by Shelly Ellis
“I’ll survive,” he deadpanned and continued to type on his laptop. “What’s the story about anyway?”
“About how your father killed our brother.”
Evan’s eyes snapped up from his screen. He stared at his aunt, dumbfounded. “You’re joking, right?”
“Do I look like I’m joking? Everyone thinks Theo died in a car crash, which he did. But they also think the car crash was an accident, which it wasn’t. George caused it. I know he did!”
“Dad told me about that crash, Ida. It was an accident! He suffered some injuries in it, too. You can’t just throw around allegations like that! If someone else heard you, they’d—”
“Oh, no one would care!” she drawled, waving off his warning with a flutter of French-tipped fingernails. “Theo’s dead. George is dead. Life moves on! No one but me knows what really happened. I don’t even think George was aware I knew the truth!”
“Why on earth would my father want to kill his brother?”
“Because he hated him,” she answered plainly. “Well . . . I guess they hated each other. They always had since they were little boys! Our parents started it. Theo was the firstborn. The chosen one. He was the one who was supposed to continue the family legacy. Mama and Daddy acted like the sun rose and set over Theo’s hind parts! He must have thought so, too, because he was a shameless asshole to everybody. Always had his nose in the air. He used to pick on George when they were younger. He called George names, told him that he was weak . . . that he was stupid. Mama and Daddy ignored it. The bullying only made George work harder to prove himself. He did well in school and made top grades. He tried harder in sports and went all varsity. He got into Harvard. But all that drive . . . it changed him.” She frowned. “George was never what you would call warm or sweet, but he was sensitive. He could even be kind sometimes, especially when we were little. He used to stand up for me when the kids picked on me at school: the portly high-yella rich girl with the buck teeth and four eyes.”
Evan squinted. The only version of his father that he had seen most of his life was the shrewd businessman, philandering husband, and household dictator. He would’ve never described his dad as sensitive, let alone kind. Just the idea sounded so foreign to Evan that he started to wonder if Aunt Ida was talking about a different person.
“But over the years . . . over the years, George got tougher,” she continued. “His wounds started to callus over and the soft part of George just . . . well, it just disappeared. He got nastier. Not on the outside,” she quickly added before taking another drink from her glass. “He wasn’t like Theo, who was meaner than a rattlesnake. But George was sneakier. He would smile in your face and lie through his teeth. He’d say anything to get what he wanted. But if you were smart, you knew never to cross him or he’d make you pay for it. He’d make you pay for it bad.”
Now that was the George Murdoch Evan remembered!
“Look, I’ll admit Dad wasn’t perfect,” Evan conceded. “I’ll even accept that he may have hated his brother. But that doesn’t mean that he murdered him!”
“Will you let me finish telling my story? You think I’m lying, and I’m not! George killed him. I’m trying to explain to you why he did it.”
Evan loudly grumbled. “Fine,” he said, closing his laptop, knowing that any attempt to get more work done at this point was absolutely pointless. “Finish your story.”
“Well, anyway . . . I think George was willing to put up with Theo for the sake of family—at least he was willing to do it for a while. Even after Daddy made Theo the head of the company, which was a mistake.”
Evan had known that his now deceased uncle Theo had been the first CEO of Murdoch Conglomerated, but his tenure had only lasted two years thanks to his death.
“I knew George would’ve been a much better fit, but again . . . he wasn’t first born. He wasn’t Theo! Murdoch Conglomerated had a shaky start. It wasn’t doing as well as Daddy had hoped, but he refused to ask Theo to step down. That made George angry, but he stayed. He worked in the shadows and continued to deal with all the crap Theo dished out—that is, until Angela came along.”
At the mention of his mother’s name, Evan started listening again.
“You may not believe it, but your daddy really did love that woman, Evan. Don’t let how he treated her by the time you children came fool you! He adored her. She was sweet. She was beautiful. Angela Newberry could turn some heads, honey—even though she was as dark as bark!”
“My mom being dark-skinned is irrelevant to this conversation,” Evan said, annoyed at having his beloved mother talked about that way.
“Well, it wasn’t ‘irrelevant’ back then! Angela was pretty, but I don’t think she really ever thought she was. That girl never had any real confidence! It worked to George’s advantage, because he got a woman that was, quite frankly, a bit out of his league. But it worked to George’s disadvantage when Theo set his sights on her. He was more handsome than George. He could even be charming when he wanted to be. Angela didn’t stand a chance!”
Evan stilled.
“Oh, Theo didn’t really want her. He only wanted her because George had her . . . because he was married to her. He couldn’t stand for George to have something he didn’t. So he went after her. George found out what they’d done and . . . well . . . he lost it. He—”
“Are you trying to tell me that my mother had an affair with my uncle?” Evan chuckled in exasperation and shoved himself up from his chair. “I’m sorry, but I’m not . . . I am not listening to any more of this. I’m going upstairs. Close the liquor cabinet and the door when you’re done.”
“You don’t wanna hear the rest because I’m telling you the truth? Because I’m ruining the perfect image you have of your precious mama?”
“No, because I know you’re full of shit!” He rushed toward her. “My mother would never, ever do that!”
Angela Murdoch had always been the saint to George’s sinner, the angel to his devil. She endured her husband’s philandering and verbal abuse silently with a stoic resolve that left Evan speechless to this day. How dare Aunt Ida speak ill of her now! The old woman was obviously drunk.
“In all the years that Dad cheated on Mom with countless women, she never once stepped out of her marriage! She stayed true to her wedding vows! She didn’t—”
“But why didn’t she cheat? Why didn’t she ever try to get back at him? Why did she put up with his nonsense all those years? Just think about it, boy! Because she was ashamed of what she did!” she shouted. “Because George always reminded her of how she broke his heart and betrayed him—and how he’d forgiven her. He held it over her head like a sword all the years of their marriage. He wouldn’t let her forget what she’d done!”
Evan fell silent.
“And he wouldn’t let Theo forget it, either. I was there when they had their big fight. It was right here in this study,” she said, pointing to the floor and looking around the room. Her eyes scanned the bookshelves and coffered ceiling. “Angela and I tried to pull them apart, but George just kept punching him and kicking him. That was the night he threatened to kill Theo. He screamed it like some crazy person. I thought he had just said it in a fit of anger. I didn’t know he really meant it! But he did.” She furrowed her brows. “He waited until almost two years later . . . when we thought the dust had settled. I thought he had forgiven Angela . . . forgiven Theo. But that was George’s way, wasn’t it? Wait until you got comfortable. Wait until you thought he had moved on, and then he’d pounce.
“It was Christmas. George was all smiles that night. He seemed like he was in good spirits. Theo got so drunk that he couldn’t drive himself home, and George offered to do it. I watched them walk out together. I watched them from one of the foyer windows. Theo had his arm looped around George’s neck as they were walking down the driveway. Then when they got near George’s car, George’s face changed. His smile disappeared. He had this . . . this look in his eyes. I watched him shove Theo in the car
so rough that it looked like it hurt, and I just had this . . . this feeling.”
She lowered her eyes to gaze into her tumbler. A chill went down Evan’s spine.
“I knew something was going to happen that night. So when I got the call the next morning that Theo had died in a car crash and George had survived, I wasn’t surprised. I knew . . . I knew George did it on purpose. Theo’s body was so beat up and bruised that the coroner asked if Theo had been in a fight that night before the crash. I can’t prove it, but I think George gave Theo the worst beating of this life then crashed the car to make it look like it was all part of the accident. He killed his own brother without having to go to jail for it.”
She took another drink, and the silence stretched in his study. All you could hear was the tick of the grandfather clock.
“With Theo gone, George became CEO of Murdoch Conglomerated. He never had to worry about Theo going after his wife again. George won the battle in the end.”
Evan studied his aunt for several seconds before speaking again. “You don’t sound too sad about what happened to Theo. My dad murdered his own brother, according to you.”
“Of course, I was sad.” She paused to down the rest of her drink then set down the empty glass on his desk. “But even I could admit it was for the best. No one wants to kill their brother, but Theo left George with no choice!”
“So what are you telling me? What was the point of that whole story? Are you saying I should kill my brother just like my father killed his?”
“Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”
“Of course I have! But taking a life isn’t something I consider lightly—even if it’s the life of a son of a bitch like Dante!”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Boy scouts like you make me so tired sometimes.”
“Then you should go to bed,” he muttered before turning back toward his study door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ida.”
“You think you’re too good to do what needs to be done . . . to protect what’s yours?” she called out to him as he neared the study’s entrance, stopping him in his tracks. She pivoted in her chair to face him. “You think you’re too noble to take the necessary steps? But sometimes to get things done, you do all that is necessary, Evan. Sometimes you’re left with no other choice!”
“There’s always another choice, Ida. Good night,” he said as he turned back around and stepped into the hall, trying to shut her story and warning from his mind.
Chapter 21
C. J.
“Enough,” Terrence said before snatching C. J.’s iPhone out of her hand.
C. J. blinked in astonishment at her now empty palm. She turned to her fiancé to find him tucking her cell into his suit pocket as they strolled across their condominium’s parking lot.
“Stop playing, Terry! Give that back!” she whined, reaching for her phone, only to have him grab her hand and hold it. He shook his head and smiled.
“Babe, it’s bad enough you were on that thing the whole damn time we were at dinner tonight and driving back to our place. It’s ten o’clock! Who the hell are you emailing?”
“D-d-different people. It was . . . it was all wedding related, though,” she lied, hoping the excuse would work, but Terrence side-eyed her knowingly before stepping forward to open the building’s glass door.
“No, it wasn’t,” he said as she stepped into the condominium’s marble-tiled foyer and he walked in behind her.
“Okay, it was for a story, if you must know! But I’ve been trying to track down this source all week.”
“C. J., I’ve got work I could be doing, too, but this is our time together. You don’t see me answering press phone calls or checking my email, do you?”
“No, but Ralph has been on my ass all week for—”
“Ralph is always on your ass! You’ve been working there for damn near six months now and working pretty damn hard, I might add. He still keeps hammering at you! When are you going to accept that there’s no pleasing him?”
C. J. pursed her lips as they walked toward the elevators at the end of the hall, deciding not to respond to that one.
The longer she stayed at the Washington Daily, the less enamored Terrence seemed with her job and her editor. He thought Ralph was too hard on her, and he hated the long hours she spent in the newsroom. He could see how Ralph’s exacting standards had shaken her confidence, how it made her question whether she was even worthy of calling herself a real reporter.
She now watched as Terrence pressed the up elevator button. “You’re too good for this shit, babe. Look, maybe . . . maybe you should consider . . . I don’t know . . . going back to the Chesterton Times.”
C. J. instantly shook her head. “No, Terry.”
“I’m sure your editor would be more than happy to give you your old spot back!”
“That’s not even possible! They’ve already hired another reporter for my old position, and I’m not going to give up on the metro desk at the Daily. Do you know how hard I’ve worked to get here? Almost my entire career! This is important to me!”
“I know it’s important to you, but—”
He was stopped midsentence when she raised her hand to his mouth, shushing his words. “I can handle it, baby. I’m tough.”
He kissed her palm before lowering her hand from his mouth. “I know.” He then handed her back her phone.
Just then the elevator doors opened and they boarded. He pressed the number eight, and C. J. turned to face him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and gazed into his eyes.
“Let’s not talk about work anymore,” she said as the elevator ascended floors. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about—like our wedding! I cannot believe that in two weeks we will be husband and wife.”
“Getting cold feet?” he asked as he pulled her even closer.
“Nope. You?”
“Hell, no! I’m ready to get that ass on lockdown,” he whispered before reaching down and cupping her bottom with both hands.
“Why, what a romantic way to refer to getting married!” she cried sarcastically, then laughed.
He lowered his mouth to hers for a soul-stirring kiss that made her dizzy, that made her moan. Just then, the elevator dinged, signifying they were now on their condominium floor. She whimpered when he pulled his lips away from hers.
“I wish these elevator rides were a lot longer!” she lamented.
“Don’t worry.” He gave her rear end a firm squeeze and then bestowed her mouth with another quick peck. “We’ll continue this inside, Miss Aston. You won’t be sorry for the wait.”
She poked out her bottom lip, making him smile. The elevator doors opened a second later. When they did, C. J. winced at the ear-piercing scream that rocketed down the corridor and sliced through her ear canal.
They stepped off the elevator onto the eighth floor and turned the corner. When they did, they saw the source of the screaming: a redheaded woman standing near their front door, pacing back and forth, holding a wailing baby in her arms. The infant was writhing in its blanket, pumping its tiny fists. Its face was almost as red as the hair of the woman who held it. She looked disheveled, frazzled, and almost near tears herself.
“What in the hell . . .” C. J. whispered, staring at her.
“Terry!” the woman shouted, looking relieved when she saw him. She rushed down the hall toward them, bouncing the crying baby up and down as she did it. “You’re finally home. I’ve been ringing your doorbell over and over again. I thought I’d have to wait for you all night!”
At that, C. J. squinted in confusion. Waiting for him?
“Terry, do you know her?” C. J. asked, pointing at the woman and the baby, turning to look up at her fiancé to get a clue as to what was going on.
His face had gone slack and looked ashen. His mouth hung agape. He seemed to be rooted in the spot where he stood.
“Didn’t you
get my text messages? My voice mails?” the woman persisted. “Why didn’t you ever respond, Terry? I said I needed to talk to you! It was important! I had to track you down!”
“What’s . . . what is going on?” C. J. asked, staring uneasily between the two. “What’s happening?”
Shaken from his daze, Terrence finally looked down at C. J. again, as if he had suddenly remembered she was standing there beside him.
“I d-don’t know,” he stuttered before turning back to face the woman again. “Daphne, what are you doing here?”
“I told you that I had to talk to you! Look, I didn’t want to do it this way,” Daphne continued, “but you’ve left me with no choice. Duncan and I have nowhere else to go!”
“Duncan . . . who’s . . . who the hell is Duncan?” Terrence asked.
“Who’s Duncan? What do you mean, who’s Duncan? Our baby,” Daphne said, holding the wailing infant aloft, “your son!”
At those words, C. J. felt light-headed. The room began to darken, and she thought she might faint—crumble right there to the hallway floor. She reached out for the wall to steady herself and gulped for air as the woman, Daphne, continued talking, then yelling, at Terrence. Now she was in tears, too. Terrence was yelling right back at her. The baby continued to scream at the top of its lungs.
It was too much—the sounds, the emotions, and the chaotic atmosphere.
C. J. rushed past Daphne to their front door. With shaky hands, she inserted her key, opened the lock, and ran inside, slamming the door shut behind her.
She staggered across the darkened living room into their kitchen, bracing her hands on the kitchen counter, still struggling to breathe and calm her racing heart. Tears flooded her eyes as the realization of what had just happened sank into her.
Terry cheated on me. He had a baby with someone else. He cheated on me!
But she should have known this would happen. Terrence was never built for monogamy—not the high-flying playboy whose bed had once been filled with a revolving door of girlfriends and one-night stands. It wasn’t until his car accident that he had been willing to slow down to even notice a girl like her. Why had she believed he would ever be truly willing to settle down?