14. SOPHIA
14
SOPHIA
There is still one thing I want to know.
I have to find out what Ethan hid about Melanie’s sister. I draw the line at men hurting women, no matter what. There are no excuses.
We reach my front door, and I turn to him, looking at him squarely.
“There is one thing I need from you before we proceed. I know you don’t want to discuss it, but this is a deal breaker for me.
“What happened between you and Alexa Farrell?”
“Tell me,” I insist, pursing my lips.
“You don’t have any idea, do you? The reason I don’t like to talk about it is that the cheating—that was on her—at least at first,” he begins.
“You probably don’t remember Paul Anderson; he was a few years ahead of you in school, a classmate of Liam’s and mine. He had a thing for Alexa and even tried to steal her from me. Of course, he was no threat. I had the looks and the money.”
“Except one night, when I was out of town at a football camp, Alex got drunk at a party and ended up fucking Paul.”
“And you know that wasn’t the bad part. I mean, it was, but no, that bitch called me while she was fucking him, told me how much she was enjoying herself while I was out of town.”
“I bet she never told you or her sister that part, did she? I mean, being cheated on is one thing, but no one makes Ethan Blackwood a chump. That’s part of why it’s so embarrassing to admit it.”
I stand there, my mouth agape.
“Oh, she swore up and down she didn’t remember any of it. She was supposedly blackout drunk. And I was pissed off at Paul, but it seemed like Alexa was the one to initiate it.”
“It was wrong of him to try to have sex with her if she was drunk.”
“Sure, and I’m not saying he had no responsibility, but she was the one who made the phone call.”
I consider what he says. It does make sense, and if it was something Alexa didn’t remember, it would explain why she never told her sister about that part. It also makes sense that Ethan doesn’t want to tell that story.
“She says you called her stupid and slept with someone else.”
“What would you do when your girlfriend calls and she’s banging another guy? Not smart. And yeah, after that, I did sleep with another girl, two, in fact. Probably not the most mature way to react, but we were in high school.”
I draw in a deep breath. That’s quite an admission.
“You’re sure that’s all?”
“That’s it. Ask Alexa if you want. She’ll tell you she doesn’t remember, and maybe it’s true, but that’s the whole story.”
That definitely puts things into perspective. It also might explain why he seems so reluctant to allow me to get closer to him on an emotional level.
“What did you mean when you said on the beach that you’d ‘shut it down’ if you found out your parents were lying to you?”
He took a deep breath.
“Over the years, I’ve learned a lot of things. Between the military and my parents, I could tell you things that would blow your mind. One of the things I learned is that you can’t trust the media.”
“Just like the politicians, they’re in bed with some very bad people. Now, if this is as fucked up as I’m beginning to suspect, and I took a story like that to the mainstream media, it would never see the light of day, and it would put both our lives in grave danger.”
He briefly glances around, almost as if to ensure himself that no one was listening, then lowers his voice.
“I know a girl whose name is Yiva … Yiva Sarkisian. She’s Armenian but currently lives in the U.S. She runs a little underground news agency, which is not well known but enormously influential.”
“She publishes on the Dark Web, but other more mainstream outlets and news aggregators pick up on her stuff because they know she’s legit and verifies her sources.”
“If we discover that Whitmore is into something sinister, I’ll go to Yiva with the evidence.”
“Evidence of what?” I ask.
“I don’t want to say anything just yet because I don’t have proof of my suspicions. At this point, it’s pure speculation. I think there’s more to this than a simple custody battle.”
“Now you’re scaring me.”
“You’ll be fine,” he assures me. “Just act normal. If you agree to do what we planned, we’ll see Lena tomorrow and pretend to be the happy couple. Once we know more, we can decide how to proceed.”
“I’m in,” I declare.
“What?”
“I’m in.”
“I told you, I’ll give you a little time to think it over.”
“No, we’re in this thing together. You said as much yourself. Anything you’re involved with involves me, whether I want it or not. Luckily, I’m invested in this enough to see it through.”
“OK, we have an appointment to see Lena tomorrow at the Starbucks on West 7th at three p.m. Just so you’re aware, our lawyer set this meet-up a couple of weeks back, so she’s been in contact with him.”
“I don’t know what he’s told her or what he said she can and can’t tell us. I’ll pick you up here at two thirty. Just be ready.”
He gives me a peck on the cheek. I was hoping for more, but I guess … boundaries.
Closing the door, I make my way upstairs. I’m badly in need of a shower. Why not a bubble bath? I always think more clearly when I’m relaxed and could use the relaxation.
As I enter my bedroom, I instantly notice something is wrong.
My curtains are open.
I’m almost certain they were closed when we left.
Maybe Ethan opened them when he came up here? I don’t remember since I was still a little out of it, but I don’t think so.
I examine the window itself, but it’s locked just like always.
After a quick examination of the room, I notice everything seems to be in place.
All thoughts about taking a shower vanish and I’m filled with concern. Has someone been in the house?
But how, and why? I know the doors and windows were all locked when I left. I can’t see how anyone could get in.
I feel better knowing that Ethan seems to have a plan worked out if things are not as we were told they would be.
His suspicion that things might be worse than I suspect worries me. What could he possibly be hinting at?
I’m sure he was straight with me when he said that he knew the inner workings of the most influential people and families that would “blow my mind.”
He would be in a position to know.
Like everyone, I had heard the wild conspiracy theories about how the ultra-rich rule the world and the secret societies and all that nonsense, but now I’m beginning to wonder if there’s any truth to all that.
As I pass by my desk, I notice something. My Apple watch has been moved. When I left the house this morning, it had been sitting on top of the dresser where I always leave it. Now it was sitting on my desk, and I hadn’t moved it.
Someone has been in this house. I’m sure of it.
There isn’t much to be gained by searching the data on my Apple watch, even if they—whoever they were—could get into it. Some text messages and my call logs were about it—nothing incriminating, to be sure.
Mom and Dad are out of town at some convention, leaving me alone for the night.
Great.
I search the entire house from top to bottom, with a fireplace poker in hand; I don’t know what I would do with it if I did find an intruder—poke them? Who am I kidding?
When nighttime makes its presence known, the rain the forecasters have been promising finally appears.
The rain pitter-pattering on the window sounds like tiny fingers rapping on the window. But that can’t be; I live on the second floor.
I’m just being paranoid, but I grab the fireplace poker and keep it near me … just in case.