Chapter 10

C. J.

C. J. strode into the newsroom, yanking the strap of her satchel over her head as she made her way to her desk.

“Oh, look, everybody, Her Royal Highness is here!” Eddie the sports reporter yelled, glancing up from his laptop. He took a sip from his Big Gulp and grinned.

“No time for your crap today, Eddie. I’m busy,” she mumbled before waving her hand dismissively at him as she passed.

She had just come back from the state police barracks and now had to quickly file a story on a local bank robbery for the paper’s crime reporter. In exchange, said reporter had covered a chamber of commerce meeting chaired by Evan Murdoch that had been assigned to her.

“Why can’t you do it?” Mason, the crime reporter, had whined as she walked out of the newsroom hours ago. “I don’t want to go to that meeting. You’ve got to wear a tie to those things!”

“I have my reasons. Don’t worry about it,” she had halfheartedly explained. “I’ll pay you back with a doughnut and a cup of coffee later.”

The truth was, since that incident at the Medical Center a couple of months ago, C. J. had avoided the Murdochs like the plague. Evan Murdoch’s accusations and anger at her that day still stung. She had been called names by subjects before—many of those names of the four- and five-letter variety—but she had never been called a “parasite” before. She had never been accused of taking advantage of someone else’s pain. It had been way too much to bear and it left her shaken for quite a few weeks afterward.

I’m not a parasite, she would tell herself when she lay alone in her bedroom at night. I’m a human being. I care!

In fact, C. J. wondered every now and then how Terrence Murdoch was fairing. The last she had heard, he had become a bit of a hermit since the accident, as well as a raging alcoholic. She hoped the rumors about Terrence, like many of the other rumors in Chesterton, weren’t true.

C. J. tapped on her mouse pad and stared at the digital clock on the right side of her laptop screen. She only had about an hour or so to write this story. After that, she had to head to the mayor’s office for a scheduled interview about the new Chesterton business incubator. She refused to be distracted by nonsense, specifically in the form of bullshit from Eddie.

She pulled out her rollaway chair, sat down, and frantically flipped in her notepad to the quotes from Sergeant Mitchell.

“You’re back,” Jake, the managing editor, said as he stepped into the newsroom, holding a stack of envelopes, magazines, and folders. “And you’re just in time for the office mail.”

“Ooooh, how exciting!” Eddie exclaimed before twirling around in his chair.

“Isn’t it?” Jake said dryly. He tossed a stack of magazines onto Eddie’s desk. “Here you go, smart-ass.” He then walked toward C. J. and glanced down at a solitary envelope he held in his hand. “Hey, this looks official. You know many people in high places, C. J.?”

He handed it to her and she frowned. It was thick and made out of a parchment that you usually only found in papier and crafting stores. She recognized the gold seal on the back of the envelope instantly. It was the same seal she had stared at for most of her life but hadn’t seen up close in the past few years. Beneath the seal in scrolling blue script were the words Aston Ministries, Inc. with the headquarters address beneath it.

“Anything important?” Jake asked.

C. J. quickly slapped her hand over the seal and stared up at Jake. She forced a smile. “Uh, no! No. It’s . . . uh . . . just . . . just junk, probably. Thanks for bringing it to me.”

He stared at her quizzically, then shrugged before walking off to deliver mail to another reporter.

After Jake moved on to the next desk, C. J. gazed at the envelope again. Her hands were shaking as she ripped open the seal with her thumb and stared at the handwritten note that was folded inside of it.

You’ve been a bad, bad girl, Court. You and I have a lot of catching up to do. Meet me at my office at 10 a.m. Wednesday.

I’m guessing the people at your little newspaper don’t know who you really are, hence your new name. Unless you want them to know, you won’t think about standing me up.

—V.

P.S. If you didn’t want to be found, you shouldn’t have moved back to the East Coast. You know how Dad is. Not a smart move on your part.

“Shit,” C. J. muttered as she closed her eyes and balled the note in her fist. She ripped the envelope into several pieces before tossing both into her metal waste bin.

“What’s the matter with you?” Eddie asked. “Didn’t get an invite to the debutante ball?”

C. J. gave him the finger before turning back around to face her laptop.

She could ignore the note, pretend like she had never seen it, but she knew the writer well enough that he wouldn’t let this go ignored. He would follow through with his threat to let everyone at Chesterton Times know who she really was, and she had worked so hard to escape the scandal and drama of her past. No, there was no avoiding this. It looked like she would have to make a trip to the Aston Ministries Headquarters in North Carolina. It looked like she was finally heading back home.

 

C. J. slammed shut the door to her Honda Civic. She leaned her head back and squinted, holding up her hands over her eyes to block out the blinding light coming off the mirror-like exterior of the towering building in front of her. The building was one of many churches owned and operated by Aston Ministries. It was certainly one of its largest. The immense church was flanked on both sides by immaculate landscaping and a series of water fountains rivaling those found at Versailles. The church itself took up several football fields. It not only housed a sanctuary that could accommodate several thousand people, but also enough lighting, electronics, and pyrotechnics for a Las Vegas show. It operated as the headquarters of the religious conglomerate that had been founded by her father, the Honorable Reverend Pete Aston.

The sanctuary itself always looked amazing on television and her father took full advantage of it during his thunderous sermons, which were shown on cable as well as the three Jumbotron screens that hung over the pulpit. C. J. remembered being a young girl and sitting in rapture with the rest of the parishioners in the audience as she watched her father preach, feeling as if she was watching a grand performance. C. J. didn’t realize until she was older that she was watching a performance—the greatest performance of all—because there was no way her father was the sanctified man he pretended to be. He certainly wasn’t that man behind closed doors. She was sure his many mistresses would agree with her.

C. J. walked across the parking lot to a series of glass doors near the rear of the building that led to the offices of the Aston Ministries leadership. Her father’s office was here and so was her brother Victor’s. She would be seeing Victor today per his note instruction.

C. J. tugged one of the glass doors open and walked into the carpeted lobby. She paused and gazed around her apprehensively, hoping no one recognized her. It was a good chance no one did. She certainly looked different than when she had run away from everything she knew five years ago. She no longer looked like the prim and proper reverend’s daughter. No more expensive dresses and suits that were just the right length and cut to be the perfect mix between demur and attractive. No more pressed and artfully styled hair. Today she wore jeans and a T-shirt along with a casual blazer. Her curly tendrils were pulled back in a ponytail under a baseball cap. She pulled the brim of the cap low over her eyes in a futile attempt to hide her face.

C. J. stared at the receptionist desk. Behind the woman sitting at the desk was a flat-screen television showing one of her father’s sermons.

“Excuse me,” C. J. said softly, making the receptionist raise her head. “I have an appointment with—”

“Courtney?” a familiar voice called from behind her.

At the sound of the voice, she stilled. She slowly turned and found a man gazing at her.

Oh God, she thought with panic. He’s still here?

She had been under the misguided belief that he would have left the church, that the disgrace of what had happened would have made him move on to another flock. But no, Shaun Clancy was still here. And of all the people she had to run into today, it had to be him.

He was wearing a gray suit and blue tie. She knew that it was the European cut he preferred because it showed off the slim physique he had spent years perfecting in the gym and in track and field. A gold pendant with the Aston Enterprises emblem was pinned to his lapel. He squinted dark eyes at her, then blinked, as if he was seeing an apparition. His brown face creased into a frown.

“Court? Is . . . is that you?” he asked again, taking a tentative step toward her.

“Yeah, it’s me.” She pursed her lips and tugged at her leather satchel. “It’s great to see you, Shaun.” She smiled anxiously. “How have you been?”

“How have I been?” His face morphed from amazement to thinly veiled fury. He laughed coldly as he shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “Well, uh . . . let me think. I’ve been fairly good . . . considering how you left me standing at the altar five years ago.”

C. J. lowered her eyes. She should have anticipated this, but she had been avoiding Shaun and the mess she had left behind for too long. “Shaun, I’m—”

“Who sends someone a text fifteen minutes before their wedding, telling them they can’t get married? Huh? Who does that? Then, when I tried to talk to you . . . to ask you why you would do that, why you would walk out and humiliate me and break my heart, you refused to answer any of my phone calls or texts or e-mails.”

“I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.” She took a deep breath and raised her eyes, feeling shame and regret curdle in her stomach. “I know there are no excuses for what I did. But believe me when I say I didn’t want to hurt you. I had my reasons, but—”

“Finally,” he continued undaunted, taking another step toward her, “after basically writing you off for dead, I had to learn to move on. With a lot of counseling and prayer, I managed to do it. I started dating again. I fell in love with someone—a good Christian girl with a good heart. I was able to forgive you, Court.”

“I’m . . . I’m happy to hear that.”

And she genuinely was happy to hear it. She had wanted him to fall in love with someone else and move on. Shaun had been a sweet guy, an innocent bystander in the mess that had been her life back then. It pained her to know what she had done to him.

“I forgave you, Court . . . but I can’t forget.” He glared at her and she saw so much rage in his eyes that she had to take a cautious step back from him. “I will never forget that mess you pulled.”

She held up her hands. “Look, I said I was sorry. I know that I—”

“Sorry? Sorry!” he yelled, making the receptionist look up and stare at them in shock. “You think that makes it better?”

“No, I don’t. But I wanted to explain why—”

“I thought we had something! I thought we were going to be together forever! I was prepared to pledge before God that—”

“Pastor Clancy,” Victor called out, “not here.”

C. J. turned to find her brother standing on the other side of the lobby, looking at them. He was even more immaculately dressed than Shaun, with his gold cuff links and Prada loafers—the best that Aston Ministries had to buy. His stony facial expression made them both fall silent. “Not here. This isn’t the time or the place. All right?”

She watched as Shaun suddenly turned on his heel and stomped toward the glass doors. He yanked the door open before stalking off to somewhere unseen. Now badly shaken, C. J. turned to face her brother.

“Welcome back, Court,” he said, before walking toward her. He wrapped his arms around her and she stiffly accepted his embrace. “We missed you,” he whispered into her ear. “Good to have you home.”

 

“Have a seat. Would you like some coffee? Tea?” Victor asked as he strode into his sunlit office and she trailed behind him. She sat down in one of the leather armchairs facing the office windows that overlooked one of the property’s many gardens. “You used to always drink green tea. Is that still your thing?”

Victor didn’t wait for her to answer him. He suddenly turned to a young man with flawless skin and sculpted cheekbones who waited silently near his desk. The young man had been standing there when she entered, looking ill at ease, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He looked like he belonged in an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog with his tight-fitting polo shirt and khakis—not working in a ministry office.

“Brian, can you get Court some green tea, please?” Victor asked as he sat down in the chair behind his immense desk.

The young man blinked. “Oh! Oh yeah. Sure, I can do that.” He nodded, walked across the room and paused in front of the coffeemaker. He began to scan the Keurig cups.

“Not there, Brian,” Victor said, his fake smile tightening. “The tea is in the cabinet overhead. Remember?”

Brian blinked again, this time in confusion. “In the . . . in the cabinet?”

Victor slowly nodded. “The teacups are there, too.”

“Really, that’s okay,” C. J. said quickly just as Brian reached for the cabinet door handle. “I don’t want any tea. I don’t want anything. Thanks.”

The young man paused and turned to look at Victor expectantly, as if to double-check with him that it was acceptable for her not to have anything to drink.

“It’s all right, Brian,” Victor said. “Just shut the door behind you, will you? I’ll call you if I need you.”

“Sure, honey,” Brian said before getting a censuring glare from his boss. “I mean, yes, M-M-Mr. Aston,” Brian stuttered. “I’ll . . . I’ll be right outside.” He then rushed to the office door and shut it behind him.

“He’s new. Just started here a couple of months ago,” Victor explained.

C. J. nodded.

“It’s so hard to find good staff these days,” he said with a soft chuckle. He then adjusted a series of framed photos on his desk: one of his wife, Bethany, and the other of their son, Victor Jr.

“Especially in the places where you look,” C. J. muttered, making Victor do a double take.

“Excuse me?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” she murmured, not wanting to get into it with him. She focused over his shoulder at the water fountain in the distance, not meeting his discerning gaze. “I didn’t say anything.”

It was evident that Victor hadn’t hired Brian because of his office skills. Since she was a preteen, C. J. had heard rumors about her brother, Victor . . . how he snuck off to the city to dance clubs frequented by gay men, how he had dated men secretly for years, right under their father’s nose. His marriage to Bethany didn’t seem to stop his escapades. It only made him even sneakier, hence putting his boy toys on staff at Aston Ministries, Inc. She wondered how many young men who worked around the building had been recommended for a job by her dear, sweet brother, Victor.

“Look, you told me to come here today. Why did you invite me here?” she asked. “Nice touch with the letter, by the way. You couldn’t send an e-mail like a normal person?”

“You know me, Court. I like to do things with a flourish,” he said smugly, leaning back in his chair.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “My name isn’t Court. It’s C. J. now.”

“Oh no, honey. You are Courtney Jocelyn Aston. That isn’t going to change . . . no matter how many times you change your name, move to other parts of the country, or throw on those cheap clothes,” he said, gesturing toward her outfit. “You can’t hide who you are, Courtney. You thought you could just disappear and no one would notice? You thought we wouldn’t ever find you after the stunt you pulled?”

“I didn’t pull a stunt! I just didn’t want to go forward with a lie because Dad sanctioned it.”

Her father had chosen Shaun for her and had basically bullied her into marrying him. He had seen him as a second son and was grooming him to eventually take over as reverend of the church and help Victor head Aston Ministries someday. She had known her father’s plans and the role he had expected her to play in them—and she wanted nothing to do with it.

“You ran away from a church filled with three hundred people, Court! You left that poor boy standing at the altar. You drove off in Dad’s Benz, which he still considers to be stolen, by the way. You didn’t think you would have to answer for your actions?”

“I’d rather have run away than continue lying! I didn’t love Shaun. He deserved better . . . someone who really cared for him.”

Victor snorted with contempt. “Oh please. Spare me the melodramatics!”

“I’m not like you. I’m not good at pretending.”

Her brother inclined his head. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask your assistant, Brian?” she spat out.

C. J. watched as a myriad of expressions crossed over her brother’s face: shock, rage, maybe a little shame, then back to rage again. He rose from his chair and stalked around his desk so that he was standing in front of her. She sat upright, ready for anything.

If her father judged her with silent condemnation, Victor had always been the enforcer. He knew how to break a person, how to hit you where it hurt.

“All right, Courtney,” he said, snatching off her cap, making her hands fly to her head. He tossed it onto his ebony desk. “Let’s cut the bullshit.”

He sat on the edge of his desk and smiled at her, though she wasn’t fooled. Victor’s body practically radiated the message, “If I could wrap my hands around your neck, choke you right now, and not get caught, I totally would do it.”

“Do you really want to know the reason I asked you here today?” His smile widened. “I’ll tell you. Dad asked me to invite you. So, of course, the next question is, if Dad wanted you here, why not talk to you himself? The reason he gave me was pretty simple: He couldn’t stand to look at you.” Victor sneered gleefully. “Neither can Mom. They’re done with you, Courtney, or C. J., or whatever the fuck you want to call yourself these days! Your whole life you’ve been a spoiled little brat who’s never understood the meaning of family or sacrifice. Dad built this church from the ground up and all he wanted was his family’s love, support, and allegiance in that endeavor. But you were always willing to take and never willing to give back in return, weren’t you?”

“That’s not true,” she said, clenching her fists in her lap. “I just didn’t want to—”

“But they understand. Mom and Dad have accepted that you are what you are, Courtney. No one can change you. We get it now.” He held up his hands in capitulation. “But Dad does have plans . . . plans even bigger than Aston Ministries and we need to make sure you’re on board.”

Here it comes, she thought.

What did her family need her to do? What lies did they need her to tell this time?

“He’s considering getting into politics . . . a run for Congress,” Victor continued. “The Republicans think he has a real chance with black voters and conservatives. We don’t want your active participation in the family or the brand anymore. But we do need to know that if any reporters come sniffing around, asking questions about rumors surrounding Dad, surrounding us . . . you know what to say.”

“What rumors?” she asked with mock innocence. “I don’t know—”

“Don’t play fucking games with me, Court!” he bellowed as he charged toward her chair and clamped his hands down on both arms. His face was only inches away from hers. His eyes seemed to catch on fire. Despite herself, she started to tremble. “I’ve had enough of your shit! You know what rumors I’m talking about. Keep your goddamn mouth shut! If any of the press calls you and asks you questions, you tell them you don’t know. You tell them we’re the perfect family. Understood?”

She swallowed and nodded.

“Understood?” he repeated. “I want you to answer me with words. I want to hear you say it.”

“U-u-understood,” she stuttered, feeling her throat go dry.

Her brother abruptly pulled back from her, and she felt like she could breathe again.

“Good,” he said. “I’m glad we could come to an understanding.” He put back on his pleasant façade, stood upright, and buttoned his suit jacket. “So, are you heading back home today? Are you going to stop in town?”

She slowly shook her head and rose from her chair. She looked down at her hands. They were still shaking. “Uh . . . no . . . I’m heading back to Chesterton. I have to . . . to get back to work. I have an event to cover tonight.”

“Well, drive safely.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. She flinched without realizing it. “I’ll be in touch.”

I bet you will, she thought before rushing to escape his office.

She pushed open the door and immediately collided with Shaun.

“I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly, and his face instantly hardened at her words. “I-I’m sorry for running into you, I mean. I . . . I . . . I have to go,” she whispered.

She then ran toward the lobby, not looking back.