Still, she needed to make her move before Paul found her. There were a few places she knew he would look; she just didn’t know in what order.
She climbed out of the Jeep and headed inside. Figuring she might as well pick up a few things while she was at it, she filled her arms with two large bottles of water, a family-size bag of M&M’s, aspirin, toothpaste, a toothbrush, body lotion, and small bottles of cheap shampoo and conditioner.
“Next!” the cashier barked, her eyes squinting in disapproval when Madison stepped forward and dumped her supplies on the counter. The clerk tallied her purchases, all the while directing the occasional condemning glance at the plunging neckline of Madison’s sheer lace camisole. “Anything else?” She chomped her gum, acting as though Madison was taking too long even though there was no one behind her.
“Um, yeah. Twenty on pump number five.”
“And?”
The clerk quirked a brow in annoyance, but Madison was too busy staring at the front page of the LA Times displayed on the rack just beside her.
Instead of the usual Where Is Madison Brooks? headline, this one screamed: Who Is Madison Brooks?
“Hello? Anything else?”
With a shaky hand, Madison added the paper to the pile, handed over the money, and got the hell out of there.
After filling her tank, she drove a few blocks, pulled into an empty parking lot, reached for the paper, and began to read.
Breaking News: Madison Brooks’s True Identity Revealed!
By Trena Moretti
In a town built on make-believe, it should come as no surprise that missing Hollywood A-lister Madison Brooks just might turn out to be as fictional as the characters she portrays in her movies.
The story of her ascent from poor little orphan girl to Hollywood’s most highly paid and sought-after star is nothing more than a glossy facade meant to hide a much darker tale.
In a stunning revelation on In-Depth Sunday night, I revealed a birth certificate, believed to be that of Madison Brooks, that states her real name as MaryDella Slocum, her place of birth as West Virginia, and her parents as the deceased Henry and WillaJean Slocum—two small-time hustlers with an extensive criminal background.
A far cry from the bio Madison sold us.
Hours before my show went live, Layla Harrison, writer of the Beautiful Idols blog, and one of the four teens recently arrested in Joshua Tree in connection with Madison’s disappearance, posted an entry allegedly torn from the diary of Madison/MaryDella that would’ve placed her at fourteen years old at the time. The piece, shared below, reveals the young star to be far more calculating and conniving than her pristine persona ever let on.
Numerous mentions of P seem to point to Paul Banks, who . . .
Madison’s gaze raced down the page. By the time she reached the end, she could barely breathe.
It was all there. Her birth certificate, the fire, even the diary entries she’d written as a much younger girl.
Her whole life was exposed.
Well, maybe not all of it. Though it was just a matter of time before they uncovered those secrets too.
And then what?
What would become of her once the ugly truth was revealed?
Where could she possibly go once her secrets were known all over the world?
Was she supposed to live out the rest of her life hiding behind dark sunglasses and a wig?
She gazed around wildly, trying to make sense of what was happening. Someone had pulled back the curtain on her life, and apparently Paul had known all along. He’d even hinted as much when he said, It’s about destroying you and everything you’ve worked so hard to build.
Had he seen the article? Her guess was he had. He’d probably planned to keep her in the dark until it was handled.
Well, it was too late now. The article was merely a trickle in what promised to become an epic flood.
Question was: How the hell had Layla Harrison gotten hold of her diary?
Whatever the answer, one thing was clear: Between the journal entry, the birth certificate, and the original article about the fire, Madison was screwed.
Really, truly, and royally screwed.
And yet, just as Paul had taught her to always peer past the surface, that everything was capable of serving more than one purpose, he’d also taught her how to control her own narrative. She had no idea how she’d begin to spin this, but she knew she eventually would.
When it came to the story of her life, the ending would be hers to write.
She sank a hand into her bag and patted the gun for reassurance. Then she tossed the paper into the backseat, started up the Jeep, and headed for the secret hideout she kept tucked away on the outskirts of Ojai.
It’d been a while since her last visit, but Trena’s article had thrown her off balance. She’d take the night to figure out a new plan of attack, sure of only one thing: whatever decision she made would not be easily reversed.
TWELVEGUYS MY AGE
Trena pulled up to the curb, propped open the passenger-side door, and let Javen in.
“Your sister would kill me if she found out about this,” she said.
Javen tugged at his seat belt and settled beside her. “Only if my parents don’t get to you first.” He stared through the windshield and frowned. “Then again, I haven’t even heard from her. She’s been out of jail since yesterday and won’t even answer my texts.”
“I think I might know why.” Trena told him about the threatening notes Layla had received. “Maybe Aster got one too?”
Javen considered. “Well, it would make sense. At least, it better be the reason. After all I’ve done for her . . .”
“And all you’re still planning to do?” Trena pulled out of the school parking lot and merged into traffic.
“Yeah. Sure.” Javen shrugged and took in the passing scenery.
Trena stopped at a light and used the moment to study him. He was avoiding eye contact, had barely so much as looked at her. Normally she was skilled when
