22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
A ntonio
I woke up to dark clouds hovering over me—literally and figuratively.
The sky threatened a downpour, and an uneasy weight settled in my chest. As much as I wanted to head straight to my studio apartment, I had to get to the office. Piles of paperwork demanded my attention.
For the umpteenth time, I dialed Kendra's number. Still no response. I hadn’t seen her in three days, and “missing her” didn’t begin to describe the ache inside me. Dad and I had taken a quick business trip to New Jersey, and throughout that time, I’d tried reaching her with no luck.
Tina, her best friend, wasn’t responding either, which only added to my growing anxiety. I’d considered asking Jake to check on Kendra, but he was away for a family event.
"Sir, I’ve spoken to the airport. No delays, despite the weather. The flight's still on schedule,” my assistant announced, holding my suitcase.
I nodded, forcing myself to look away from the window. “Has my father been informed?”
“Yes, sir. He’s already waiting by the car.”
“Tell him I’ll be down in a minute.”
I made one last attempt to call Kendra. No answer. Frustrated, I typed out a quick text before slipping my phone into my pocket:
“Babe, call me as soon as you see this.
My flight lands in two hours, and I can’t wait to see you.
I love you.”
The flight was a blur. My thoughts were consumed by Kendra. Our relationship was still in its early stages, but my mind kept drifting to forever. Lazy Sundays, exploring the city, building a life together—I couldn't stop thinking about what we could be.
The flight's monotony had been punctuated only by my internal countdown. I'd checked my watch every few minutes, willing the hands to move faster. Land, car, collect baggage – each step brought me closer to Kendra.
Beside me, my father went over business strategies, but I barely contributed. I nodded in all the right places, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Kendra. Why hadn’t she called?
By the time we landed, I was a bundle of nerves. One of our drivers stood waiting with a polite smile as we collected our luggage and slipped into the black sedan.
As soon as we slid into the sleek black sedan, my father immediately began scanning the news on his phone.
I gazed out the window, wondering where Kendra was and what she was doing. I still didn’t know what her other job was when she wasn’t working shifts at Molly’s diner. Every time I brought it up, she found a way to dodge the question. I should’ve insisted.
Glancing at my watch, I realized it was barely noon. I’d have to wait another six hours before I could catch her at the diner.
My father’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Antonio, we have a problem.”
I turned to him, frowning. “What is it?”
He handed me his phone.
My stomach dropped as I read the screen, dread creeping in.
When we pulled up to the company, a crowd of reporters waited outside like a storm. My father and I stepped out, and the chaos began.
“Mr. Michaelson! Mr. Michaelson!”
My father’s expression turned stony, and he gripped my arm. “Stay calm,” he whispered.
Microphones were shoved toward us. Cameras clicked incessantly, their flashes blinding. I raised a hand to shield my eyes.
Anne, a relentless reporter from ABS Broadcasting, led the charge, but she ignored me completely. “George Michaelson, can you confirm or deny the allegations that you murdered your business partner, Don Maxwell?”
My father remained silent. He’d warned me before we got out of the car not to say a word. Reporters twisted everything.
More questions flew.
“Antonio, how long have you known about your father’s involvement in Maxwell’s death?”
“Did you conceal your father’s crimes?”
“Will you step down as CEO amidst this scandal?”
“How do you think this will affect the company’s stock prices?”
"Is this a rival company's attempt to sabotage the Michaelson Corporation?"
"Can you comment on the authenticity of the recording released to the press?"
I kept my mouth shut, even as the questions hit like punches. I couldn’t believe my mother had secretly recorded her conversation with my father and leaked it to the press.
For years, Dad had let her do as she pleased, protecting her out of respect for their past and the family. But now, things have gone too far.
Anne stepped closer. “Antonio, isn’t it true your family’s wealth is built on blood money? That your father’s success came at the cost of his partner’s life?”
I scanned the crowd, desperate for an escape.
A camera lens hovered inches from my face, capturing every twitch. The reporters closed in, their hot breath on my skin.
My father’s security team finally intervened, forming a protective barrier and guiding us toward the building.
Inside, the police waited.
"George Michaelson," one officer said, his voice firm, "you're under arrest for the alleged murder of Don Maxwell.”
My father’s face betrayed no emotion, but tension coiled inside him.
“You have the right to remain silent…” The officer recited the rights, and my father nodded, his movements slow, deliberate. I knew the evidence would clear him, but anxiety still gnawed at me as they cuffed his hands behind his back.
“Antonio,” my father said quietly as they led him away, “get Richard Langley. He has everything.”
I nodded, already dialing our family lawyer.
The scene outside was madness. Reporters swarmed as the police led my father away. Employees looked on, their faces pale with shock. Our family’s legacy, the company’s future, all hung in the balance.
I pushed through the crowd, phone to my ear. Richard answered on the first ring.
“Richard, it’s Antonio. Dad needs you now.”
"Antonio, I've seen the news," he replied, his voice firm.
“I’m already on my way.”
“No, meet us at the police station.”
“Understood. Fifteen minutes.”
Hanging up, I watched the police car drive away, the press chasing after it.
Anne was back in my face. “Antonio, what’s your response to the allegations?”
I ignored her.
***
Hours later, we stepped out of the police station. The tension that had gripped me all day finally began to ease. Richard nodded in approval. “It’s over. The evidence clearly exonerates him.”
As I pulled out my phone, I saw I’d missed eight calls from Kendra.
“Finally.” I muttered.
I wanted to call her back immediately, but I waited until we were outside the station.
Just as we reached the car, my father’s expression turned grim. “Antonio, there’s something you need to know.”
I turned to him, sensing the weight of his words.
“The tool Eve used to disseminate that incomplete piece of information... it was ABS Broadcasting Station.”
“It’s no wonder that crazy Anne lady was so hyper today. I’m sure she thought…”
“Actually…” my dad cut in, his face grim, “The journalist who leaked the recording…” He paused, his gaze locking onto mine. “…was Kendra Ryan.”.
My phone buzzed again, a shrill in the silence that had enveloped me.
I pulled it out, my heart sinking, processing what I’d just heard.
Kendra’s name flashed on the screen.
I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.
How could she?
I stared at the screen, unsure what to do. Things suddenly began to make sense. The way she reacted when I introduced her to Eve… Eve’s words about falling into the same things I condemned… it was all meticulously planned from the start, and I’d fallen for it; hook, line, and sinker.
"Antonio?" my father asked cautiously.
I barely registered his voice as I answered the call.
"Kendra?"
"Antonio, I’m so sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I swear, it’s not what it looks like. I can explain—"
I cut her off, my voice shaking.
"Explain what, Kendra?"