“Mom, what happened to Dad?”
“Huh? Alexandra, it’s four in the morning. Why are you calling about your father now?”
Alexandra clenched her hand over the article. “Did Dad steal from his clients?” She heard rustling on the other end on the line.
“Look, honey, what occurred years ago is over. They had the investigation and found he did commit some wrongdoing, but those actions do not diminish his accomplishments. It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s gone, and bringing it up will only hurt more people in the long run, your sister and grandparents included.”
“Mom, I’m asking because—”
“I don’t care why you’re asking. Some things are better left unsaid. You’re asking questions about Franklin, and your father, and none of it matters. None of it! Your father is gone, and you need to let it go.” She heard the click as her mother hung up the phone. What the fuck? Alexandra went through the rest of the contents, her curiosity piqued by her mother’s vehement denial.
Her mother, father, and what appeared to be a younger Franklin stared at her. Franklin stood between her parents, with his arms around both, smiling. He had aged extremely well. Almost too well. She thought he’d had some Botox when she first met him, but it was as though the picture occurred five years ago as opposed to twenty. It made it hard to reconcile they were the same man and caused a sliver of unease to run through her. A bill was next, dated five years back, from his plastic surgeon for a facial reconstruction. Why the hell would Franklin need a facial reconstruction?
The final item was the most troubling. Another article, but this one was about the Richardson property, her paternal grandmother’s home.
Gone Too Soon? Adult Star Commits Suicide Following Lover’s Death.
What. The. Fuck? All the salacious details of her father’s year-long affair with an adult film star, Trina Starr, who happened to be living in her grandmother’s house, detailed in black and white. According to several anonymous sources, they were slated to travel to Washington DC together, but he encouraged her to stay home at the last minute. She hung herself from the balcony of the house in the middle of a dinner party with friends, with a note to her chest which read I couldn’t live without him. She was survived by various family, including her two young sons who were in the care of her sister—Roman and Quinn.
***
Alexandra kept it together long enough to finish Franklin’s case. She’d won. He grinned like a loon beside her while the rest of the courthouse filed out. There were a handful of people, their faces blurred. She’d been numb the whole day, reciting her arguments by rote, thankful the case had been wrapped up the week before; they had just been waiting on the judge to announce his verdict.
“I can’t thank you enough, Alexandra.” Franklin gave her a side hug. Alexandra hunched her shoulders, leaning away from him. She’d had no sleep the previous night, combing the Internet for any information about her father’s death. She’d never questioned the story her mother told, too consumed with grief to contemplate any other scenario. When she started practicing, everyone told her how proud he would be, that she was continuing the legacy of excellence. What legacy lived on? The swindler, the adulterer, the lawyer, the husband, or the father who treated his daughters like queens?
“I wish your father could see this. In fact, I know he can.”
She studied him. Why did he continue to mention her father? She was sick of hearing about it. “How do you know my father can see this?
“Did you look through the information I gave you? Things aren’t always what they seem. A shame the way he died, in the crash, unrecognizable. Thank God they had the flight manifest, or they may have believed the wrong person died.” He winked. “Tell my love bug I said hey.”
Love bug. Her father’s nickname for Parker. Franklin grabbed his briefcase, knocking over the glass of water on the table, which shattered as it hit the floor. They both bent to pick up the pieces, a thousand scenarios running through her mind and each one crazier than the next.
“Shit!” Franklin’s left hand was wrapped around his right wrist while he held his bleeding right hand up. Alexandra grabbed the tissues from the desk, passing it to him so he could staunch the blood where he’d cut himself on the glass. “I can’t believe I did that.” She continued to gather the glass, careful she didn’t cut herself.
“Here, put the tissue on here.” She held out the paper where she’d placed the rest of the glass so she could walk it to the trash.
He nodded his thanks, reaching for another tissue. “I have to cut and run.” He held his hand up but she waved him off. He needed to see about his hand, might need stitches; she’d clean up the rest of the mess. He hurried out, leaving Alexandra to deal with it. She watched him go, her thoughts running back to what he’d said earlier. She was crazy; there was no way Franklin Williams was her father. Except he knew about her mother’s golf game, and the childhood nicknames for Parker and her.
She searched the Internet for her question, a wild idea going through her mind. It may not even be legal, but she wanted to know. She had her answer, calling the company she wanted to use, who gave her specific instructions and promised quick results. Pinching the clean corner of the tissue he’d left, she wrapped it into a piece of paper so she could submit it for DNA testing. Franklin Williams was not her father. Her father died in a plane crash, but the doubts Franklin planted were enough to make her second-guess herself. She was going to prove he wasn’t Marcus Kane, and then she’d move on, and this case would be a distant memory.
***
Roman held out his hands for her when she walked into his room at Club Valentine. They were halfway through their trial period, and so far she had no complaints whatsoever. Except for the other night when he’d been abrupt talking about the charity. And being friends with two children who were orphaned? Friends, my ass.
“Hey, Alexandra.” Roman kissed her, his hands twining in her hair and holding her still. “I haven’t seen you in a while.” Not since the other night, when he’d acted like a dick. He treated her like he’d been waiting for her as though nothing was wrong. She had been. She wanted answers.
“I’ve been busy,” she told him as he reached for the clasp of her jeans. “Why do you want the Richardson property?”
He stopped mid-snap. “Does it matter?”
She stepped back to gain some space, buckling her pants. “I believe it does. First, you were a dick to me the other night, and then I saw this article about your mother—”
“Trina Starr was not my mother. She was a porn star who happened to get pregnant twice. She handed her children to her sister without a second glance. Jared and Alina Valentine are my parents.”
She wrapped her arms around her chest to ward off the chill he projected. “Then why do you care about the house your biological mother died in? The cabin’s been in my family for generations; we go there every year. My father’s favorite place.” His hands rubbed the sides of her arms.
“I know. Trina loved it, too,” he whispered before moving away. “She came to us months before she died, prior to the accident, spouting all this nonsense about how your father promised to take care of us. He wanted to leave his wife and be with her. Make us a family. She took us to the cabin for a weekend of bonding. My mom told me Trina was my biological mother and I needed to give her a chance.” His laughter held no humor.
“She brought us to the house he shared with someone else—your mother—and they acted like it was normal. I saw the pictures of your happy family, and wanted to vomit. Here was the woman who’d birthed me. At worst, she was neglectful; at best, she was a distant aunt. And she wanted me to pretend it was normal to be having sex with a married man. And your father stood there as though he were doing nothing wrong, told me I’d have the father figure I’d always dreamed of, as though my aunt and uncle weren’t good enough. My adopted parents, who I called Mom and Dad.”