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Epilogue
New Year’s Eve . . .
When Alec had informed his parents of their status change to Grandma and Grandpa over the phone a few days ago they had been overjoyed. His mother had admitted that she had found Keisha special when she met her in Orlando all those months ago, but she couldn’t pinpoint why at the time. They were so eager to spend time with Keisha that they had drove from Orlando the same day that Alec had called them and they have been in Tampa since. His parents were currently at Lana’s house with Keisha and Izabella, freeing Lana to come over to his apartment for New Year’s Eve.
Alec had gone through a lot of trouble arranging the surprise for Lana. She had Izabella stay with Keisha so she could come to his apartment an hour before midnight. It was too late to rent a fancy venue, and h
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A few miles outside of Tampa, Florida, Layla Miles sat on a rose-colored couch in Dr. Victoria Samuelson’s office. The psychiatrist had been featured in medical journals for having an eighty-six percent success rate in helping patients recover from memory loss. Dr. Samuelson was in her late forties and wore wire-rimmed glasses. The light in the ceiling made her short, light brown hair shine. Layla judged that she was a size eight. Dr. Samuelson looked up from her notepad. “Thank you for answering my questions. I am willing to take you on as a patient, but I need to make you aware that the longer the memory loss, or in your case amnesia, has lasted, the lower the chances are to recover your memories.”Layla nodded. “I understand.” Four years ago, she had woken in a clinic outside of New York City with no memo
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A few days later . . . The sun had set. Layla sat on her front porch watching Mercedes, Escalades, Cadillacs, one Aston Martin, and one Rolls Royce SUV drive by her home and pull in front of Katelyn Austin’s brick house. She let out a sigh as she cocked her head down the street to watch the semi-formally dressed guests get out of their vehicles under the streetlights and saunter up the Austin’s long walkway. Then she noticed several neighbors coming out of their homes dressed in cocktail party attire. Layla’s upper lip curled. She was watching the activity so intently she didn’t hear Damien come outside. She jumped when he said, “Izabella i
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Layla was more nervous than a girl going off to college. Of course, she never went to college, so how would she know what that feels like? Dr. Samuelson sat down across from her. “I think it’s best that we start off with your earliest memory. If we can’t get you to remember anything in the first few sessions, then we’ll graduate into hypnosis.” “All right,” Layla said. “I got a copy of your medical records from the clinic that treated you in New York. You were unconscious for almost a full day and then you came out of it with no memory of your life or even what your name was.”&nb
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Eight weeks later . . . It was the night of the Tampa Hospital’s Auction. The media attention promoting the event was astronomical. Once the news of the auction hit the local newspapers and magazines, her neighbors on Sunset Boulevard came by Layla’s house and called her to see what they could donate. They also complimented her on taking the initiative to help the hospital raise money for the oncology department. Layla and Damien had been interviewed by a local TV station. A photographer and reporter from an online society blog site had also come by their house to interview them and take pictures. Items that were donated for the auction attracted collectors and antiquers from up and down the East Coast. One of the donors was a ninety-ei
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Two African American men approached her. The man was bald, and he had a mustache and a goatee that framed his face perfectly. He was a few inches taller than her, and he had an average frame. He gave her a polite, yet small smile. She and Damien had shaken hands with the man behind him a few minutes earlier. He had introduced himself as Hugo Mitchell. He had told them about his grandmother who died of cancer, and he and his cousin came from New York to attend the event. They were entrepreneurs and philanthropists. Hugo was a good name for the man because he was huge in height and weight. He had a round afro that looked like it has been freshly cut for the occasion. Both of their tuxes fitted them to a tee. “Mrs. Miles,” Hugo began. “This is my cousin. Carter Mitchell.”&nb
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They were starting to auction the big-ticket items. Since Bruce and Alec couldn’t afford to pay six hundred dollars a plate to be seated at a table, and they couldn’t get reimbursed since they didn’t get prior approval to be at the charity event, they stood against the back wall to watch the happenings. Alec wanted to stay to keep an eye on Carter. He wanted to make sure that he didn’t go near her again tonight. Better yet, not go near her again, period. He had been trying to bust Carter and his family for six years. Carter had always managed to cover his tracks – until she had finally seen the light and called Alec for help. It was hard for him to walk away from her in the social area, but he had to because the desperate and vulnerable look
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A few days later . . . The charity auction made a little over half a million dollars for the hospital’s oncology department. News about the auction being a success spread throughout the city. Layla had just got off the phone with the local homeless shelter. They asked her if she and Damien would be interested in hosting an event to raise money to help them expand their current facilities to assist more of the unfortunate. She asked to meet with the director personally to review the plans he had to revamp the shelter and its services. The meeting was on Friday. As soon as Damien walked out the door that morning to go to the office, the landline rang off the hook. The first call was from Lacey. She quickly informed Layla that the women at the Catholic Church she and Corey attended were raving about how great the chari
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