Chapter five
1047 Words
Vincent
It was a typical Tuesday morning, or as typical as any morning could be when your father had just been murdered, your stepmother might be a killer, and the only woman you'd ever enjoyed having s*x with might not even be who you thought she was.
The ride to the top floor in the elevator took longer than usual. Every ding for every floor that passed sounded too loud for me. My reflection on the chrome doors looked like I hadn't slept—which I hadn't. I had tossed and turned most of the night, turning the message from the pathologist over and over in my head.
I stepped out when the elevator doors opened, crossed the hallway, and pushed open the door to my office, already bracing myself to be bombarded with messages of condolence from staff members and board members who were not actually concerned that Briggs Hearst was dead. All I really wanted though was coffee, peace, and a few moments to process the message I'd gotten from the pathologist the day before.
What I did not expect was a pair of long legs in black stilettos with red bottoms in the middle of my office.
She leaned slightly to one side, her legs stretched out like a supermodel posing, or perhaps an actress in a movie in that one office scene.
My hand stopped on the door handle.
She turned slowly around. She had chestnut coloured wavy hair, brown eyes, and olive skin.
My heart skipped a beat immediately.
The first thought that crossed my mind was Tiffany. I had no idea how she could have gotten in before me, but for a split second, I was sure that it was her. My eyes narrowed, and I stepped further into the room.
She was supposed to be in jail, so how the hell?
The longer I looked, the more I knew it wasn't her. The nose was different and slimmer somehow. Unlike Tiffany who still had a bit of warmth in her eyes, hers were very cold and almost lifeless. They were also slightly lighter in colour. I knew that I had seen those eyes before, but not here.
I saw them on stage last night.
"Good morning, Mr. Hearst," she said. Her voice was smooth and very professional.
My fingers twitched at my side.
"Who the hell are you?" I asked as I blinked a few times, standing in the room now, the door shutting behind me with a soft thud.
She smiled as though I had not just asked the question with suspicion dripping from each word.
"My name is Portia. Portia Turner. I was your father's personal secretary."
My eyes did not leave her face.
"That's not possible. My father did not have personal staff. He did not even take lunch with the same person twice."
She shrugged a little. Her blazer moved with her shoulders. "And yet, here I am," she said. "I am here to assist you through the transition process. You have been selected as one of the leading candidates to become president of Briggs Construction Incorporated."
My lips parted but nothing came out.
I stared at her. Every aspect of her face brought to mind someone I didn't want to be reminded of. Her features looked too familiar. I didn't trust it. And I definitely didn't trust the coincidence of a woman named Portia showing up in my office the morning after I watched another of her shoot a gun on stage.
"You look familiar," I said quietly, to myself.
"People say that a lot," she said. "They mix me up with actresses, models… sometimes even Tiffany. Your father's wife."
I looked at her more closely.
My voice lowered a notch this time. "You know her?"
She didn't get a chance to answer as the door swung open and I heard the clacking sounds of heels on the floor.
"Speaking of the devil," I muttered.
Tiffany walked in as if nothing in her life had changed. Her makeup was still somehow perfect, her heels clicked too loudly on the floor. Her hair looked freshly brushed and she definitely did not look like she'd spent the night in a holding cell, and I was starting to wonder if she had.
"Oh, good morning to you too, Vincent," she responded, not even trying to hide the sarcasm in her voice. Her eyes flicked over to Portia as if she already hated her.
"I see you've met my… doppelganger," she stated, folding her arms across her chest.
Portia turned to her and smiled faintly. Her expression did not change.
"You... Have a twin?"
"We hear that a lot. But no, we're not sisters. At all."
I looked at them both.
They were right. They were very identical that it was enough to constrict my chest, but the difference was there in the eyes. I rubbed my fingers together absently and glanced down at the ground before I glanced at them again. My mind kept wandering back to the theatre and to the gun. I wasn't sure anymore what I saw actually took place.
"I thought you were in a cell," I said to Tiffany after a beat of silence.
"Well, thanks to you," she spat. "I got arrested at the funeral. It seems your father's body is now evidence in a murder investigation. They tried to take him right there in front of everybody. And guess what? I fought it."
"Of course you did."
"I was bailed out an hour ago. Someone your father knew in the DA's office put in some help," she said. Her hand rubbed against her blazer as though she was brushing off something. "And since you could not be bothered to show up, I had to give the police something. I told them about your history with Briggs. How you two hated each other." If anyone has a motive, it's you. Look at the f*****g will."
I looked at her and sighed. I was tired of being in the company of liars and strangers who bore familiar faces, tired of not knowing what the hell was going on.
"So you threw me under the bus."
"If you're innocent, you don't have anything to worry about," she said. "Isn't that how it goes?”
- Writer
