Page 105 of Full Circle

Everything happened in lightspeed once we arrived at the hospital. A doctor and three nurses flew out to greet us, barking orders and ushering Celeste into a room. The words “rape kit” were used, making my heart drop to my stomach. It was all I could do to sink into a crouch on the floor outside her room and wait. Part of me wanted to pray to God, like Nana always talked about, because I figured right now it couldn’t hurt. But I didn’t know how to begin and he’d probably think I sounded like a whiner anyway.

Phillip arrived shortly after, asking me how she was doing. I couldn’t form coherent words to answer him, and for the first time ever, my assistant hugged me. It was oddly comforting. Somehow, Phillip’s strength gave me strength, and I was able to draw a shaky lung full of air for the first time that morning.

He stepped away to call Marla for me. I couldn’t handle being the one to tell her something else happened to Celeste. When he stepped back, he said she was on her way.

A nurse came out at around the two hour mark to let me know that they believed Celeste’s system crashed after the traumatic shock of her “incident.” Right now there was nothing to do but wait because Celeste had to wake up on her own. Her pulse was low, but steady.

I thanked the nurse and turned to Phillip in a daze. “Give me your news. I need something else to focus on right now or I’m gonna drive myself crazy.”

He pursed his lips. “I doubt what I’m about to tell you will prevent that.” Withdrawing the manilla folder from his briefcase again, Phillip flipped to whatever document he was searching for. “So I have a friend who works for LexixNexis, the legal site for judgment orders, and they pulled some paperwork for me. Doug Hendricks didn’t leave anything to Desiree. The house, the land, everything that he owned went to Celeste. And get this—The Comfy Cushion has actually belonged to Celeste since her mother passed away. It was left to her in trust with Doug and a woman named Suzanne Moffitt…any idea who that might be?”

“That’s Nana,” I replied distantly as my mind whirled to track all of this information. That meant that this whole time, Desiree had been leeching off my girl and Celeste didn’t even realize it. Desiree had no legal right to any of it. Given the number of times we had seen her speaking to Mr. Hendricks’ attorney at the hospital in Atlanta, I had a tough time figuring Desiree was unaware of this information. If anything, she must have gone to great lengths to keep the truth hidden from Celeste.

“What’s more, Doug Hendricks had a three million dollar life insurance policy. Turns out, the Hendricks family land is worth far more than we thought. Guess who was the beneficiary?”

“GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!” I roared. Kicking a chair down the hallway, several hospital staff members poked their heads out of rooms and the nurse’s station to check on us.

Phillip raised a hand. “So sorry! Everything’s fine!” he called out to them with a fake smile plastered on his face.

No, everything was decidedly not fine. Celeste had been killing herself at that diner for years when she should have been enjoying every moment she could with our daughter. Iris could have the dance studio of her dreams to practice in.

“And let me guess—somehow Desiree Hendricks was the one who received every penny.”

Snorting, Phillip nodded. “And blew through it. A gentleman at the bank was very accommodating in giving up Desiree’s financials. She’s insulted just about everyone on their payroll, apparently. The woman doesn’t have two nickels to rub together.”

I scrubbed a hand down my face. “Of course she doesn’t.”

How many more times could my world get flipped around in 24 hours? All of this changed everything, and judging by the paperwork in Phillip’s hand, we were accumulating the paper trail necessary to take her down.

Phillip’s face contorted as he opened his mouth to say something, then second guessed himself and shut it. His fingers were tapping out a rhythm on his hip, one of his tells that he had news he was reluctant to share with me.

“Out with it,” I snapped at him. We didn’t have time for games.

“Bank statements also show Desiree has been receiving a monthly payment of twenty-five thousand dollars…since roughly the time Iris was born.”

The entire world was gonna go up in smoke with my rage. Wrath like I had never experienced before made me murderous. It was difficult to breathe and control myself enough to reply, “Take me to him. Now.”

CHAPTER 50

TIME TO PAY THE PIPER

WESLEY

The plane ride to Atlanta could go down in the record books because I had never zoned out so much during a flight. Nothing could cool the rage burning through me. A small part of me—the little boy inside who still wanted to believe his father loved him—tried to rationalize the money away. I had no concrete proof that Benedict Madden sent that money every month, but my gut told me I was right. Desiree didn’t know anybody else who would front that kind of cash.

We went straight to Madden Enterprises when the plane landed. I realized on the way there that I was still wearing the navy sweatpants and tight gray t-shirt I pulled on to sleep in the night before, but it wasn’t like confronting my father while wearing a suit would change the outcome. His secretary informed us he was in a board meeting and could not be disturbed. I walked right past her into the boardroom and proved her wrong.

Sixteen of the executives for our company sat along the long wood table, including Denny Carmichael, technically my boss in the legal department, and Elle Fielding, the only female and head of public relations. She was the mastermind behind all those paparazzi shots and TMZ reports because she very quickly realized how much our stock went up any time there was a Madden scandal in the newspapers. I got played like a fool my entire life.

For some reason, that fact, along with her presence for this moment, irked me today. I had to give her a show for the world to see.

“Wesley, we’re in a meeting!” my father yelled. He sat at the head of the table with a stack of papers in front of him. A screen behind him cast stock numbers and revenue charts for the board to discuss.

“Tell me it isn’t true!” I roared. My hands were already in fists at my sides, veins popping out along my forearm in restraint from knocking Benedict’s teeth down his throat.

My father cleared his throat, glancing around the room at the congregation of eyes on us. “Let’s schedule a meeting later. You’re clearly too emotional to talk right now.”

Way. Wrong. Answer.

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