Dreaming of a Hero (Heroes Series Book 2)

by Lyssa Layne

  Only a moment later the same gentleman that brought her the papers from the lawyer arrived. What was his name? Mark Elliott.

  He was told to go directly in by the receptionist. Less than five minutes later, the phone buzzed on the receptionist’s desk, and she answered. “You can go in now.”

  Cherie stood, took a deep breath and went to join them. As she entered the office, there was an immediate, audible startled gasp.

  Cherie turned toward the sound not knowing what to expect. Seated in a high back wing chair, the older woman she'd seen earlier held a lace handkerchief scrunched between her hand and mouth. Her other hand white-knuckled the arm of the chair. Above the hankie, two brilliant but very sad, steely-blue eyes were fixed on Cherie's face.

  The private investigator stood behind and off to the side of the attorney. The lawyer ignored the older woman's obviously shocked expression and moved around the edge of a highly polished mahogany desk to introduce himself. Extending his hand, he stared as he said, “Good afternoon, ah...”

  “Miss,” Cherie supplied.

  “Ah yes, Miss Michaels. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Jason Stafford.” He extended his hand.

  Cherie took it, mildly surprised at how his warmth comforted her. But his seemingly prying eyes did nothing to sway the contradicting uneasiness invading her mind and body.

  “I'd also like to introduce you to Mrs. Olivia Alexander.” He pointed to the elderly woman seated in the dark burgundy leather chair. “And, I believe you already know Mark Elliott.”

  Mrs. Alexander smiled the barest of smiles, but there was no harshness to her expression. She seemed—amazed. How odd—what the heck was that about?

  Cherie nodded, “It's nice to meet you.”

  “And you, my dear.” The old woman sniffed.

  Cherie glanced toward Mr. Elliott. He inclined his head in a quick, impersonal nod.

  The lawyer escorted her to the empty matching high back beside Mrs. Alexander. She took a seat.

  “Shall we begin?” The attorney raised an eyebrow then walked back to his desk and sat down. He cleared his throat as he opened a file folder and began to read, “I, Lawrence Alexander, being of sound mind and rapidly declining body, do hereby request my lawyer, Jason Stafford, to record the information I am about to reveal.”

  “Excuse me—” Cherie sat forward. “—but am I in the right office?” What was going on? She had no idea who the heck Lawrence Alexander was.

  The attorney looked up from his papers, “Yes, Miss Michaels?” he questioned, one eyebrow raised in a perturbed reaction.

  “I think there's been a mistake. I'm here to have you read the will of my parents, Nicholas and Carol Michaels. I'm sorry, but I have no idea who Lawrence Alexander is.”

  Mr. Stafford turned toward Mr. Elliott, “Didn't you give her the papers?”

  Cherie focused her attention on Mr. Elliott and answered before he could open his mouth.

  “Yes, he did give me some papers, but I assumed they were just the legalities turning my parent’s estate over to me as a result of their recent deaths.”

  Mrs. Alexander gasped. “Oh dear, I had no idea. I'm so sorry for your loss.” She reached out touching Cherie’s forearm then continued, “Jason, perhaps this isn't the best time. She obviously has no idea why she's here.”

  “Excuse me. Did I miss something?” Cherie's gaze ping-ponged between the three people who were all staring at her.

  Mr. Stafford stood and moved to the front of his desk, leaned back against the edge and crossed his legs as if he had practiced this stance many times.

  “If I understand you correctly, you recently lost your parents and believed this to be the reading of their will.

  “Yes, that's right.”

  “Hmm. Well, I guess there's not going to be an easy way around this, so I'm going to do the best I can.” He clasped his hands together and continued, “Mr. Lawrence Alexander is the late husband of Mrs. Olivia Alexander, the woman seated next to you. Mr. and Mrs. Alexander are your biological grandparents.” Jason paused to let his words sink in.

  Cherie sat forward in her chair, gripping the arms with white knuckles, eyes wide open, “I beg your pardon? My grandparents were Charles and Dorothy Childers and George and Roberta Michaels. I've never even heard of the Alexander's until this very moment.”

  “I'm aware you know nothing of the Alexander’s existence but believe me, they are indeed your biological grandparents. Nicholas and Carol Michaels are your adoptive parents.”

  Cherie stood up so fast she shoved the heavy chair back an inch or so back. “What are you talking about? I most certainly am not adopted!” she announced loudly, unable to hide the anger in her voice.

  “Now, Miss Michaels, let's not—”

  “Don't you Miss Michaels me,” Cherie snapped, glaring at the lawyer.

  “Hey, Jason, take it easy on the lady. You're hitting her with some pretty strong stuff and out of left field no less,” Mr. Elliott interjected in Cherie's behalf.

  Mrs. Alexander sat forward perched in her seat, then added, “Jason, let's do this another time. This poor young woman has already been through enough. We don't need to burden her any further right now. It can wait.”

  Jason let out an exasperated sigh. “It's not going to get any easier no matter when we do this. I suggest reading Lawrence's will so we can get through the preliminaries. If you still insist on stopping after that, then so be it.”

  Cherie crossed her arms and lifted her chin in defiance, determined not to be a part of this insanity.

  “You people are out of your minds. I am not adopted. Hell, I’ve seen my birth certificate proving it.”

  Mrs. Alexander stood and moved to Cherie's side.

  Cherie turned to face the older woman. “Mrs. Alexander, you've apparently suffered a loss as well. I don't mean to sound disrespectful toward you or your husband, but I'm not your granddaughter.”

  Mrs. Alexander gently placed a delicately gloved hand on Cherie's shoulder. “My dear, I know this is very difficult to comprehend, but please hear Jason out.” She scolded him with her eyes before continuing, “He may not have the most gentle of approaches, but he's only following my late husband's orders, I can assure you.”

  “Mrs. Alexander, I honestly don't see what this has to do with me.”

  Mark Elliott stepped forward at that moment. “Miss Michaels, do you still have the envelope I gave you on Saturday?”

  Cherie was busy pulling the sealed envelope from her purse even as she responded. “Yes, I had put it in my father's desk.”

  Mark flipped it over to see it was still sealed. “Well, if you had opened it, you would have read a copy of my preliminary investigation,” he said, then with a significant lifting of his brows, he pointed to the unbroken seal.

  Cherie managed to reply through stiff lips, “Investigation? Who were you investigating?”

  “You,” he said, a shadow of annoyance crossing his face.

  Cherie stepped back, bumping into the chair. She sat down with a thud. “Me? Why?”

  “Miss Michaels, are you all right?” Mrs. Alexander questioned.

  “Hell no! This is crazy, truly insane. Adopted?” Her defenses began to crumble under the weight of it all. She flinched as Mark Elliott spoke again.

  “As I said, I was asked to investigate you by Mr. Stafford. It was a request from his client, Mr. Alexander, on his death bed.” Mark answered, his tone patient nowas if he were speaking to a child.

  “I don't understand any of this.” Cherie's knees shook like a bowl of Jell-O. She allowed Mrs. Alexander to take her hand and hold it as Mr. Stafford took over the conversation.

  “On January 26th, I was called to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence Alexander. Lawrence had been sick for some time. His heart was failing, and he asked me to modify his will. He instructed me to add a codicil to include you, his only grandchild, as one of his heirs.”

  “We've already been through this; I'm not his grandchild.” She
sighed in exasperation.

  “If I may continue,” Jason stated sharply, impatiently waiting for her to acknowledge his request.

  Cherie glared and fluttered a hand toward him. “Oh, by all means, do go on,” she said, unable to keep the heavy dose of sarcasm from her voice. These people were nuts.

  “I used all the information that Mr. Alexander gave me to find his grandchild. After all, I knew nothing about you, and I've been around the Alexander's my entire life.”

  Mr. Stafford returned to his seat where he scanned his open file before speaking, “Mr. Alexander informed me that my father handled the legal side of your adoption. It took time to locate my father's files on this matter. They've been boxed up since his death. Upon locating the records, I promptly retained Mr. Elliott, to track you down.”

  The lawyer steepled his index fingers as he spoke. “It was Mr. Alexander's hope to correct the grievous wrong he felt he'd done to his only child many years ago.”

  “I still don't see how this relates to me?” Geez, was she trapped in a wild episode of her father's favorite Alfred Hitchcock show?

  “I'm getting to that. Between the documents I found in my father's files and Mr. Elliott's investigation, we discovered that this was a private adoption, not handled by an agency. Just to make sure I have this correct, your date of birth is October 2, 1990, correct?”

  “Y—yes, that's my birthday.” She nodded, dumbfounded. Wait. Anyone could find out her birth date, especially this shyster lawyer. Stay calm. Hear him out, then give them a curt goodbye and leave this insanity behind.

  The lawyer thrust his jaw forward in obvious annoyance before relating further details. “A female child was born to Mr. Alexander's daughter. Due to the mother's diminished capacity, the child was immediately taken and placed with Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas Michaels.”

  Oh, God. Her body stiffened in shock. Her ears began to ring. A wave of nausea threatened to expel her breakfast on the man's obviously expensive rug. Why did they always have to pick the color green? She swiped a thin sheen of perspiration from her upper lip.

  “It was Mr. Alexander who demanded that the Michaels’ names be listed on the birth certificate, to which the Michaels’ wholeheartedly agreed.”

  “No! It can’t be true. My parents would have told me if I was adopted.”

  “The records were supposed to be sealed upon completion. But, the documents were never filed in any records department because of a fire in the courthouse. It was assumed the judge had already signed them. However, we have since discovered no one ever completed the documents, nor were they ever recorded.”

  “But, if they were never completed, how is it possible I have a birth certificate? Wouldn't it have been issued after the documents were filed?” she asked with half anticipation, half dread.

  “It's a sad fact, but for the right amount of money, anything is possible.” Mr. Stafford’s response held a note of accusation.

  “Are you insinuating that my parents bought a fake birth certificate for me?” Cherie glared at the man who clearly knew nothing about her or her parents. “How dare he accuse them of doing something so shady? You’re a jerk!”

  Cherie took the embossed document Jason handed her and inspected it. She slammed it down on the desk. “This only tells me that a Desiree Alexander had a female child on October 2, 1990.”

  Mrs. Alexander cut in, “My daughter always disliked her name. She insisted we call her by another name. Destiny. You see my dear, you are Destiny's child.”

  “Oh—God,” Cherie whispered as Madame Zina's words rang in her ears. Cherie grasped the crystal around her neck as a dark cloud enveloped her, and she crumpled to the floor.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Cherie willed herself to remain in the safety of the blissful darkness. She fought courageously from returning to the hell that called her back. She lost her battle. A cool, dampness touched her forehead, but her senses were too dull to acknowledge what it was exactly.

  “Cherie...Sweetheart, come on, wake up.”

  Her cheek stung. Cherie heard the sound of contact and felt a stinging sensation on her cheeks, but was too numb to acknowledge it was her face being slapped.

  Her eyes fluttered but didn't open.

  “I think she's coming around.” She felt a damp cloth pressed to her brow then heard, “Sweetheart, wake up.”

  “Mom...is that you,” Cherie muttered softly, without a trace of strength to her voice. When her eyes finally opened, she stared into the concerned eyes of an elderly woman who looked vaguely familiar.

  She could clearly see concern and uncertainty in the woman’s furrowed brow. She felt a slight pressure and the squeeze of the hand that held hers, offering the only comfort she had.

  “What happened?” Cherie tried to sit up, but a new wave of nausea threatened her balance.

  Mrs. Alexander pushed her shoulders back into the sofa where she must have been placed after she fainted.

  “Relax Sweetheart. Please. Just lie still.”

  Cherie read the pained expression on Olivia's face just as she remembered her name. On recalling where she was and why, Cherie bolted upright. She swung her legs off the couch and picked up the damp rag that had dropped into her lap when she sat up. Taking the washcloth, Cherie washed her face and the back of her neck, slowly bringing her back to her senses.

  “Honey, are you okay?”

  “I think so.” Cherie tried to smile but failed miserably.

  Irritated at the delay, Jason interjected, “Look, Miss Michaels, I realize that this has been somewhat of a shock to you, but do you mind if we please continue?”

  Dumbfounded at the audacity of the lawyer, Cherie pushed to her feet. Though her steps were shaky, she made her way toward the lawyer. When she stood directly in front of him she unleashed all the anger she felt at the moment and directed it toward him.

  “Shock, you think I'm just somewhat shocked? First, you tell me that my entire life has been a lie. Then you have the nerve to say you understand that I'm a little shocked. How dare you patronize me?”

  “I wasn't patronizing you.” Jason stepped back.

  “The hell you weren't! Have you looked the word up recently? You'll find it somewhere between pathetic and prick. I can assure you I am neither pathetic nor am I a prick. But you, sir, are both!”

  Cherie heard Olivia suck in a breath at her comment. Her cheeks heated up when she realized how brazen her words must have sounded to the elderly woman. She couldn't help but smile, though, when she heard the private investigator snicker.

  When she looked up at Mark, his mouth gave nothing away, but the twinkle in his eyes told her that he was having a hard time keeping a straight face. As her gaze met Mrs. Alexander’s, she managed to catch just the edge of an upturned grin before Olivia turned away.

  When Olivia turned her head back to the group, she begged on Cherie’s behalf. “Jason, please. Can’t we please just drop the matter? This has obviously been more than she can deal with right now. There is no rush, let's do this some other time.”

  Cherie looked at the woman who believed she was her biological grandmother. She smiled weakly, feeling a great deal of respect for the woman who was trying to protect her.

  “Mrs. Alexander, I appreciate your concern, but I can speak for myself.”

  Cherie turned back to the attorney ready for one hell of a battle.

  “Mr. Stafford, I realize you have a job to do for Mr. and Mrs. Alexander, but let me give you a little piece of advice. If you expect to be a successful lawyer, you have a lot to learn about human nature and how to treat people.”

  Cherie didn't give the lawyer a chance to interrupt her. She turned her back on him then walked over to the older woman.

  “Mrs. Alexander—I”

  “Olivia, please?”

  “Olivia, I apologize for my outburst. My mother always said I speak before I think, but in this case, he deserved every single word for his tactless behavior.”

  “Trust me. I do understa
nd, my dear.”

  Cherie could see the sincerity in Olivia’s eyes, and continued, “I can tell that you do, however, I also need to inform you that I just can't deal with this right now. I am so sorry for your loss, but I too have had my own. I'm barely coping as it is. My parents were my world, and now to have you all tell me that not only that they aren’t my biological parents, but that I was adopted and they never saw the need to explain the situation to me, is just more than I can take in right now.”

  Cherie meant to go on, but when Olivia Alexander took her hand in hers and held on tightly. Cherie could no longer speak, as tears welled in her eyes, she gasped.

  “Would you do an old woman a favor then?

  “What?

  “Now that I'm aware of your loss and believe me, my heart is breaking to see how all of this has affected you. I hate the thought of you going home alone after such a traumatic day. Is there anyone staying with you or someone whom you can stay with for the night?

  Cherie shook her head, unable to speak of how alone she was.

  “Would you come home with me and keep me company this evening. You and I can talk and perhaps between the two of us we can come to an understanding.”

  “Olivia, I don't think that's a good idea.” Jason interrupted. “You don't know anything about her.”

  Cherie glared at the man who was treating her like a criminal. “Gee, do you make it a habit of kicking wounded dogs when they’re down too?” Turning back to Olivia, Cherie drew in a deep breath, and let it out, “My best friend came to stay with me after the accident, but she had to go back to L.A. on Sunday, and I have no other family here. Are you sure you wouldn't mind?”

  “Olivia, I must protest.” Jason interjected.

  “Jason, I've known you all your life, and at this moment, I don't think I've ever been more disappointed in you than I am right now.”

  “I don't understand.” He scowled, “Why?”

  Olivia frowned before speaking to Jason, “Cherie is right, you are acting like a pathetic...ah...” The rest of the comment went unsaid.” Olivia turned, took Cherie by the arm, and escorted her right past him and out of Jason's office.