I bite my lip nervously, scared of what is in it. It could be nothing; it could be some other woman named Evans. I let out a nervous breath and open it, lifting it upside-down and letting the contents fall to the floor. There are a bunch of pictures and some papers. I pick up a piece of paper and see men’s names and figures. It’s a client list, and payments. I frown. It can’t be me; I haven’t had but one client so far. I toss it to the side and grab the picture. Surveying the photo, I see Miller, but he looks much younger, and a woman. A woman who looks just like me. I frown and flip the photo over, my heart a painful ache against my chest. ‘Gala of 2005, Miller and Maria Evans.’ My mother. I drop the photo, my breathing becoming chaotic. I grab another picture and see more of my mother and Miller. Tears drip from my eyes and fall along the photos.
I clutch the piece of paper that was in the folder and look it over, searching for her name somewhere. There it is, at the bottom. Maria Evans. My mother was an escort. My chest heaves. I’m sucking in large amounts of air, but I’m still not catching my breath. I grab another piece of paper on the floor and look it over.
It looks to be some kind of doctor form. My eyes trail along the information of white female, age, hair color, and cause of death is a gunshot wound to the head. My nose flares. It’s a coroner’s report. How did Miller get this? He’s powerful, and he has connections. Did he have something to do with my mother’s death? Why would he hide these in the back of his desk if he didn’t?
I let out a loud cry and kick the pictures and papers, trying to crawl up the door to get away from all the evidence linking my mother’s death to the estate.
I close my eyes and rock back and forth. How? Why? My mother is dead. My lips tremble with sorrow as the news of my mother permanently being gone hits my soul. I used to curse her for being absent when things were rough in foster care, but she didn’t leave me. She didn’t kill herself, and Miller knows something. The way my body reacts in fear when he’s around me, it’s alerting me of danger, even if I didn’t know it.
I stand on shaky legs and grab the photo of my mother. She was so beautiful. I look almost identical to her. It’s no wonder Miller looks at me the way he does.
My legs make their way down the stairs on their own accord, as if my journey to Landon’s office is on autopilot. Tears still stream down my face as I stare at the photo. I push Landon’s office door open and head toward his desk mindlessly. Laughter comes from a room adjoining his office and echoes. I pull open the drawer and my eyes land on the gun. I reach in with a trembling hand, gripping the heavy metal. The office door swings open, but I don’t look away from the weapon resting in my palm.
“Charlie.” I slowly take my gaze from my hand toward the voice, finding none other than Miller.
“Whoa, what are you doing with that?” he questions warily.
“Admit it,” I seethe, rounding the desk on shaky legs.
“I’m sorry?”
“Admit you killed her!” I scream, tossing the photo at him.
He leans down slowly and picks the photo up. Inhaling, his head tilted down, his eyes trail from the photo to me, looking vindictive.
“So, it was you who was in my desk,” he states, his tone of fear gone.
“Admit it,” I repeat.
“It’s a small world, isn’t it?” He chuckles. I lift my head with his comment. He admits he knows her, but did Miller kill her? The only thing I can remember from that day is that tattoo of wings. My eyes dart to Miller. He has a tattoo on his back; I remember seeing a piece of it.
“Take your shirt off,” I demand, aiming the gun at him.
“Now, why would I do that?” He raises an eyebrow.
“I need to see it. I need to know it was you before I kill you,” I threaten, thrusting the gun toward him.
The side door that contained the laughter opens, but I don’t look away from Miller.
“Charlie!” Landon hollers.
“Oh, fuck!” Roman shouts.
“What are you doing, Charlie?” Landon questions cautiously.
“He killed my mother!” I yell, sobbing. “I was only nine, but I remember the tattoo of wings,” I cry.
“She wants me to admit to killing her whore of a mother,” Miller confirms, giving Landon a look I don’t understand.
“You,” Landon whispers, taking on a confused tone as he stares at me like he’s just now seeing me for the very first time. I ignore it, my only mission centered on Miller and his tattoo.
“Take your shirt off. Now.” I cock the gun like they do in the movies, loading a round in the chamber. The clicking of it placing a bullet marked for my mother’s killer echoes through the room. I gasp, it actually worked.
Miller looks over at Landon and Roman, then he slowly starts to unbutton his shirt. My hands begin to sweat, causing them to slip from the gun. He pulls it off his shoulders and tosses it onto the floor beside him.
“Turn,” I growl. Miller swallows and spins, holding his arms out, the ink on his back on full display. My eyes widen, and my mouth parts as I shake my head. It just says ‘Blackwell’.
“That can’t be,” I mumble, dumbfounded. “No, it was you!” I reaffirm, pointing the gun at him. Landon walks by his father’s side and I swing the gun toward him, not sure what he’s doing. My nerves and inner conflict are making me erratic.