Action
Anastasia Rose Steele
Date of Birth: Sept. 10, 1989, Montesano, WA
Address: 1st avenue and E 15th street, New York, NY 10009
Mobile No.: 718-687-0046
Social Security No.: 987-65-4320
Banking Details: Wells Fargo Bank, Lexington Ave 10022. Acct. No.: 310367. $8,390.66 Balance.
Occupation: Undergraduate Student, WSU Vancouver College of Liberal Arts – English Major (Graduated May 2011)
GPA: 4.0
Prior Education: Montesano JR-SR High School
SAT Score: 2150
Employment: Sr. Editor, Publishing Division at Morrison Media Group, 4 Time Square, NY. (Current)
Father: Franklin A. Lambert. DOB Sept. 1, 1969, Deceased Sept. 11, 1989
Mother: Carla May Wilkins Adams. DOB: July 18, 1970
M Franklin A. Lambert, March 1, 1989, Widowed Sept. 11, 1989
M Raymond Steele, July 6, 1990, divorced July 12, 2006
M Stephen M. Morton, August 16, 2006, divorced January 31, 2007
M Robbin (Bob) Adams, April 6, 2009.
Offspring: Theodore Raymond Steele. DOB: February 12, 2013
Spouse: None Found
Political Affiliations: None Found
Religious Affiliations: None Found
Sexual Orientation: None Found
Known Relationships: Christian Grey (June 2011 – July 2012)
I pore over the executive summary for the hundredth time since I received it just a few hours ago, confused at what I'm seeing. At first glance, it looks ordinary, the usual mundane information, but upon closer inspection, you see all the difference. The difference is both shocking and revealing, at least to me. This is nothing compared to the first background report I have about her, that fact I'm pretty fucking sure. Sure, if I compare it line by line, I would spot the basic difference. Her address, her phone, banking information, work details and then you see it, the one major addition. Offspring.One line that made all the fucking difference, which makes me wonder, wonder a lot of fucking things like, what the fuck? And a flurry of other things and emotions that I cannot begin to comprehend.
Welch knows me well enough to add an additional background information. Not technically a background information, more like the child's birth record, which I've also pored over, as much as I pored over her updated executive summary. And as I pore over the child's executive summary, all I could think about is that, it turns out, the Teddy Bear, Kate has been referring to is not a teddy bear, or an animal or what not. It's a person. A toddler. A child that she didn't mention, not only to me, but to everyone at the party. It's only thanks to Kate, who, at her drunken stupor mentioned the name, much to her horror, a name that only curious individuals would ever bother to wonder. This, incidentally answers something that had bothered me that night, her horror. Increasing horror while Kate babbled about the child. It does not however answer another though, why?
Theodore Raymond Steele
Date of Birth: February 12, 2013, Manhattan, New York
Certificate No.: 08564
Sex: Male
Borough: Manhattan
Mother/Parent's Name: Anastasia Rose Steele
Father/Parent's Name:
So there's the answer to my question. Who is Teddy Bear? What I don't expect is the flurry of questions and alarm bells ringing, the moment I got my answer. For one, the child's father is not listed on the birth certificate. The obvious answer is that Anastasia chose to be a single mother, but why? And the more important question is, who is the father? And why is he not listed on the damn certificate? Did he leave her? When did this fucking happen? So many question, so many why's, questions that I cannot fucking answers and I am left to find the answers to my these queries. So much for my fucking curiosity.
One option is to pore over the summary again, searching for clues or if I'm lucky, answers. First clue lies in the child's date of birth. Why, you ask? Anastasia left me, left Seattle on July of 2012, seven months before she gave birth to the child. So there's a clue, the problem is, the answer leads me to even more questions and my fucking alarm bells ringing. What if, what if… what if… it all makes sense, her demands for more, her willingness to walk away, her leaving and making me promise not to keep tabs on her all fucking adds up to a hypothesis. A fucking theory. A theory that still brings up a myriad of questions, scenarios and inexplicable emotions, at the mere thought… the mere thought makes me want to... I don't know. Fuck! So here is am, sitting on my ass, not at the Kavanagh estate, but in my car, parked in front of an apartment building, three days after I ordering the updated background report, waiting and, with Taylor in the driver's seat, who is also waiting as I contemplate on how to attack this… situation.
This situation has given me a headache… that's putting it mildly. Frankly, I don't know what to say. At first I am unsure at what I'm looking at, but as my fucked-up brain starts running, it shifts into overdrive, until words suddenly fail me. I have no words, all I have is a flurry of emotions – confusion, disbelief and anger. Then, my emotions take me back to my questions, a lot of them. I need answers, answers that only one person could answer and that person is inside the building, at the second floor, in the confines of apartment number two, most likely having dinner at the moment, with her friends and… that child, all of them unaware of what is about to happen. Frankly, even I don't know what's about to happen. All I know is that, I need answers. I need to confirm if my theory… the one that's been driving me to the brink of… I need to know? Insanity?
Part of me, the rational part, tells me that I can't know for sure. I can't know for sure. But the fucking date in the fucking birth certificate, along with all that's happened not only during the party but three years ago, before she left me, all don't make fucking sense. Unless she was with someone, while she was with me. I scoff at the thought which, I am ninety-nine point five fucking percent sure the she wasn't. She was with me all the fucking time and when she wasn't, she has fucking security tailing her. So that scenario, is off the fucking table. So I go back to the questions. I have questions that need answers. Answers that I won't get if I just sit on my ass, killing time. I need clarifications, to confirm if my fucked-up brain really is just fucked-up to come up with those crazy thoughts and scenarios, otherwise my already fucked-up mind will fucking explode.
Taylor follows me as I get out of the SUV. He is, without a doubt, sensing the tension emanating from me. We follow a tenant entering the secured building, noting that luck is on my side. Good.The last thing I want to do is to ring the fucking buzzer and loose the element of surprise. We take the stairs, instead of the elevator. Sure, taking the elevator is faster, but, the stairs will provide time for me to calm. Yes, I'm deliberately taking my time but to calm myself, calm my nerves. Calm. I have to be calm enough to face the music waiting for me in second floor, apartment two. It's fucked up, I know, but I figured that marching in and demanding answers will only make the situation worst. Or I'll make a fool myself, if the theory is wrong, that is. But I've never been wrong, Grey Enterprise Holdings, is the living proof that my instinct never, ever fail me. Christ, I hope I'm wrong this time.
I take five deep breaths and count two sets of ten, once we reach the second floor and as I approach apartment number two. There are several people inside the unit, talking, laughing, no doubt enjoying dinner, oblivious at the fact that someone unexpected is about to, shall we say, join their little get together. So I knock three times and wait. Again taking deep calming breaths as I wait.
Katherine Kavanagh answers the door. Her eyes round as our eyes meet. She is, without a doubt, surprised and maybe a little scared to see me. Does she know? Is that why she drunkenly mentioned the name in front of me?
"Christian," she whispers. Somehow, her frozen reaction put some sort of answers to my questions. She is surprised, which obviously means she isn't expecting me. But why is she scared?
"Is Ana around?" I ask, cutting to the chase. Quit fucking around, I tell myself. I am not sure whether or not I should thank her for peaking my curiosity, leading up to this… unannounced visit.
She gulps and doesn't answer. Frozen and speechless for once. No boisterous response and no arrogant stance, just silence and perhaps, fear.
"Who is it, Aunt Katie?" a child comes barreling out of nowhere, hugs his Aunt around the legs. My attention is riveted from the frozen figure of Katherine Kavanagh and into the boy. This must be him. The child. He has coppery brown hair, round blue eyes and toothy smile, as he staring at her Aunt questioningly, before turning his attention to me. The child's round and extraordinarily beautiful blue eyes focus on me, then he smiles tentatively at me, as if he knows me or maybe he's just being very polite and then when his Aunt Katie doesn't answer, he focuses his attention from me and back to his aunt, tugging on her jeans in an attempt to wake her up from her stupor. It works. Kate blinks a few times, until finally, she looks at me and the child a few times before she composes herself.
"Err…" Kate tries to say, but my attention is riveted from her and the child, to the person standing behind them. Anastasia. She is frozen into place, seemingly rooted into position, just like her friend. With nothing but fear in her eyes, just like the night at the Kavanagh's. Everyone is silent. Everything is still. They are staring at me and I am starring at her, for god knows how long. All I know is that, looking at all their faces, their frozen reaction, and finally, the child. The child who looks like me. And just like that, my theory is… reality. The child and more importantly, Anastasia's reaction put an answer to some of my questions, only to be replaced by more questions and even more emotions that I couldn't fathom. And so I take a deep breath, will myself to focus, focus on her and say, through gritted teeth,
"I'd like to speak to Anastasia," I tell her friend, who is still in my way. Kate blinks a few times, takes the child protectively in her arms and moves to let me inside. I walk. Aware that the laughter and chatter has changed into nothing but awkward silence. I see several people from my periphery. My sister's fiancé, Jose and his companion, and a few others that I don't give a crap of knowing. I can easily look and see but they are not the reason why I'm here. I am here for the person standing frozen two, maybe three steps away from me. Blue eyes regarding me in both shock, guilt, utter horror and some emotion that I can't name.
"Christian, Wha– what are you doing here?" she finally asks. The proximity between us, awakes her from her frozen surprise.
"Why do you think?" I respond. A question with a question. I could easily tell her why I am here. I'm here to find out if the child on your updated report is mine, but that ship fucking sailed already. One look at the child. It's like I'm looking into a mirror of my past. The only fucking difference is that this child is… happy and carefree. I shudder at my own memory. Focus, Grey! I tell myself.
"You broke your promise," she says, barely even a whisper. Realization hitting her like a ton of bricks. Yes I broke my word, thanks to your drunken friend. Thanks to her, my curiosity got the better of me and boy did I find… a lot of things.
"I'm very glad I did, don't you agree?" I tell her. It's true. I'm fucking glad I did.
She doesn't respond. Silence. We stare at each other. More silence, from everyone in the room. But I couldn't care less about the other people. I only care about her… her silence speaks volumes. The answers to my questions are clearly written in her face that I can almost read them. Even her protective friend has no snarky words to tell me, she is just frozen by the door, which she thankfully closed in spite of her shock.
"I would like to speak to you," I finally say, turning to everyone in the room, her friends, and her father, who I now recognize, sitting on the corner with someone, still equally silent. "In private," I add, emphasizing the words. To everyone.
"Now is not the right time, Christian."
"Oh, I think it is. In fact, I think it's a long time coming don't you think? Three years… too late, Anastasia," I tell her, scathingly.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she responds, weakly.
"Don't. Lie. To. Me." I hear myself say, unable to get rid of the menace in my voice. Calm. There's a fucking child, you need to fucking calm, Grey. Tell myself. I take a deep steadying breath, look at her, then everyone else, including the boy who struggles out of his aunts arms, and when his aunt let go of him, he runs across the room, past me and into her mother, who is standing in front of me.
"Mommy! Up! Up! Peease?" he says, innocently, undeterred by the atmosphere in the room.
"Christian, as you can see, now is not the right time to talk. My friends are here as well as my dad, we're having dinner and I have this little one to –"
"Then I would like to stay and wait," I cut her off, I'm not fucking leaving. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Anastasia," I warn. I want to glare at her but the child's is regarding me with curiosity that I am momentarily distracted. "Either way, we will talk." I finish through gritted teeth.
She blinks, "Uhm…"
"Join us for dinner, Christian," Ray finally say, as he approaches, not protectively as I though he would but with curiosity. Interesting.
"Thank you, Ray," I respond, my voice clip, not taking my eyes off his daughter and the child in her arms. "Well? Aren't you going to introduce me?" I ask, expectantly. She blinks and turns to her son, whose arms tangled around his mother's neck but is studiously looking at me, his happy and smiling blue eyes regarding me with interest and familiarity. She touches her son's face to get his attention, it works, for the child looks at her.
"Christian, this is Theodore Raymond…Steele, everyone calls him Teddy," she says. She smiles weakly, guiltily, tears almost threatening to come out, at me and then to the kid. "Teddy, this is Mr. Christian Grey," she says, gesturing towards me. The child's round blue eyes, meet mine, again he smiles toothily, as if he knows who I am.
"Da-ddy."