Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Ella
Sectrets - Omido, Ordell, Rick Jansen
R umors about weird parties at my house have swirled for years. But they were shut down time after time. Nothing was ever proven. It was more of a thing some journalists tried to make everyone believe rather than a police investigation.
But the truth was bound to come out at some point.
The women and men being used sexually at those parties were taken advantage of. Most of them were desperate for money, and my dad and his circle could offer a lot of it. Some of them I’m pretty sure didn’t even have a choice, but I was never certain of that.
My job was simple. I welcomed them, guided them to the room where they could get ready, and advised them to do what they were told.
I was never allowed in the rooms where it happened. I never saw it with my own eyes.
But I participated.
I didn’t know what I was taking part in when it started. My dad simply asked me to welcome people into our house and guide them to a room. Be kind, pleasant, and smile. That’s it.
My dad is not someone you say no to. That word isn’t in his vocabulary. He was never physically violent with me. I’ve seen him slap my brother Luke, but never more than that. No, the violence came from his soul. His words were often worse than a punch to the face. He’s decimated me and my brother’s self-esteem, reminded us daily how stupid we were. He managed to strip us of any sense of trust in our own intelligence. To the point that we both had to retake a school year. I’m a year older than Peach and Alex because I was too stupid to pass eighth grade the first time around. Which, in turn, didn’t help at home, proving my dad right.
A vicious cycle.
All I was ever good for was being a pretty face.
So when he said, “All I ask is for you to open a door and smile. Do you think you’re capable?” I didn’t question it. I just did it.
Until one day, one of the girls coming in asked me if she could leave before six a.m., and if she would still get all the money in that case.
It took me weeks to understand the extent of what he was doing. And when I confronted him about going to the police, he shrugged it off.
Welcome to the family business.
The only family business I had been aware of was the coffee chain empire he built from the ground up.
Go to the police, Ella. I’ll make sure they know every single person around me who was involved. Including you.
He roped me in, and he blackmailed me into staying. That’s the kind of man he is.
What I don’t understand is how he got caught .
The heads of dominant families who live in Stoneview united a long time ago, creating the Silent Circle.
Rich men made themselves even more untouchable by uniting under a single entity and they’re always protecting each other.
Which begs the question; who’s powerful enough to turn my dad in to the authorities and have them actually do something about it?
There’s no one in front of my house when I get there. I pull out my phone and look at Hermes’s picture again. It was taken right by the gates, with what feels like an endless number of FBI cars parked as if my family are dangerous criminals.
They are.
But every family in Stoneview is. They’re dangerous but not publicly violent. They prefer to leave the bloody stuff to the gangs and crooks they pay off to do their dirty business.
What strikes me, though, is the sun in the sky. The photo was taken during the day, and it was evening when they posted it, meaning the police were at my house earlier. My parents waited the whole day to have me picked up and still haven’t told me what’s going on.
They’re hiding things from me.
Of course they are. Let’s leave Ella out of everything until the last minute because we know she’ll have some sort of opinion. I’m easier to control when they keep me in the dark or blackmail me. Mainly, they didn’t want me here with the cops around. Who knows what kind of things I could spill. Gerald Baker doesn’t trust me, and I don’t trust him.
What is going to happen to me if my father got arrested? Because I assume the police didn’t leave this house empty- handed. What if my name is on anything? Will I get arrested too?
The second I pass the front door, Karl, our butler, runs to the back, telling me not to move. He comes back with my mother, who has tears running down her face and a handkerchief pressed to her cheek like a widow from a 1920s film.
“Ella,” she sobs as I walk toward her.
My poor mother. The day she married my dad, she joined the Silent Circle as a wife. That turned her meek, useless, na?ve. She is my living worst nightmare, but I don’t blame her for it. She married into what she thought was stability. Then she got pregnant and stayed for her children. But ultimately, she is nothing without the Circle or my dad. I don’t even want to think of what will happen to her if Gerald Baker goes away. I have a feeling the Shadows, the men of the Silent Circle, won’t leave her be. It’s not that easy.
Holding my phone in one hand, I open my arms to give her a hug, as if I’m the maternal figure in our relationship.
“It’s going to be okay,” I murmur, but before I get to hold her, she snatches my phone and gives it to Karl.
“No phones, Ella. You don’t know who’s listening,” she snaps before her face twists with pain again. “Oh, Ella.”
She grabs my hand, pulling me farther into our mansion. Beige and other neutral colors surround us, the walls only decorated with various paintings from the Baroque and Renaissance movements. It feels like a museum in here, with our family portrait towering over the entrance hall.
“It’s okay, Mom,” I repeat softly.
She shakes her head, and I notice the police tape on my dad’s office door as we walk past. They must have seized everything from that room.
“Ella…” She bursts into tears, a loud wail pouring out of her.
I take her in my arms the second we stand outside the large room we use as a living area. She’s too shaken to even step inside.
“Mom, he’ll be fine. Is he at the police station? Did he call Garcia-Diaz?” My dad’s status is like royalty. He doesn’t usually get in trouble, but should he, he’s got the best attorney in his corner.
She shakes her head. “Dad…” she tries again. I vaguely hear the door to the room behind her, but I’m too focused on her state to look up.
“Dad’s dead.”
That tears my gaze away from my crying mother and to my brother, Luke, who’s standing right there, his hand holding the now open door. The shock from hearing my dad is dead barely registers as my wide eyes jump to the man at Luke’s side.
Hands in the pockets of his dark gray pants, wavy caramel hair falling into his eyes, and beautiful features twisted in a sweet, unadulterated apologetic face; here stands my ex. Christopher Murray.