photo.” His further silence causes me to shout, “Tell me!”
“Brynley's computer.”
The information grits my teeth. “No. Not possible.”
“Yeah...” he whispers. After clearing his throat he informs, “An email was sent last night to Celeb Life Weekly with a brief message identifying who you were and why the picture was significant.”
Disbelief and shock stampede through my blood stream. I steady my hand just enough to pull up Google. Carefully, I type in the first three letters of my name to have several search filters offered to me all centered on my ten-year hiatus. Clicking the first option, disgust darts up my throat at the numerous articles for me to read. From first glance it seems not only have they exposed my present, they've dug up the past and turned me into the main attraction of a social media circus.
My eyes dart up and J.T. immediately states, “We could turn this into a good thing.”
“How the fuck is this in any way a good thing!” He twitches to reply when I shoot to my feet shouting, “I'm fucking trending, J.T.! My face is fucking trending! Everything I worked to protect, everything I built from the shadows is ruined! I'm a mockery! Instead of being the sole heir to Wilcox fortune who is locked away in solitude for some unknown reason, I'm now a freak show for everyone to fucking judge! For everyone to speculate about! And to top it all off the details of my parents’ death, something we worked damn hard to die down, are dancing around for the entire planet to discover with minimal effort!”
“Wes-”
I push past him and bark, “Fuck!”
“Wes!” J.T.'s voice trails behind me as I head for my bedroom, the last place I saw Brynley.
How could I buy into all her bullshit? How could I not see that photo was just a back door excuse to....show me off to the world like a rare fish?
Rounding the corner, I nearly run into Penny who is leaving. “Morning, Wes.”
“Is Brynley in there?”
She shakes her slowly. “I haven't seen her since last night.”
I glare. “When last night?”
“Um...it had to be sometime after the two of you had dinner. I think you slipped away to sign a few documents with J.T. and she popped into her bedroom.”
My eyes cut to J.T. who looks even more speechless.
“Is there a problem?” She asks with concern.
I don't bother replying. A savage cry rattles the ceiling before I pull out my phone to make a call.
“Luther.”
“Where is Brynley?” I growl with enough animosity in my voice, J.T. takes another step back.
“Visiting her mother in-” Ending the call I point a sharp finger at Penny. “Call Hurst to bring the car around. Now.”
He pleads once more, “Wes-”
“No!” My voice booms. “It's over!”
Storming off away from them, I swiftly cross the manor, hop into one of the golf carts and speed to the other side of the property. The moment I enter the servant's house, I see Matt swiping his card to Lauren's room. Hastily, I rush at the door, catching it before it has a chance to close.
The woman I can no longer trust hits me with a smile, “Well speak of the devil. We were wondering when you were going to come down and greet us.”
I stifle the urge to verbally tear her to shreds. “Can I speak to you for a minute in the hall? Alone?”
“Of course.” She lifts to her feet, kisses her mother on the cheek and says, “Try to convince Dr. Hamilton we can feed her Pop Tarts for breakfast.”
“No,” Matt argues at the same time he pulls out the device to take her temperature. “You shouldn't even have Pop Tarts. They're not nutritional.”
“But they're delicious,” Brynley teases before following me out of the room.
The moment the door is shut, the rage I had been holding at bay bursts. “How the fuck could you do that to me?!”
Bafflement shoves her back against the door. “Do what?”
“Post that picture!”
“What-”
“Don't!” I bark. “Don't bother fucking playing dumb, Brynley! It was our picture! The only goddamn photo I've taken in the past decade! It's on every news outlet and media fucking headline around the globe! It came from your fucking computer! The one I bought for you! How could you betray me like that!”
She doesn't scream or fight back like I'm used to. She merely tilts her head one side, which only solidifies my certainty regarding the situation.
“Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to see this fucking face,” I point to it, “dissected by every asshole with access to the internet! You have ruined my life!”
She folds her arms across her chest and sternly questions, “I thought I breathed life into your life?”
Frustration runs my fingers through my hair. “Posting that picture wasn't going to help me! All it did was fuck over everything! Now the world can see the monster that runs one of the world's oldest and most trusted brands!”
“You are a monster,” her voice cracks. “And not because of the disfigurement the accident caused to your skin, but because of the one i
t caused to your emotions.” I attempt to argue when she snaps, “You're a fucking monster because all you do is hurt the people who actually bother to fucking love you. My mother has been laying in a goddamn hospital bed on and off for months because she made the mistake of giving a fuck about you while you let a psychopath roam about! You're so self-absorbed with fear of what the rest of the world is going to think that you poison all the positive in your life. You're toxic. And I don't want you anywhere near me or my mother!”
Her words rip apart wounds old and new. A buried mix of shame and sorrow shake my voice. “Get out! Go to the main house, pack your shit, and get the hell out!”
“With pleasure!” She finally breaks.
Matt opens the door with deep concern. “What the hell is going on out here?”
Brynley doesn't bother explaining, she simply states, “Please call me if her condition worsens, Dr. Hamilton. But be very aware if it does, even in the slightest, I will call every cop I know who owes me a favor to storm the gates of this place like fucking Normandy to take her away from this hell.”
His jaw drops in shock and she marches off.
“What the hell just happened, Wes?” He quickly asks. “Where is she going?”
“I don't know,” I mumble, turning to face him. “And I don't fucking care. The further away from me, the better.”
Lauren sits up completely and asks, “What's going on?”
“Your daughter betrayed me,” I bite. “She destroyed everything I worked so hard to fucking protect.”
Lauren shakes her head. “Whatever you think she did, she didn't do Wes. I know my daughter-”
“Do you?” My anger continues to spiral out of control. “Because just a few months ago you were telling us how hard it was for her to even make time to see you! How do you fucking know someone you barely talk to!”
She cocks an eyebrow and takes a tone I'm not expecting. “Weston William Wilcox you will lower your voice and correct your tone, or Brynley will not be the only Winters to walk out of your life.”
The threat tightens my throat. With too much racing through my mind, I spin on my heels and stomp back to the front door needing fresh air. Or maybe I need space. I'm not sure what exactly it's going to take to get a handle on this travesty, but I know I can't do it until Brynley Winters is out my life.
I lean back in my office chair and fold my arms tightly across my chest. The muted flat screen I've turned to face continues rolling subtitles with the reporters discussing my sudden reappearance, the possible impact it'll have on the company, and what moguls my parents were before their unexpected death. Even on mute, the humiliation is deafening. Glancing back to the two laptops occupying my desk, I watch as Facebook post after post appears on the business page, the trending subject currently being talked about by 503 thousand people. Over half a fucking million people in the world staring at my imperfections. Judging my choices. Labeling me. On the other screen are one email after another, lined up expecting answers I don't have.
The knock at the door is almost missed. I somehow manage to move my eyes over to Matt who cautiously asks, “Would you like a pill for your anxiety?”
I tilt my head to the glass of whiskey on the desk. “That works better.”
“You promised us you wouldn't drink like that again.”
“It's only my third glass.”
He pauses before leaning himself against the frame. “Are you still torturing yourself?” When I don't reply he sighs, “It doesn't matter if you watch it or not, Wes. It happened. It's happening. You're going to have to stop hiding eventually. This is concrete proof.”
“It's not a choice that should've been taken from me,” I argue with a sharp tone.
Matt surrenders a hand. “I agree, but you honestly think this was Brynley's doing?”
“The photo was taken with her phone. The information came from her computer. The email from her account. It doesn't matter what I think what matters is what was proved. Just like Lauren's illness.”
“Just one more small question,” he continues a conversation I want to be finished with.
I reach for my glass to have another sip of the smooth, dark liquid. “What?”
“The two of you have practically been inseparable since you received Lauren's test results. When would she have had time to send the email?”
“Penny said she saw her slip into her room last night for a bit while I was off signing some papers.”
“Any idea what time?”
“What the hell does that matter?”
“Because last night, Brynley went and checked in on her mother. I was leaving, so she didn't have to swipe in. She stayed until I came around to check on Lauren again about an hour later.”
His depiction of last night doesn't settle well.
“Do you know exactly what time it was sent?”
“8:12.” I studied the words on the email. Every single aspect I could. The phrasing. The spacing. The fucking sentence structure. For over an hour I mindlessly studied the document hoping there was a way I could go back in time and un-send it.
“She was flipping through channels in Lauren's room. Check the footage.”
I put the glass back down carefully. “I don't need too. Penny said she saw her.”
“And I'm telling you she didn't. Just humor me and call Luther to check the feed.” All of a sudden, Matt's phone starts to ring and he groans. “Ugh. I have to convince one of the Vaughn sisters once again that I'm a doctor, not a candy store.” His comment is instantly followed with him answering his phone and heading around the corner.
I prepare to make the call, when Penny slips into the room, with a tray of treats at hand. “Brought you some snacks.” She approaches slowly eyes grabbing a glimpse of the television. “Didn't think drinking on an empty stomach was ideal.”
“Nothing about today is ideal, Penny.”
She nods sympathetically and places the tray down on the edge of the desk. “Is there....anything I can do?”
Even in a slightly drunken glaze the offer lacks appeal. “No.”
She walks around and braces herself against the edge of the desk. “Are you sure? They say sometimes you can find comfort in others.” Her hand lands on my arm to stroke it slowly. “I don't mind helping you find comfort, Wes...”
My eyebrows slide down.
“I don't mind giving you comfort either.” She leans her face towards mine intent crystal clear. “All you have to do is let me.”
Unsure of how to respond, I'm grateful when J.T. interrupts, “What the hell is going on in here?” Before allowing room for an answer, he snaps, “What the hell was about to happen?”
“Nothing,” I state firmly.
“Didn't look like nothing,” his anger is not only prevalent but increasing. “It looked like my best friend and my girlfriend-”
“Girlfriend?” We croak in unison.
“Girl I'm seeing-”
“You're seeing her?” I ask in bafflement.
“We're not seeing each other,” she insists, moving herself to face him.
“We're sleeping together!”
“You're sleeping together?”
“Slept together,” her correction widens my vision. “It only happened twice.”
“This week!” His heartbreak seeps out. “One of them being yesterday!”
“Y-y-yesterday?”
“Yeah,” he sighs, moving into the room. “Late last night, right after she asked me to have Luther delete some footage because she broke something and was afraid if Clark found out before she had a chance to explain he'd try to have her fired.” J.T. doesn't bother letting the information settle. “Wait, were you just sleeping with me to get close to Wes? Was all this shit over the past week just a way for you to....pass the time while waiting for an opportunity?” His face falls. “Did you ever really have feelings for me?”
