OLIVIA
As soon as I stepped out of the car, the flashing lights nearly blinded me. I froze, my hand gripping Enrique's arm tighter than I intended. Reporters swarmed us like bees to honey, their voices a chaotic mix of questions and accusations I could not fully process.
I had no idea where they had come from and when I cast a panicked gaze to Enrique, neither did he.
"Ms. Garcia! How do you feel about the allegations against your father?"
"Is it true Robert Baker built his company on drug money?"
"What do you have to say about his money laundering charges?"
I stood there, rooted to the spot, my heart pounding so loudly it drowned out most of their words. My brain struggled to catch up, each question hitting me like a blow.
My father? Illegal activities? Drugs? Money laundering? What were they even talking about? Where was this coming from?
Enrique's hand slid protectively around my waist, steadying me as I swayed slightly.
His grip on my waist calmed me a bit.
He leaned down, his voice low and calm in my ear.
"Keep your head up. Do not say a word to them"
I did as he asked because what could I have said?
I let him guide me through the mob but the reporters did not relent, their cameras clicking incessantly, their voices relentless as they hurled accusations and questions my way.
Each step felt like I was walking through quicksand, my legs was weak and unsteady beneath me.
Enrique pushed the restaurant door open, and the chaos was muffled instantly as it closed behind us.
The sudden quiet felt almost deafening. My breaths came out in short gasps, my chest tightening with each inhale. I turned to him, my voice shaky.
"What the hell was that?"
His jaw was tight, his eyebrow furrowed and his lips taut as he stared at the reporters out there still clicking away.
He shook his head. "I don't know, Olivia. But I will find out." He reassured me.
"They were saying my father…" My voice trailed off, unable to even repeat the words.
The idea was ludicrous. My father was a lot of things…stubborn, controlling, overly critical of me…but a criminal? No. That was not possible. I did not just believe it; I knew it. There had to be an obvious mistake somewhere.
Enrique gestured toward a secluded table. "Sit. Let me handle this."
I hesitated. My instinct was to grab my phone and call my dad, demand answers, but I realized with a sinking feeling that I had left it at home. I had no way of reaching him to understand what the hell was going on.
This was just supposed to be breakfast.
I glanced around the restaurant through my haze, realizing it was empty.
Had Enrique wanted us to have the place to ourselves?
"I need to call him," I said, my voice trembling. "I need to know what's going on."
"I will take care of it," Enrique said firmly. "Just sit down."
Reluctantly, I lowered myself into the chair, my hands clenching into fists in my lap. Enrique pulled out his phone, stepping a few feet away as he dialed a number. His voice was quiet but urgent as he spoke, though I could not make out what he was saying. I watched him pace, his free hand running through his hair, his body tense.
My mind raced, replaying the reporters' words over and over. Allegations. Illegal activities. Drugs. Money laundering. None of it made sense. My father was the most honest man I knew, and the last thing he was capable of was dealing drugs. I was sure of it. The man I knew—the man who had taught me to stand tall and value hard work—was not a criminal. He couldn't be.
Enrique returned a few minutes later, sliding his phone back into his pocket. His expression was grim, and my stomach dropped.
"It is all over the news," he said quietly. "Apparently, there is an investigation. Someone leaked information claiming your father's company has ties to drug cartels and money laundering operations and now it has gone haywire."
I stared at him, my heart sinking.
"That is insane," I said, my voice cracking. "My father would never—he is not involved in anything illegal."
"I understand but we have to open our mind to the possibility that-"
"There is no such possibility, Enrique. He is not." I stopped him mid-way.
Enrique reached across the table, his hand covering mine. His touch was warm, but it did little to calm the storm raging inside me.
"I believe you," he said softly. "But right now, we need to stay calm. Rushing out there is not going to help."
"I need to talk to him," I insisted. "I need to hear it from him."
"And you will," Enrique said. "But not right now. The reporters are still out there, waiting. If we go out, they will just make things worse."
I hated that he was right. The thought of facing those cameras again made my skin crawl. But sitting here, doing nothing, felt unbearable.
"I will try reaching him through his office," Enrique offered. "In the meantime, you need to breathe. Panicking won't help."
I wanted to scream, to demand answers, but I swallowed the urge and nodded. Enrique was doing what he could, and deep down, I knew he was right. I could not lose my composure, not here, not now.
As Enrique made another call, I sat back, staring blankly at the table. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. Anger. Fear. Confusion. The father I knew, the man who raised me, could not possibly be the person they were painting him to be. But doubt, crept in. What if there was something I did not know about him? Something he has kept very well hidden from me?
What if they were right?
No. I pushed the thought away. This wasn't my father. Someone had made a mistake, or worse, they were deliberately trying to destroy his reputation. But why? And who would do such a thing?
Enrique's voice broke through my thoughts. "They are trying to get a hold of him," he said, sliding back into the seat across from me. "It might take some time."
I nodded stiffly, my throat tight. "Thank you."
His gaze softened in that moment and he reached for my hand across the table.
I let him have it, let the feel of his calloused thumb running up and down my hand calm me
"We will figure this out," he said. "I promise."
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that this was just a misunderstanding, some elaborate lie concocted by someone with a vendetta against my father. But until I heard his voice, until I knew the truth, the uncertainty would eat away at me.
"What if this ruins him?" I whispered, more to myself than to Enrique. The thought of my father's name being dragged through the mud, his legacy tarnished, made my stomach churn.
Enrique leaned forward, his eyes locking onto mine. "Your father is a strong man, Olivia. He has built an empire and although he is a direct competitor, I admire the fuck out of him. A few rumors won't tear that down and you know that."
My eyes blurred and my stomach rumbled.
I was hungry.
There was no way I could eat, not now.
But Enrique had heard it and he got to his feet.
"Give me a minute" he muttered.
I watched him go round the counter, disappearing from my sight only to resurface with a woman trailing behind him.
"I need you to whip up something light for us" He told her.
I wanted to protest but another rumble in my belly silenced me.
He came back around to sit with me, casting me a small smile as if to tell me I did not need to say anything and he totally understood and that eating was a need and not just a want.
The woman wasted no time… some minutes later, we had bacon and eggs set before us.
Enrique guided my numb fingers to a fork and soon I was eating…shaming myself too that I would have an appetite with the people outside and my father's life about to be upended.
In a way it was my life too that was about to be prodded.
Enrique's phone rang and he picked it up.
He turned to me and placed it on the table.
"Olivia" I heard my father say.
The fork in my hand clattered to the table.
"Dad, what is happening?" I asked the question I had been wanting to since this happened.
"I do not know but the cops are here and I need you to come home now"
The line clicked at the same time I got to my feet, the food forgotten.
Enrique rose with me, put out a hand which I took.
"It is going to be alright" He said.
I did not believe him this time.