I can't avoid the tabloids, the newspapers on the stands. Fuck, I can't even avoid the stupid reporters scattered around the streets. They're too fucking eager for their own good. So I take the streets I've never walked before, taking yellow cabs instead of town cars until I end up on Times Square in the middle of chaos.

The Platt hotel on Times Square sticks out like a sore thumb, all glass with no flashy ads splattered across the skyscraper building. The Platts don't need the extra revenue from advertisements that take away from the architecture. At least that's what my mother has to say about that.

I walk inside, the noise carefully blocked behind thick glass doors that seem to filter everything, and make my way to the front desk surrounded by faint classical music.

"Good afternoon, sir, how can I help you?" A blinding smile greets me as a pair of brown eyes zeroes in on my face. She's that classy kind of beautiful that reminds me of old money. A perfect Platt employee. Textbook. Even though hiring based on appearance is frowned upon.

"Is Alistair in? I'm his nephew."

"I'm sorry, sir, Mr. Platt is in a meeting right now."

I sigh, refraining from rolling my eyes.

"Could I possibly wait in his office?"

"Sure, I'll have his assistant escort you up to the management floor." AKA, uncle Al's bachelor penthouse pad where he has an office overlooking Times Square.

"Thanks."

The assistent turns out to be a bombshell redhead, Carmen. I refuse to think that's all she is to my uncle. He's known to be quite the womanizer, a true icon in the NYC nightlife. But he never settles down, no labels. I admire him for that. He's in his fifties but apparently hasn't lost any of his charm so far. This Carmen probably isn't even over thirty.

"He shouldn't be longer than an hour. Make yourself at home, Mr. Cullen. I'll let Mr. Platt know you're waiting for him."

I find myself scrolling, my ass planted firmly into a Pierre Jeanneret that matches the leather on my shoes as I scroll onto my phone.

New item after news item flows together until the letters are blurry and my eyes are burning.

That's when I think back to my mother and our conversation which in turn makes me think about the wads of cash I stuffed into my bag. It makes me think about my brother, and the wedding invitation.

We used to be close. But now I don't even know where he lives.

"Ah, Edward," Alistair's loud voice penetrates the walls and embraces me. He's always been my favorite uncle. But my brother? That's always been his favorite Cullen. That leads me to my next point in the agenda. Not the free room or the luscious meals this place serves.

"Uncle Al," I start, and face him as I get out of the chair. "Did you happen to go to my brother's wedding?"

It's a long-shot, but a boy can try.

"Emmett's? God, Edward, that wedding was like five years ago."

So he's been married for five years. Or maybe divorced by now.

"Did you go?"

Uncle Al stuffs his hands into the pockets of his tailored pants after dunking the contents—phone, keycard, wallet onto the decorative table in the middle of his suite's hallway.

"Yeah, of course I went to my godson's wedding, Edward."

I lick my lips, a throbbing headache appearing out of nowhere.

"Why the fuck didn't I get that invitation?" I shout angrily.

"Hush, boy," Al says, putting both hands on my shoulders. We're about the same height, which forces me to look into his eyes. My mother's eyes. "You were barely twenty-one, never sober, never home. I guess you didn't get an invitation because frankly? I don't think you had a legal address at the time. You were in and out of Europe, the Bahamas…" he trails off.

I remember all too well. Except I don't really remember what happened exactly during that year of my life. Booze,tits, cars… that's about all that I can recall.

"Where does he live? He's not on socials or anything," I tell him.

"No, he hates all that stuff." Al shakes his head. "But, ah, last I heard they were moving to Boulder." My uncle shrugs as his phone rings.

"I'm sorry to hear about all that crap your old man pulled. Never liked the dude." Uncle Al checks the caller, then disappears into the next room to take the call.

"Boulder fucking Colorado?" I shake my head.

Luckily, Mother provided me with more than enough to make that trip, and then some.

Leaving the City, I text her. Call me if you need me.