33 - Revelations

The silent auction continued as if nothing had happened, and the worst part about it was that my father had made it look like I was a drama queen who did this on a frequent basis. The police took his word over mine and even Nolan, Alex, and Luca’s.

It was a perfect example of how the criminal justice system favors abusers over victims. This … this was why most women didn’t report it when they were assaulted. Often, the men got away with it.

And my father had manipulated the police into not looking any further. Max, the golden child, could do no wrong in Dad’s eyes, and I was always the black sheep. Second rate and second best. I was so done with it.

I never expected Max to drug me, but I was most surprised that my father could spin the situation so completely in the opposite direction. Glaring at the two of them across the banquet hall, I held back tears. I would not break today, not in front of them. They would not break me.

“We’ll go to the police station and sort this out,” Luca promised.

“Why bother? We’ve already given statements, and my dad easily overshadowed them with his B.S.” I watched the two of them laugh about something in their little bubble of smugness.

“There must be something we can do,” he said.

“There is. We go after him for the embezzlement and money laundering, and we prove he was involved. At this point, the police think I framed him for the assault, just like they assume of a lot of victims, and there’s no way to change that right now. It’s their word against ours. But it won’t be so easy to throw out evidence of the other things.”

“Just … tell us what to do.” Luca squeezed my hand. “We’re with you on this.”

Nolan and Alex nodded their agreement.

“We need to continue speaking with our lawyers to start, and we need to have them help us with the charges and the lawsuit, so we can coordinate the two at once,” I said.

As the auction continued, I continued to think about Max’s words. “You’re not my sister. You never were.” The only explanation I could come up with was that he meant exactly what he said.

Why else would my brother attempt to assault me like that unless he wasn’t truly my brother? He’d have to be sicker than he appeared—which was a lot—to do that against to he was actually related to. I realized that maybe, just maybe, Max and I weren’t related at all.

Which meant that George Lush might not be my father.

The revelation shook me. It made sense, though. If my dad was not my real dad, then it explained why Max was always the favorite. It explained his awful treatment of me and why he’d married me off for business advantages.

A swirling mix of confusing emotions coursed through me like lead in my veins. Could it be possible? I knew by now that anything was possible. But this? It was both a perfect answer and an unbelievable one to a question I didn’t know I had.

But how could I test my theory? A DNA test would be the most reliable way, but getting the DNA sample would be the tricky part. A saliva swab would be next to impossible, but what about hair?

I read somewhere that the follicle has to be attached to the hair for a sample to be viable. There was no way I was getting close enough to pull a hair out of George Lush’s head, but there had to be another way.

“Attention, everyone. Time’s up, and it’s time to announce the winners of our silent auction,” the host said, tapping the microphone. “The winner of our vacation package to Barcelona is Hannah Schultz. Congratulations, Hannah!”

Mild clapping erupted in the room as the woman my husband screwed in my office walked onto the stage, her head high as she pretended to be humbly surprised.

I hated that woman with a passion. We had never gotten along; she’d hated me from the moment she started working as Owen’s secretary, and I can only assume it was because I was in her way.

She’d intended to sleep her way up the ranks in the company, but it didn’t work out that way for her. Owen banged her and dumped her, then he came back for seconds before dumping her once more. I have no idea why she didn’t quit, but rumor had it, she was sleeping with several of the executives in a bid to get a promotion.

“Next, the winner of the vacation package to Maui…. Oh, this is unfortunate. Owen won’t be taking that trip after … Well, anyway… The bid before him wins by default. Let’s give it up for Steven Nielson.” The host clapped, and everyone else awkwardly clapped along as Steven accepted the voucher.

“Now we have another vacation package,” the host continued. “Geesh, this company loves vacations. This time, it’s a ten-day trip to Sydney, Australia.”

I tuned out the host as Alex turned to me. “Fay, we’re going to go. Dad thinks he can work something out to go after Max and hit him hard, but he wants to look over the evidence again.”

Nolan nodded. “Yes, I may be on to something, but I need to make sure my suspicions are correct.”

“Alright. Keep me posted,” I said.

“We will,” Alex assured me. Then he and his stepdad left, which meant I was alone with Luca.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” he murmured. “I know you’re not so intensely focused on this silent auction.”

“I’m not,” I admitted. “Something Max said last night has been repeating in my head. He said I wasn’t his sister. It got me thinking. What if my dad is not my biological father?”

“I would hope not,” Luca said, “because your dad is a jerk, and that’s putting it lightly. No offense.”

“None taken. And yes, he is. I just never thought he could be acting that way toward me because he wasn’t my dad; I’d always thought he was just disappointed in me for not being a son, like Max. It never occurred to me that he might not be my blood at all.”

Luca leaned forward in his seat. “So, what do you plan to do?”

“I’ve given it some thought, and I think I need a DNA test. But how could I get a hair sample?” That was the biggest obstacle here.

“Easy. He’s got a well-kept beard. So, he must have a comb. There’s bound to be some hair on it.” Luca said it so matter-of-factly, like it was the simplest thing in the world. And perhaps it was the simplest solution.

“Luca, you’re a genius.”

“Yes. I am,” he agreed, smirking. For once, the smirk didn’t annoy me.

“My dad is here for the auction now. In fact, Max and Lucinda are, too. Their house is empty. Why don’t we go by and check his bathroom while they’re occupied?” I suggested. “I’ve still got a key.”

“Good idea. Let’s take your car, so it looks less suspicious. If we take mine, they will recognize yours as still being here, and it might be a red flag to them.”

“Like I said … genius. I can tell you’ve done this before.” I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m no longer living a life of crime, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t retain my skill set.” He raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Come on. Before I can talk myself out of it.” I grabbed my purse and stood to my feet. Luca followed.

“Does my criminal behavior bother you?” he asked as we walked to my Mercedes, sounding sincere.

“If I didn’t know you, Luca, it would have, but because I know you, it’s not a deal-breaker.” I unlocked the car, so we could get inside.

“‘Not a deal-breaker?’ Does that mean you’re considering us?” He arched a brow.

I rolled my eyes at him. “You know what I meant.”

“No,” he said, “I really don’t. You’re hard to read sometimes.”

“Oh, uh …” What did I mean by that?

Luca smirked. “And now I’ve left you speechless. It’s okay. I’m going to choose to take that as a yes.”

I still had no answer for that, so I muttered something incoherent under my breath as I backed out of the parking spot. We rode all the way to my family’s house—if they were my family—in companionable silence. When we got there, I parked on the road.

There was a camera on the front door, so we went around the back to get inside. From there, it was easy to get into Dad’s bathroom and find a beard hair. We got lucky in finding one with the follicle attached, but I didn’t want to tempt fate by sticking around.

Next, I pulled out one of my own hairs, put the hairs in separate Ziploc baggies, labeled them, and we left. In the morning, I would take this to an in-person DNA testing site.

I dropped Luca off at his SUV right as people were starting to leave the auction. Before he got out of my car, he looked me in the eyes, his face serious. “I’m glad you’re okay, Fay. I don’t know what I would have done if …”

“Yeah,” I said. “Same.”

“I’ll text you. Keep me updated on how you’re doing. And remember, it’s okay to feel upset about all of this. Your feelings are valid.” Then he got out and got into his own car before pulling away.

I was left with a surge of conflicting emotions. His words touched me, and it opened a door for me to allow myself to feel. I drove home, letting the waves of shock, confusion, disgust, and grief roll through me until I parked and got in my bed. Then I let the tears fall.

They fell and fell. When they dried up, I was mad. Mad at my “family,” mad at the situation, and mad at myself for having fallen into it. But I was Fay Lush, and I would not be defeated. That was what I told myself as I fell asleep in my clothes, exhausted.

The next morning, I drove to a DNA testing site and handed over the samples. I may or may not have used my family name and a wad of large bills to expedite the testing. Now I had the results in hand, not an hour later.

I’d never been more hesitant to open an envelope in my life.

I sat in my car, unsure if it was better to do it quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid, or to build up to it. Finally, when I couldn’t justify delaying any longer, I tore it open.

There, in bold letters, was the proof. George Lush was not my father.

I didn’t know how to process any of the recent events. Everything was just too much right now. So, I decided I needed to forget.

I drove to The Naughty Night, the nearest bar that was also a strip club, and ordered a ton of drinks, downing them one after another. I succeeded in making myself forget, but I also succeeded in erasing every inhibition. In my drunken state, I pulled out a picture I always kept in my purse, one of my mom and me.

“I wish you were here to answer my questions, Mom,” I said to the picture. “You would tell me who my father really is, and you wouldn’t have let George treat me like this. Max wouldn’t even be in my life.”

Alex knew what it was like not to have a mother. I should call and talk to him about it. I picked up my phone and drunkenly dialed him. It went to voicemail, so I left one. “Alex!” I slurred. “My dad isn’t my dad, and my mom is dead. You should come down to The Naughty Night and talk about it.” Then I hung up, not giving myself too much time to ponder if the voicemail made sense.

I was going to drink my problems away and enjoy myself doing so. So, I ordered another drink. A lot of time passed, or maybe not a lot. But eventually, a blurry but obviously handsome man approached me. He had thick muscles that strained against his T-shirt.

“I didn’t call for a stripper,” I slurred. “But you’re a pretty one.”

“Geez, Fay, you’re trashed,” the stripper who sounded a lot like Alex said. “We need to get you home. Can you walk?”

The things he said sounded like they should make sense, but why would a stripper want to take me home? “You’re a strange stripper,” I said.

“She’s had enough,” the Alex-stripper said to the man serving my drinks. “I’ll take her from here.”

I frowned, but I didn’t have time—or mental capacity—to think about this new development before he led me away.