Chapter 4 The Murder

{TAYLOR}

There are those moments in one's life that seem like a whisper from a distance, and are usually brushed off as mere coincidences or fleeting thoughts.

In my case, one of those moments was when I saw the name George Wayne on a project file I reviewed a couple of weeks ago when I still worked as a secretary to my ex-husband, Rick Peterson.

At the moment, the name had come with so much weight like the one associated with a catchy headline and had caught my attention for no obvious reasons. Except that he was a prodigy. I had never met the man behind the name but I knew he was one of New York's finest and youngest billionaires.

Yet there was something about his last name that hit different.

Wayne.

The name dance on my tongue and burrowed into my head as if it belonged to me too.

Could all this be mere coincidences? Events interlinked but without any visible or concrete evidence that they were linked together.

I had been thrown out of my family when I was so little, too young to understand why. And the memories were all a daze now. My memories of all the people I could call my family were fragmented. The only thing I could recollect vividly was my mother's warmth and the sound of her musical laughter.

Even the family name had faded out of my memory and was now like a distant whisper. I remembered only faintly.

But yet when I met George, I was convinced more than ever that he was bearing my last name. And meeting with him, someone who was supposed to be a total stranger, stirred in me a deep longing to reconnect with a past I had been forced to forget.

And then there was also the old woman.

Her voice that night was soft yet persistent and laced with so much determination and certainty as she called me daughter.

But to be in any way associated with George Wayne was bad enough, let alone to be involved with his family. Why had this woman sent him back to look for me and bring me along? And why exactly had she called me daughter?

The thoughts nipped at me and would not let go. I tried to turn the ideas aside and attribute them to the mean tricks of an overactive mind but I failed. And I couldn't stop thinking either. The thoughts were always back gnawing at me, haunting me like a ghost.

Presently, I sighed and tried to shake the thoughts off my head as I followed George in silence to the hotel.

The sleek jet black SUV swung into the parking lot of the Planet Hotel, its sleek exterior glistening as the rays of light from the security lamps kissed it.

Knots formed in my stomach and I suddenly felt my eyes sting as I recalled the humiliation and betrayal I had faced in this goddamn hotel just two days ago.

I lagged, my hand clutching onto the door handle, my legs unwilling to move.

"Are you okay, Taylor?" George asked, worried by my hesitation.

I nodded.

"Are you sure?" he queried, raising an eyebrow.

I forced a smile and my tightened the more on the handle. "I'm fine...can we just go to a different hotel instead?"

"Why?" George asked, genuinely puzzled. "Is there a problem?"

I hesitated, debating within me whether to confide in him about the recent torture I had been to and how it all began in this hotel.

But would it even matter? The room was already booked and I was sure the hotel had a no refund policy. I didn't want to seem ungrateful and make him out that much money to waste.

"No, it's fine," I muttered and alighted.

As we stepped into the lobby, my discomfort grew. The same receptionist who had humiliated me the day before was right there at the counter and she froze when our eyes met.

The confident smirk which had been in her face was nowhere to be found. I don't know why, but she was obviously shaken to see me walk in with George.

I didn't need an apology. I didn't even want one.

George's sharp eyes darted between me and the receptionist and his brows furrowed.

"Is everything alright here, ladies?" he asked.

The receptionist nodded quickly and fumbled under the counter for a room key. "Yes, sir."

He faced me and I nodded. "Everything's alright."

The receptionist found the key she was looking for and extended it.

"Here, sir," she said.

He collected the key and still kept his suspicious gaze on her as he walked towards the elevator. As we stood in the elevator, I could tell that he was looking at me with equal suspicion out of the corner of his eyes.

As soon as we were out of the elevator, a staff rushed up to us.

"Sir," he said politely, bowing in half. "Your meeting with the CEO of Cumming's Holdings is in thirty minutes."

"Thanks, Jeff," George replied and gave the man a kind tap on the shoulder.

"Why do they address you like you own this hotel or something?" I asked.

He exhaled. "I'll tell you everything you need to know about me later. Trust me."

I wanted to refuse, demand answers to my question right there and then, but he sounded exhausted and fagged out so I decided to let it rest.

Grudgingly, I nodded my agreement and followed him to the elevator.

The ride was silent, the tension hanging over us like a thick cloud and between us like a fog. When we reached the room he had booked for me, I dropped my bag and stood like a fort in the centre of the room, my arms crossed.

"Start talking," I said, my tone resolute and icy.

George's hands went to his neck and he adjusted the nape of his collar. "Alright," he sighed, plopping down on a corner of the mattress. "There is no easy way to say this. But I own this hotel, three others in The Bronx, one in Manhattan and the CEO of Wayne's Enterprises."

I stared at him. Following the events of this week, I was no stranger to surprises but this revelation hit differently.

This stranger who had walked into my life just hours ago was not only a wealthy man. He was one of the most influential in the whole of NYC.

"And you think this wasn't worth mentioning earlier?" I asked.

"Well," he said slowly and shrugged. "When people get to know who I really am, they tend to act differently."

I laughed dryly, bitterly. "So what am I suppose to do with it now? Clap and say 'wow you're rich!'?"

"No," George replied. "I just wanted you to know the truth.

For a moment, the ice around my heart befan to thaw and dissolve. His sincerity was disarming and though I wasn't ready to forgive him completely yet, I put the conversation to rest.

"I'll have to go for my meeting," he said, glancing at his wristwatch. "But I'll come back as soon as I'm done and then we'll talk more."

..............

As I lazily scrolled through my phone, someone rapped on the door. I opened it expecting to see George there but it was the receptionist who had treated me so badly two days ago.

Her face was pale and she trembled.

"Miss, I wanted to apologize. I'm sorry, for how I attended to you the other day," she said softly. "I didn't know you were with President Wayne."

"And if I weren't with George, woukd that excuse your behaviour?" I questioned, folding my arms over my breasts.

She stuttered and fumbled for words to say for a while. "I'm sorry," she said contritely. "Please forgive me."

"You should always treat people with respect regardless of who they are," I told her and she nodded.

"So, you forgive me?" the receptionist asked, bright eyed.

I nodded and forced a smile just for effect. "What can I say? I don't keep grudges."

"Thank you so much," she said with a light curtsey and walked away.

I stared at her for a while and when she pressed the button for the elevator, and walked in, I closed my door and leaned against it, exhaustion and worry washing over me.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out..

It was a message from George.

~I'm sorry I can't come tonight. I'll come tomorrow and take you to my grandmother's~

I tossed the phone onto the bed, my thoughts swirling.

Who was George Wayne really?

And why did I feel like this was only the beginning of a much larger and complex story?