Chapter 22
Chapter 1
“Dad, what are you thinking about?” Ari Alexander asked.
His father sat with his brows drawn together in an agonized expression. He hadn’t said much since learning he was the only heir to the late Robert DePaul’s vast estate, which included the chain of luxury DePaul Hotel & Spa Resorts.
Three days ago, they were just a family living a normal life in the small town of Aspen, Georgia, located forty miles west of Atlanta. They had been thrust into the limelight with the news that Malcolm Alexander was the illegitimate love child between the hotel magnate and Pearle Strickland, an African American woman.
“Dad,” Ari prompted. “You okay?”
“Just wondering why my mother never thought she could tell me about him,” Malcolm replied. “She never once mentioned Robert DePaul. I have no idea how she could’ve met him. As far as I know, she never left Georgia. She did tell me that Theodore Alexander wasn’t my biological father, but that never mattered to me. He was a good father.”
He drew his lips in thoughtfully then glanced out the window of the private plane transporting them to Los Angeles. “She never volunteered any other information about my real father, and I never asked her about him, but now I wish I had. Knowing about Robert DePaul could’ve prepared me some for all this.” He shrugged. “My mind is going in a hundred different directions.”
Ari nodded in understanding. Robert DePaul had been one of the richest men in the world until his death a week ago. His attorney contacted Ari’s father, and now they were headed to meet with Ira Goodman.
“I keep wondering where Grandma met DePaul.”
Malcolm gave a slight shrug. “Son, I suppose we won’t ever find out, but evidently their paths must have crossed at some point, if what they’re saying is true.”
“The media are having a field day with this,” Ari uttered. “Robert DePaul’s African-American son is sole heir to his fortune. I can’t wait to see the expression on the faces of our newfound relatives. I can read the headlines now—‘The Georgia Hillbillies Are Moving to Beverly Hills.’”
“Our family lives just fine, Ari,” Malcolm interjected quickly. “We don’t have to take this man’s money or anything he owns. I’m only flying out there to learn more about the man who fathered me—not committing to anything else.”
A muscle quivered at Ari’s jaw. “Dad, he was your father, and legally, you are entitled to everything DePaul left in his will for you. It’s your legacy.”
“Just because I’m entitled doesn’t mean I want it,” Malcolm responded. He rested his chin on his hand.
Ari gave Malcolm a sidelong glance. “What does Mom think about all this?”
“You know your mother,” Malcolm said. His mouth curved into an unconscious smile. “She told me that she’s fine with whatever I decide to do.”
That sounded exactly like his mother, Ari thought. Barbara Alexander trusted her husband’s instincts as much as she relied on her own. His parents were partners in business as well as in life, and perfect examples of what a good marriage should look like.
Ari glanced down at the wedding band on his left ring finger, his heart saturated with grief.
At thirty-two years old, Ari was a widower, having lost his wife to cancer. He was still dealing with her death two years later.
He glanced over at his father, who appeared to be deep in thought. Ari and his siblings all agreed that their father should accept his inheritance, but they knew that their deeply spiritual parents would not make a decision until they spent time in prayer, seeking divine guidance.
Ari couldn’t understand why his father would willingly walk away from his inheritance. His parents and grandparents had worked in the hospitality industry for as long as Ari could remember, and they often talked about owning a chain of high-end hotels. This was a dream come true—not just for his mom and dad, but also for him.
They owned two hotels that were performing well, but they always dreamed of expanding. Ari loved working alongside his parents, and this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to manage a conglomerate like the DePaul Hotel Group was just too tempting to pass up.
Ultimately, it was his father’s decision, and his alone to make. Despite what Ari felt about it, he would respect Malcolm’s choice.
The May temperature in California was what Ari considered comfortable. It wasn’t extremely hot and it wasn’t as humid as it was back home.
They had arrived at the Los Angeles International Airport fifteen minutes ago and were now in a sleek, black limousine on the way to Beverly Hills. Ari and his family had traveled to California for vacation once, but it had been years ago. Nothing looked familiar except for the palm trees and all of the nonstop traffic that flowed around them.
In Aspen, there were no hour-long commutes to work in a sea of heavy traffic, no outrageously priced real estate markets, no driving all the way across town to reach his favorite stores or restaurants.
In Aspen, the residents knew one another. Los Angeles would take some getting used to, Ari decided. The only time he’d left Aspen for a length of time was when he attended college in Pennsylvania.
Ari guessed they were in Beverly Hills when the scenery transformed from concrete sidewalks to lush, green lawns and from high-rises to mansions.
Malcolm checked his watch. “It didn’t take long to get here from the airport. Just about thirty minutes.”
They were in the heart of Beverly Hills, only steps from renowned Rodeo Drive. Ari drank in the beauty of the DePaul Hotel. “Wow,” he murmured. “Dad, this now belongs to you.”
Malcolm’s faint smile held a touch of sadness. “Welcome to the DePaul Beverly Hills Hotel,” a young man said as they exited the limo. “Miss Rivera will escort you to your meeting.”
A young woman with blond hair and wearing a trendy-looking business suit greeted them within minutes of stepping inside the swanky hotel. “Mr. Goodman is waiting for you in the penthouse,” she told them.
Ari took note that the outside of the hotel had been inspired by the Spanish Revival architecture and Mediterranean styling that was so prevalent in Beverly Hills. The interior evoked timeless elegance in sun-drenched colors of gold, salmon, coral and cream.
“Absolutely beautiful,” he whispered.
His father agreed. “Looks much better in person than in the magazines.”
Ari agreed.
They were taken up to the DePaul residence via private elevator and greeted by a stoic-faced man introduced to them as Franklin.
