Scandal (A Dirty Money Novel)

by Isabella Starling

  "Are you that kid?" I asked, my narrowed eyes demanding an answer from him. “And do you have anything to do with the shit that’s been going on? You better give me a straight fucking answer, or we’ll call the cops right now and tell them everything we think about you.”

  The papers dropped from Alex's arms as he stretched his knuckles. Page after page of my father's documents flew to the desk and he rubbed his temples warily before finally raising his eyes to mine.

  "Asher, Chloe," he said in a soft, strangely calm voice. "I’ll tell you the truth, but please try to be discreet. I'd like my parents to be left out of this."

  We merely stared at him without saying a word, and finally, Chloe spoke up from behind me. "Is any of it true, Alex?" she asked quietly.

  Alex looked at me, and I saw the sparkle in his eyes, the hint of brown in his blue eyes that looked so much like my own irises.

  I knew the truth before he even spoke up.

  "Yes," he said. "You guys are right. You got me."

  Nineteen

  Chloe

  Holy hell.

  Did he really just say that?

  I stared at Alex and shrank back from him, my eyes wide and my jaw practically hanging open. Asher was clearly much harder to shock into subdued silence than me, and he took a step closer, one hand bunching into a fist by his side. “So you actually admit it. You’re really the other kid my mother ditched. And you…”

  His voice trailed off, and Alex looked back at us impassively. “Yes, I’m that kid. I’ve known for a while now, and my adoptive parents don’t know that I know,” he said. “But that’s all I’m admitting. I didn’t kill Catalina, for Christ’s sake. What’s with you two? You’re acting like an episode of Law and Order.”

  Asher took another step toward him. “Like I said, you had motive. She was rich, or at least had access to wealth, given how easily she seduced countless rich men. But instead of sharing any of that with you, she left you behind to be adopted out to some average family with barely a penny to rub together. That must’ve made you angry. Really angry.”

  I expected Alex to argue or at least look angry at the accusation, but instead he sighed and held up a hand. “Okay, guys, just wait. Let me explain.”

  “I’ll give you three minutes,” Asher said, his eyes narrowed.

  “That’s all I need,” Alex replied. “So look, I figured out I was adopted last year. I went to donate blood as part of a school blood drive and found out I was type A-negative. I knew for a fact my parents were both O-type, so I couldn’t be their son. I was shocked at first, and naturally I looked into it. I found my birth certificate, but it had been amended to include the names of my parents—my adoptive parents. Apparently that’s pretty standard with adoptions.”

  “So how’d you find out who your biological mother was, then?”

  “I spent a long time wondering who my bio parents could be. A really long time. One day I got to thinking about your father, Asher. Like you just said, he’s always been so good to me. He gave my dad money for me to attend the best schools, which I don’t think he did for other staff members, considering how that’s an extra thirty grand a year on top of a regular salary. He also always gave my dad huge Christmas bonuses for his work here at the estate, and as you know, my birthday is around Christmas.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So yeah, he always took a serious interest in my wellbeing and life. For a while I wondered if he was my bio father, so one day I got up the courage to ask him. He took me into his office and explained things. So obviously I now know that he isn’t my father, but he stayed invested in my life because he felt terrible for what his ex-wife had done, abandoning me like that. I still have no idea who my bio father is, obviously, and Robert told me I probably never will. Apparently Catalina didn’t even know who the father was when she fell pregnant.”

  He paused for a moment, and I frowned. “How did it make you feel to find out Catalina abandoned you?”

  “Honestly? It was the best thing she could’ve done for me. She wasn’t mentally stable, and even though leaving me like that was a really shitty thing to do, I’m okay with it because it led to me being adopted by two wonderful people. I consider them to be my real parents, even though they aren’t biologically related to me, because they are my parents. They’re kind, they wanted me in their lives, they love me, they care for me, and they’ve given me a great life. And of course, your father helped too, Asher, which I’ll always be grateful for. So I’m no killer. I’m actually glad Catalina abandoned me, because I got to have all that in my life, which is more than what most people can say. So if I ever ran into her anywhere, I would’ve thanked her, not murdered her.”

  My face softened as tendrils of guilt crept through my system. I was a prize idiot and a grade-A bitch. Aside from the awful fact that we’d brought up Alex’s adopted status about as delicately as a bull in a china store, we’d just accused him—a completely innocent guy—of murder. We could never take those heinous words back.

  “That…that actually makes perfect sense,” I managed to say, almost stuttering over how ashamed I was.

  “Mm-hm,” Alex replied, not meeting my eyes.

  “I’m so sorry we accused you of killing her. So, so sorry. It was stupid,” I continued. “I can’t imagine how bad we just made you feel.”

  He sighed. “It’s fine. I get it. You don’t want to think the killer could’ve really been your father, so you’re looking for other people to accuse. And the vengeful adopted kid makes a good alternative story. Little clichéd, but good.”

  Asher still didn’t look entirely convinced. “How do we know you aren’t just saying this? You could just be pretending to be okay with everything, when really you are angry. I mean, you seem a bit too understanding about all of this.”

  “Or maybe I’m just not an asshole who gets angry at every little thing,” Alex said, his tone turning a little frosty now. “Maybe I have the ability to stay calm and talk things out before totally losing my shit and jumping to conclusions.”

  That comment was obviously a direct dig at Asher—Alex had spent a lot of time here at Briarwood over the years, and Asher had never been particularly charming toward him.

  “Also, by your logic of an abandoned kid being the one who killed Catalina…well, it could’ve been you, Asher,” Alex went on. “She left you behind too. And you’ve always been an angry person, as far as I know.”

  As awful as it was, Alex actually had a point. Not that I thought Asher had actually done anything; it was just totally hypocritical that we were accusing Alex when it could’ve just as easily been Asher.

  Asher glared, and I touched his arm softly. “Asher, he didn’t do it,” I murmured. “He’s not lying. I can tell.”

  There was a long, tense silence, and then Asher’s shoulders finally relaxed. “Fine,” he said. “I guess we should let you get back to work.”

  “Again, I’m so sorry. Really,” I added, still wracked with guilt. “I hope we can still be friends, even though I’ve been such an asshole today.”

  Alex nodded and gave me a faint smile. “Sure,” he said, though I could see the stark disappointment in his eyes.

  He exited the room, and I sighed. “God, we shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions so fast. I feel like such a shitty person now.”

  “Don’t. We needed to know. And I still want to keep an eye on him. He’s not entirely off my list of suspects,” Asher said. “I mean, he is the abandoned kid, and he fits the profile of the person who attacked you in the alley that night. Looks-wise, I mean.”

  “He wasn’t lying, Asher. I really don’t think he did it. He didn’t assault me, let alone kill anyone.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. There’s definitely something more to this whole story, though.”

  “I know,” I admitted. I felt like we were missing something major in our quest to prove my dad’s innocence, but I had no idea what that thing was.

  Regardless of that, we were back at square one—if Ale
x didn’t do it, then who the hell did? Either I was wrong and my father was guilty after all, or worse…my other main theory could be correct.

  Maybe I really did it.

  I tried hard not to think about that as Asher and I stepped outside and went for a walk in the hedge maze to clear our minds, but it didn’t work. It was all I could think about now, the awful possibility that it was me who pushed Catalina. Me who stabbed her. Me who killed her baby.

  The more I thought about it, the more I started to remember new little fragments from that night; fragments which had been locked away until now. Just little things, like remembering the stairs creaking as I went inside the Fontenot house. Nothing helpful but still intrusive, given how I didn’t want to be thinking about that night at all.

  As I rounded a corner of the maze, Asher’s hand in mine, I had my biggest flashback so far, and I stopped dead in my tracks as the memory suddenly flashed in my mind’s eye, clear as day.

  It was a dead body, just below my feet. Catalina’s body.

  Her eyes were glassy, and she was splayed by the foot of the stairs in a dark pool of blood. I knew if I saw a dead body on any other occasion, I would scream and call for help, but in this memory, I did neither of those things. Instead I stepped over the corpse quietly and slowly headed for the door as if it were nothing but a speck of dust on the floorboards. It was like I was floating; my legs and feet didn’t seem to be moving properly at all, and yet they were somehow still dragging me forward, out of the house, out onto the street.

  That was where the memory ended.

  “Chloe? What’s wrong?” Asher asked, eyebrows knitted with confusion as he turned back to see why I’d stopped.

  I didn’t know how to answer that. How could I tell my boyfriend that I’d just remembered stepping over his mother’s body on the night she was murdered? How could I tell him that this new memory made it abundantly clear that I’d somehow been involved in her death?

  “Nothing,” I finally said, forcing a smile as I tried to stop my hands from shaking. “I just…I’m suddenly a bit hungry, that’s all.”

  Asher was about to reply when his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he squinted at a text message for a second before rolling his eyes. “Apparently Liam is on a really bad date. Wants me to go rescue him from it, seeing as I kinda owe him for blowing up his spot with you.” I gave him a weak smile, and he continued. “Wanna come? We could grab something to eat on the way.”

  I shook my head. “No, you go. I’ll just get something from the kitchen. It’s quicker.”

  “That’s true. All right, I’ll be back later,” he said, giving me a kiss on the forehead. “Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck. Tell Liam I said hi, and sorry about his bad date.”

  Asher smiled, waved and strode back the way we’d come, and I waited till he was gone before navigating my way out the other side of the maze. When I finally reached the house, I dashed up to my room and grabbed my phone. Within five minutes, I’d convinced Mercedes to leave her afternoon yoga class to see me, and she arrived half an hour later, clad in tight grey pants and a bright pink tank top with her ponytailed hair askew.

  “I’m kinda glad you interrupted me at the class,” she said. “The girl next to me wouldn’t stop farting during the poses.”

  Usually I’d laugh at something so silly, but right now I couldn’t. I barely had the stomach to speak. Mercedes finally seemed to register the expression on my face, and she dropped down on the bed next to me. “Chloe, what’s wrong? Did Asher do something again? I swear to god, I’ll—”

  I cut her off. “No, Asher is fine. He’s good, and we’re doing well.”

  “Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I just…I think you were wrong.”

  “About what?”

  “About not being a killer,” I said softly, unable to meet her eyes.

  “Huh?”

  I filled her in on what I’d remembered in the hedge maze, and her blue eyes filled with concern as she leaned forward and took my hand. “Chloe, no. You have to stop doing this. I don’t believe you’re a killer. Remember some of the psychology stuff we learned in junior year?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, I do. Sometimes false memories can exist. Like you think about something so much that your brain convinces itself it really happened, and you start having ‘memories’ of the event, even though it never actually happened.”

  I shook my head. “No. This isn’t like that. I was really there, and I really did step over Catalina’s body,” I said. “But why would I do that? Why wouldn’t I stop? Or scream? Or run out and beg the neighbors for help?

  “Because it’s not a real memory.”

  I sprang to my feet. “You don’t get it. You don’t understand the way this suddenly hit me. It came back to me like a fucking freight train. Trust me, it’s real. It’s not some bullshit false memory. I know it!”

  Mercedes stood up too, eyes flashing, and she put her hand on my arm. “Chloe, sit down. Just sit.”

  I did as she said, and she took both my hands in hers and looked me dead in the eye. “You’re my best friend, so I’m allowing you to act like a crazy person instead of just slapping some sense into you, but please hear me say this. You are not a murderer. Even if this memory is real, it’s just you stepping over a body. It doesn’t mean you killed her.”

  “What else could it mean? Like I said, if I didn’t do it, then why would I just leave like that?”

  She sighed and shook her head slowly. “I don’t know. I genuinely think this is a false memory, though. You’ve been through so much this last year. Your dad is in prison, and you’re desperate to make sense of that. So now your brain is just going haywire and trying to convince you that you did this, because you can’t accept the truth.”

  “What truth? That my dad really did it?” I said timidly.

  She nodded, and then her eyebrows furrowed. “I mean, I don’t know for an absolute fact he did it. I guess it could’ve been someone else. But seriously, Chloe, it wasn’t you. I’ve known you forever. You’re not a killer.”

  A wave of exhaustion suddenly washed over me, and I leaned back against the bedhead. “How do I make this go away?” I asked, picking at my nails. “Even if this memory is false, it’s still there, and I want it gone. Unless it’s real, in which case I want to know what the hell I did.”

  Mercedes sighed again. “Remember how I suggested you get a therapist?” she said. “I still think you should do that.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “But that’ll just confirm that I’m going crazy.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up. Having a therapist doesn’t mean you’re crazy. Almost everyone has one these days. My mom has two!”

  “Two?”

  “Yeah, the one she’s sleeping with, and the one she sees to discuss the affair she’s having with the first one.”

  “Oh my god! Does your dad know?”

  She shrugged. “I tried to tell him once. He didn’t seem to care, and he’s having an affair with one of the cosmetic chemists at the perfumery, anyway.”

  “I guess you’re right, then. I’m not the only messed up person in Claremont Bay.”

  Mercedes snorted. “No shit. Show me one person in this city who isn’t a little bit fucked up, and I’ll show you a meadow where pigs can fly.”

  I sat up straight. “Okay. I’ll do it,” I said. “I’ll see a therapist.”

  “Good.”

  “Maybe they’ll even help me remember.”

  “Remember what?”

  “That whole night, and everything that happened when I was at the Fontenot house. Fill in all the blanks. I’ve heard some therapists can hypnotize you, and that helps you recover memories from when you were blackout drunk or whatever. If that works I’ll be able to know once and for all whether this latest memory fragment is real or not.”

  Mercedes nodded slowly. “That’s true. Just be careful, though—hypnosis therapy can sometimes plant false memories,
too.”

  “But it’s worth a try, right?”

  “Yeah, definitely worth a try,” she said with a smile. “And you know what else is worth a try?”

  “What?”

  She leaned forward, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “I’ve always said distracting yourself with a guy is a good way to get past problems. And you said things are going well with Asher…”

  Her sentence trailed off, and she arched a brow at me.

  “You’re saying I should screw the pain away, like that old song says?” I asked.

  “I think it’s ‘fuck the pain away’. But yeah, basically.”

  “Never change, Mercedes,” I said, shaking my head as a smile spread across my face. “Never change.”

  She winked. “I won’t.”

  As much as I wanted to take her advice—mind-blowing orgasms could fix a multitude of problems—I couldn’t. Not now. I needed to deal with these horrible thoughts, these horrible memories, before I thought about jumping into bed with Asher for yet another steamy romp, because I didn’t need to be fucked by him right now.

  I was already fucked.

  Twenty

  Asher

  The wedding was steadily approaching, and the whole house was aflutter with preparations. If I had to hear ivory compared to champagne one more time, I might’ve legitimately lost my mind. Chloe wasn’t enjoying it either—the endless fittings for the bridesmaid dresses, the cake tastings, listening to several bands on repeat while her mother picked a favorite. It was obviously all getting on her nerves.

  Finally, the big day came. The wedding itself was taking place in a banquet hall at the Matteo Plaza, and afterwards, the reception was to be held in the same building with the bride and groom’s four hundred closest friends. How they’d actually managed to get to that number baffled me, but I knew better than to question Victoria or my father about it at this point.