 
## THE INHERITANCE

by

Robert Gonko

2014 Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 by Robert Gonko

All rights reserved

Cover Art by Robert Brooks

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains complete in its original form. Thank you for your support.
For Angela, take two

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Afterword

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Coming Soon
PROLOGUE

Hank Curtis was about to die.

He didn't know that, of course. No one did, except the person who had arranged it. This would-be killer watched patiently as Hank went about his last moments on Earth. Everything was in place.

The victim-to-be was one of the wealthiest men in the United States. He'd built his first fortune in the oil industry, but oil barons were pretty common in Texas and the last thing he wanted to be was common. He'd spent sixty years building a huge business empire. On this, the last day of his life, he was worth at least twenty billion dollars.

Hank was an old man on several different medications. A slight increase in one of them would kill without attracting attention. On the chance that someone might want to probe the matter anyway, the time of death was chosen so that there would be several potential suspects.

The tycoon would die in his home near Houston. The occasion was a dinner party for family and a few select friends. Everyone who stood to gain from the old bastard's death would be present.

A servant brought Hank his bourbon. The killer purposely did not look as Hank downed a third of it in one gulp. Moments later, the old man finished the drink and called for another.

Before the entree was served, Hank Curtis lay dead in his dining room.
ONE

It was a warm, sunny Saturday morning in late April. Sam Harman stepped onto his porch with a cup of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in the other. This, he thought, was going to be a nice day. Relaxing, lazy morning at home with the family, golf in the afternoon, grilling steaks in the evening, and a baseball game on TV. Spring was his favorite time of year.

Sam was a thoughtful, reflective man and it occurred to him that life wasn't going too badly right now. He and his wife had decent jobs with benefits. Their three children were a delight, if occasionally difficult. They had family and friends close by. Life was good.

It wasn't perfect. Sam wasn't doing what he really wanted, but he was taking care of his family and that counted for a lot. They didn't live in the best part of town, but at least they weren't in Kingman Heights. Overall, he considered himself blessed.

Tracie came out, kissed him on the cheek, and sat next to him. His wife of fifteen years was the best thing to ever happen to him, especially considering the disaster his first marriage had been.

The front door opened and their eldest child came out. Eleven year-old Sam Jr. had the same sandy brown hair and slightly hefty build his father had at that age. Sam envied him the hair, his own was virtually gone. The only real difference was the blue eyes he'd inherited from his mother. Sam Jr. had been going through a growth spurt lately, which had proven a little costly in terms of replacing clothes.

"Can I go over to Richie's?" he asked his father.

"I guess," Sam said. "Be home by lunch, we're playing golf with Marty and Owen at two."

Sam Jr. bounded down the front steps only to be stopped by the unbelievable sight of a limousine pulling into their driveway. The driver got out, went to the back door, and opened it.

They watched as an elderly man in an expensive-looking suit got out and walked across the front yard, carrying a briefcase. 'Elderly' wasn't really the right word, Sam decided. 'Ancient' seemed more accurate.

The old man stopped when he got a good look at Sam. "Oh, my," he said, with a pronounced drawl. "Aren't you the spitting image."

"Spitting image of whom?" Sam asked.

A look of surprise appeared on the old man's face. "I never thought I'd hear someone who looks like you talking like a Yankee." he said. "Sure wasn't expecting that. But then, you have no idea what I'm talking about do you?"

"Uh, no," Sam said.

The old man took Tracie's hand and made a slight bow. "Mrs. Harman, a pleasure. And you, young man, must be Sam Junior."

He turned back to Sam. " I'm Anderson Braddock, attorney-at-law," he said, shaking Sam's hand. "I'm executor of the estate of Henry William Curtis. Does that name mean anything to you?"

"Curtis?" Sam asked. "My dad worked for the Curtis Freight Company."

"One of his many, many businesses," Braddock said. "But you've never heard of Hank?"

"I don't think so," Sam said.

"Pity, because he knew a great deal about you," Braddock said. Then he shook his head. "There's just no delicate way to say this, Mr. Harman, so I'll be direct. Hank Curtis is...was your father. Your biological one, that is."

Sam had always known he was adopted. His late parents had raised him with this knowledge, and looking back Sam understood that it was the smartest thing they could have done. It had never bothered him, it was just another fact of life. He'd always been interested in finding out who his biological parents were, but never expected to find out like this.

"You mind if I come in?" Braddock asked. "I don't do too well standing for more than a few minutes. I'm really getting too old for this."

"Huh? Oh, okay," Sam said.

As they approached the front door the family dog, Chloe, started barking. "Don't mind her," Sam said. "She's just excited."

The brown and white mutt sniffed the visitor and stopped barking when Braddock gave her a quick scratch behind the ear. Sam led them into the living room. "Sam," he said to his son. "Go keep an eye on Kristen and Noah. This is grownup talk."

"But Dad--"

"Now."

Sam Jr. reluctantly left the room and headed upstairs, where the younger children were playing. "And no eavesdropping," Tracie hollered after him.

"Okay!" Sam Jr. snapped.

Braddock chuckled as he sat on the sofa. Chloe rested her head on his knee. "That boy kind of reminds me of one of your brothers," Braddock said. "But I'm getting ahead of myself again. Thing about getting old, you realize how little time you have left and you want to cram in as much as possible."

Braddock took a folder out of the briefcase.. "I have here your original birth certificate and a copy of your adoption papers," he said. "The court file has been unsealed so you can check at the courthouse yourself if you like. These are certified copies."

Sam accepted the folder. The birth certificate inside was for a male born on the same day as he at Port Mason General Hospital. The baby was referred to only by a surname, 'Orrick.' The mother's name was Susan Marie Orrick. The father's, Henry William Curtis.

There was also a copy of the adoption decree that said 'Baby Orrick' was now the son of Kevin and Sarah Harman. The final document was a copy of the new birth certificate issued when the adoption was finalized, bearing the name 'Samuel Brian Harman.' Sam recognized it, he kept the original in a safe-deposit box at the bank. "So my...father is dead?" he asked.

"Yes," Braddock said, sadly. "He died two months ago at his home in Houston. Terrible thing. Died at the dinner table in front of his family and friends, myself included. Heart attack, they said. At least it was quick.

"Hank was my friend and client for over sixty years," he continued. "I saw him through everything and I was the only one who knew all his secrets. You were one of those secrets. I'll get into the details of that a bit later, if you don't mind. You need to know precisely why I'm here."

He took out another folder. "When Hank died, his personal worth was around twenty billion dollars. A fair chunk of that goes to you."

Sam exchanged an uncertain look with his wife. "How much?" he asked quietly.

"Three billion dollars."
TWO

Sam stared at Anderson Braddock in disbelief. "You can't be serious," he said.

"I never joke about money, son," Braddock said. "It was set aside some time ago in a trust, payable to you upon Hank's death. It's all yours, to be used as you see fit. I've administered the trust since it was set up and with that authority, set up a small account at your local bank so you can deal with immediate expenses."

"How small?" Sam asked.

"Five million," Braddock said.

"You call that small?" Tracie asked, incredulous.

"Compared to the full trust, yes," Braddock replied. "Check with your bank, if you don't believe me."

Sam did just that and, to his astonishment, the money was really there and available for his use. He ended the phone call in shock. "I don't believe this," he said.

"You were also left twenty percent of Curtis Enterprises' stock and a seat on the board of directors," Braddock said. "I brought some literature on the company for you to study, but we can deal with that later. You look like you could use a drink."

"Bit early for that," Sam said.

"Never stopped Hank," Braddock said. "Mr. Harman...Sam...I know this is a lot to take in. But you need to know everything so that you are as prepared as possible for what lies ahead."

"That doesn't sound good," Sam said.

"It may be, it may not be," Braddock said. "It all depends on Hank's family. As you've probably guessed, he was a married man. Sallie's a good woman. I never understood why he cheated on her, but then I've never really understood that sort of thing. I'm kind of surprised you're the only child he fathered out of wedlock."

"If he knew about me, why didn't he contact me?" Sam asked.

"He didn't acknowledge you while he was alive because Sallie could have devastated his company in a divorce. He wouldn't allow that to happen, so you were kept a secret right up until his last moments on this earth."

"Does his family know now?" Sam asked.

"Yes, and it wasn't a pleasant scene when I broke the news," Braddock replied. "Sallie took it pretty well, I think she was half-expecting it, but their three boys...that's another matter. Bill and Jerry are ready to fight you for the company stock. The middle son, Nick, took it better than anyone but he hasn't told me what he's going to do."

"What does Mrs. Curtis think?" Tracie asked.

"She's the only reason Bill and Jerry haven't already filed a challenge. None of those boys wants to cross her. Like I said, she's a good woman, but you don't want to get on her bad side."

"Great." Sam said.

"Don't worry, son, I think she'll like you," Braddock said, offering a sympathetic smile.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Tracie asked.

"Hire a lawyer," he continued. "And not just any lawyer, either, but one who's experienced in complicated financial matters. You'll have to come to Houston and file your claim under the terms of the will. The actual probate process will depend on how much trouble Bill and Jerry stir up. We'll have to wait and see."

"Would...would you excuse us for a moment?" Sam asked. Without waiting for an answer he led his wife into the kitchen.

"I think I'm going to pass out," Sam said, sitting down at the table.

"Me too," Tracie agreed, taking the seat next to his. "What are we going to do?"

"I haven't the slightest idea."

"I'm waiting for the catch. There's always a catch."

Sam had an idea. He took out his cellphone and made a call. "Steve? Sam. I need a favor, and its a big one. Wait until you get a load of this."

After Sam explained what he wanted, he and Tracie went back into the living room, where Braddock was on his cell phone. "All right," he said. "We'll be there as soon as we can."

He put the phone back in his pocket. "How would you like a limo ride, Sam?" he asked.

"Depends on where I'm going."

"To the Fairmont Hotel," Braddock said. "Sallie and Nick Curtis just checked into the Presidential suite. They want to meet you."
THREE

Their regular babysitter lived next door and was available, so Sam and Tracie were able to make the trip downtown together. Sam Jr. protested loudly against being left behind and having his visit with his friend canceled. Sam wanted all three kids in the same place while this was sorted out. His eldest son angrily slammed the door to the room he shared with Noah. Marcie, their sitter, was left in charge.

Once they were on the road, Sam had more questions for Anderson Braddock. "What about my birth mother?" he asked. "Is she still alive?"

"I don't know," Braddock replied. "Hank always said that subject was off limits. I didn't even know her name until I saw that birth certificate. I can look into it, if you like."

"Actually, I'd rather handle that myself," Sam said.

"Whatever you want," Braddock said.

The limo passed the Downen & Lowe Mortgage building on its way to the hotel. Sam realized that a long held-dream might well be about to come true. He'd worked at D&L since shortly before marrying Tracie. He hated the job. If this really was on the level, he was going in Monday to clean out his desk and to heck with giving two weeks' notice. The thought brought a smile to his face. Maybe he could hire the limo for the occasion.

The Fairmont was the most expensive hotel in Port Mason. Sam had brought Tracie here for their first anniversary. After seeing the bill, they never came back. Concerns like that, Sam mused, might soon be a thing of the past.

The Presidential suite took up nearly half of the 38th floor. The living room looked bigger than the entire first floor of Sam and Tracie's house. An elderly woman and a man who seemed just a bit older than Sam were seated on a sofa. The man got up and came over to shake hands with Braddock. "Mr. Braddock," he said. "Thanks for bringing them."

"Nick, you are a grown man," Braddock said. "And have been for a long time. Call me Anderson."

"I don't know if I can," Nick said. "You'll always be 'Mr. Braddock.' You're just going to have to deal with that."

Nick turned to Sam and offered his hand. "I'm Nick Curtis."

He seemed friendly enough, but Sam was so nervous about this whole thing that he was still wary. "Sam Harman," he replied. "My wife, Tracie."

"This is my mother, Sallie," Nick said.

Sallie Curtis looked just as ancient as Braddock, Sam thought, but there was something about her that suggested she possessed greater strength than anyone in the room. "Come on boy, I don't bite," she said.

Sam shook hands with her. "Oh my" she said, staring at him intently. "If seeing you don't take me back...I guess there ain't any doubt now, is there?"

She opened her purse and withdrew an old photograph, which she gave to Sam. It was of a much younger Sallie, who had been a real beauty, and a man who looked so much like Sam that it was scary. Tracie gasped when she saw the photo.

"Sit down, sit down," Sallie said.

Sam and Tracie sat on the sofa across from her. "This shyster tell you everything?" Sallie asked, gesturing to Braddock, who laughed.

"Sallie's been calling me a shyster for sixty years," Braddock explained. "She won't admit that she's secretly in love with me."

"You should be so lucky," Sallie shot back. "Well boy, can't you talk?"

"Sure," Sam said. "I just don't know what to say. It's all coming at me pretty fast."

"Life's like that," Sallie replied.

Sam's cell phone rang. He exchanged a few words with the caller. "Okay," he said to Tracie. "He says it's legitimate."

"You had us checked out?" Braddock asked.

"Sure," Sam said. "What would you do if complete strangers showed up at your house and told you you'd inherited three billion dollars?"

Braddock nodded in approval. "Exactly what you did," he said. "That was good thinking. Private detective?"

"Yes," Sam said. "And my best friend."

"People like that can be useful," Braddock said. "Just be careful that they don't try to take advantage of your friendship for their own gain."

"Steve will never do that," Sam said.

"When Hank made his first million, we found out who our real friends were," Sallie said. "You'd be amazed how many people will come to you with their hands out."

"Oh, crap, Becky!" Sam exclaimed.

"And your cousin Ted," Tracie added.

"Ted shouldn't be a problem," Sam said. "I can handle him. Becky..."

"Your ex-wife?" Braddock asked.

"How did you know?"

"Hank kept an eye on you," Braddock explained. "And he was always ready to intervene if you ran into any trouble you couldn't work out yourself. He was proud that you always managed to land on your feet.

"Your ex-wife is one of the reasons you'll need a good lawyer," he continued. "And you might want to consider reaching out to her first."

"I don't want anything to do with her," Sam said vehemently.

"Honey, we'll deal with her together," Tracie said. "I think Mr. Braddock's right, you'll have to get in touch with her."

"I'll think about it," Sam said. "Maybe...maybe we shouldn't take the money."

"Don't be stupid boy," Sallie said. "It's rightfully yours. You'll take it and that's that. Don't bother arguing with me about it. Anyone will tell you I'm not the type to take no for an answer."

Sam believed that wholeheartedly. "Mr. Braddock told us that two of your sons are ready to fight the will," he said. "What about the two of you?"

"I'm not fighting anything," Sallie said. "As mad as I've always been about Hank's fooling around, at least he did the right thing by you. I'm going to do what I can to help. You're going to need it."

"I appreciate that Mrs. Curtis," Sam began.

"Call me Sallie," she said. "We're going to be friends."

"Sallie," Sam said. He turned to Nick. "What about you?"

"I don't know," Nick said. "This whole mess has been pretty tough to deal with. It was bad enough losing Dad so suddenly."

"I can understand that," Sam said. His adoptive parents had both died unexpectedly, though several years apart. It was something Sam didn't think he'd ever really get over.

"I never expected to find out that I have another brother, or half-brother," Nick said. "I had my doubts until I got a look at you. You look more like Dad than any of us."

Before Sam could reply to that, his cell phone rang again. He answered without checking the ID, quickly regretting the oversight. As soon as the caller identified himself, Sam hung up.

"Who was it?" Tracie asked.

"Some guy from the _Register_ ," he said. "He knows all about it."
FOUR

John Pullman, special assignments reporter for _The Port Mason Register_ , drove down Knox Avenue towards the Harman residence. He'd received an anonymous phone tip about Sam's unexpected windfall. After Sam hung up on Pullman, the reporter decided this might be interesting enough to pursue.

His interest turned to irritation when he discovered he wasn't the only one who'd been tipped off. Two TV trucks were parked in front of the house. He parked across the street and went to the front door, running into a reporter from one of the local radio stations. "No good," she said. "They won't answer the door."

"Is anyone even here?" Pullman asked.

"I saw a couple of kids running around inside."

Pullman went to the house next door. An older man stood on the porch.. "Excuse me," he said. "I'm John Pullman, with the Register. Do you know where Mr. and Mrs. Harman are?"

"I saw them get into that limo a while ago," the man said.

"Limo?" Pullman asked. The man nodded. _Holy shit_ , he thought to himself. _It's true!_

The babysitter called Sam as soon as the first reporter came to the door. He instructed Marcie not to answer it for anyone unless she personally recognized them. His next call was to the police, who were skeptical about his story but agreed to send a car by to check it out.

"We've got to get the kids out of there," Tracie said.

"Maybe we can have them sneak out the back door and go to Marcie's house," Sam mused aloud. "They might not be seen from the front."

"I want them away from the neighborhood, Sam," his wife said.

Sam thought about it a bit, but had no ideas on how to get the kids out without them being mobbed by the press. Then he realized he didn't have to, he knew someone who could think up that sort of thing for him.

John Pullman stood by his car, wondering what to do next. Nobody would answer the door and nobody knew where the Harmans had gone. Staying here seemed like a waste of time, but he didn't know where else to turn. Neither did the other reporters.

A blue Ford Mustang that looked like it had seen better days slowly approached the house. Pullman watched as it backed into the Harman driveway. Something about that car looked familiar. The curious reporter walked towards it.

Pullman understood a second too late. The entry door next to the main garage door opened and three children ran out as the Mustang's passenger door flew open. The kids jumped into the car as the assembled press realized what was happening and rushed to intercept.

The Mustang's engine roared and with a squealing of tires, it tore out of the driveway. It went right past Pullman, nearly hitting the reporter but also allowing him to get a good look at the driver. "Dammit Steve!" he shouted as the car sped down Knox Avenue and out of sight.

Twenty minutes later, Sam Jr., Kristen and Noah entered the Presidential suite, much to the relief of their parents. They were accompanied by a tall, lean man with dark hair and a goatee. "Dad!" Sam Jr. said. "You should have seen it!"

"We went really fast!" Noah exclaimed.

"It was fun," Kristen said.

"It was awesome!" Sam Jr. added. "We peeled out of the driveway!"

"You weren't supposed to tell them that part," the tall man chided, with a smile. "Sorry if I left a mark on your driveway."

"Don't worry about it," Sam said. "Thanks for getting them out of there."

"Yes," Tracie said, hugging Kristen. "Thank you so much."

"My pleasure," the man replied.

"This is Steve Bennett," Sam explained. "He's the private investigator I mentioned earlier."

Sam started to introduce the visitors from Texas but his eldest beat him to it, correctly identifying Sallie and Nick. Sam Jr. explained that while his parents were gone, he'd taken to the Internet to research the Curtis family.

"You're a smart young man," Sallie said, smiling for the first time since Sam and Tracie walked in the door. "How old are you?"

"Eleven," Sam Jr. said.

"And you children?" she asked the others.

"I'm seven," Kristen said.

"I'm five," Noah said.

"They're adorable," Sallie said.

"Thank you," their parents said.

"Okay Dad," Sam Jr. said. "How much?"

Braddock chuckled. "Cuts right to the chase, doesn't he?"

"Did you get a million dollars, Daddy?" Noah asked.

"Uh...more than that," Sam said. "We'll talk about the details later."

"How did the press find out?" Sam Jr. asked.

"That's a good question," Sam replied. "I'd like to know the answer to that myself."

"I'll have Dad lean on Pullman," Steve said, explaining that his father was the newspaper's city editor.

"Can we move to the country, by Grandma and Grandpa?" Kristen asked, referring to Tracie's parents. She loved their place, which was about thirty miles west of Port Mason, and had frequently asked if they could move out there.

"That's one of the things Mom and I have to talk about," Sam said. "We'll definitely be moving, but as for where...I'm not too sure yet."

"Daddy," Noah said. "I like our house."

"I know," Sam said. "But you'll like a new house even better, I promise."

"Can I have a new Beyblade?" Noah asked.

Sam and Tracie laughed. "Not today," Tracie said. Noah asked for a new Beyblade toy at least twice a week. It was clear that he didn't understand, but they hadn't really expected him to.

"But I want a new Beyblade," Noah protested.

Sam and Tracie laughed again. Kristen looked at Noah crossly. "Will you stop talking about your stupid Beyblade?" she demanded.

"It's not stupid!" Noah shouted.

"Ugh," Kristen groaned. "You see what I have to put up with?"

"What you have to put up with?" Sam Jr. said. "I have to share a room with him."

"Takes you back, doesn't it Mama?" Nick said.

"Sure does," Sallie replied. "Why don't y'all stay for lunch? We can hash some things out."

The Harmans agreed and lunch was ordered. Sam was starting to feel a little better about this. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing, after all.

Later that afternoon, a call was made using a prepaid, and untraceable, cell phone. "Yes?" a young man's voice said.

"I need a full report on a private investigator by the name of Steve Bennett."

"On it" was the reply. "Anything else?"

"Arrange to have Stu intercept Harman when he comes to Houston. He needs a little scare thrown into him."

Hank Curtis' murderer ended the call and smiled in satisfaction. Harman's existence was certainly a surprise, but in the long run he was nothing more than a bump in the road. The goal was in sight.
FIVE

The Curtis family's Gulfstream V jet circled over Houston as it awaited clearance for its final approach to Ellington International Airport. Sam tried to relax but his nerves were shot. The last five days had been insane. He felt like he was under siege with no way to break out of it.

Since that first meeting with Braddock, he'd been hounded by press, politicians, con artists, old 'friends,' women claiming to be his birth mother, and a group of protesters who seemed to be angry at him, though he wasn't entirely sure why.

He had done two things that brought him great pleasure. On Monday morning he went to his bank and paid off his mortgage and car loans. After that he went to Downen & Lowe, cleaned out his desk, and quit. He was burning a bridge but he didn't care.

He had yet to hear from either his cousin or his ex-wife. Ted wasn't a real concern, yet. He'd been known to drop off the radar for months at a time. Sam would hear from him sooner or later. Becky was another matter. When she turned up there would be trouble.

The trip to Houston was an attempt to head off a legal confrontation with Bill and Jerry Curtis who were threatening legal action over the terms of their father's will. Sam flew down with Steve Bennett and his new lawyer. Aaron Charlton was a senior partner at Leonard and Spengler, the city's most prestigious law firm. Anderson Braddock had suggested him.

The plane landed and taxied to the Curtis family hangar, where a limo was waiting. Once they were on the road, Steve took a metal box out of his travel bag, entered a combination, and took out his gun.

"Are you expecting trouble?" Charlton asked.

"Always," the private investigator replied. Steve hadn't been able to find out who had tipped the press off about Sam's inheritance and thought some poking around in Houston might help resolve that. Sam had to admit he felt better with his friend by his side. "Maybe it's time I got one of those" he said, indicating the weapon.

"I'm a little surprised you haven't already," Steve said. "The old neighborhood isn't what it used to be."

"Yeah, I know," Sam said. "Tracie and I have talked about it a couple of times, but they're expensive and we always seemed to have something more important to spend our money on. I guess that really isn't a problem now, is it?"

"Nope," Steve said. "You might even want to consider getting a concealed-carry permit. I know a guy who can take you through the training."

"I was just thinking about home protection," Sam said. "But it might not be a bad idea."

"Take your time and do some research before making that decision," Steve said. "I—what's going on?"

"What?" Sam asked.

"This isn't the expressway," Steve said, looking out the window.

"Maybe we're taking an alternate route," Charlton said.

"I don't think so," Steve said, taking out his cell phone. He consulted his GPS, then turned and knocked on the divider that separated them from the driver. There was no response. He pressed the button that should have lowered the divider. It didn't work.

"Hey!" Steve shouted. "Hey, we're going the wrong way!"

There was still no response. "Open up, dammit!" Steve shouted, pounding on the divider.

Still nothing happened. The limo lurched to the right and the ride started getting bumpy. Sam looked out the window and saw they were on a dirt road. He tried rolling down the window but the buttons didn't work. The door locks wouldn't release, either.

Steve drew his gun. "Get down, and plug your ears," he said

"You're not going to—" Charlton began.

Steve aimed the weapon at the back window. Sam and Charlton ducked, covering their ears. Steve fired three rounds into the window, kicked it out, and crawled onto the trunk. Then he climbed onto the roof. Sam heard several more gunshots. The limo screeched to a halt.

Sam looked out the window and saw a man running away, Steve in close pursuit. The private detective caught up with the man and tackled him to the ground. They struggled for a moment but Steve got the upper hand and pinned the driver to the ground.

Once the driver was under control, Steve released Sam and Charlton from the limo. Sam's legs were shaking and from the look of things, Charlton wasn't doing any better. Sam offered a quick prayer of thanks for deliverance as Steve shoved the driver against the hood which, Sam noticed, had several bullet holes in it.

"Call 911," Steve said. "And turn on your phone's location service so they can find us."

Sam took out his iPhone and did what his friend said. Steve, meanwhile, yanked his captive back by the hair. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Fuck you," the man replied.

"Fuck You?" Steve said. "Interesting name. Your mother must have hated you. Where were you taking us?"

The driver didn't reply. "We'll be right back," Steve said. He led the driver down the road and behind a large bush. Despite intense curiosity, Sam stayed put. He sensed that his friend might be having a less-than-lawful conversation with the driver and wouldn't want any witnesses. When they came back, Sam noticed that the front of the driver's pants were wet. What had Steve done to him?

Steve looked grim as he shoved the man up against the limo. "You have a serious problem," he said.
SIX

It was early evening when another limo carrying Sam and company arrived at the Curtis estate, just outside Houston. There were armed guards at the front gate, which was opened only after the identities of the limo's occupants were verified.

Sam was so shaken up that he didn't even look at the mansion. Steve Bennett had to lead him out of the limo and into the home. They were met by Sallie, Nick, and two other men, who were introduced as Nick's brothers.

H. William 'Bill' Curtis, Jr. looked like a CEO in his custom tailored suit and tie. The far less formal Jerry Curtis was dressed like a blue-collar foreman. Bill was the acting president of Curtis Enterprises. Jerry ran the oil business. Nick rounded out the trio by overseeing the company's many high-tech ventures. Neither Bill nor Jerry offered to shake Sam's hand.

They took Sam into a parlor and sat him on a sofa. He was offered a drink but politely refused. "Do the police have any idea what this is about?" Nick asked.

"Oh, yes," Steve said. "I suspect they'll be here in a few minutes."

"Here?" Sallie asked. "Why?"

"To question these two," Steve said, gesturing to Bill and Jerry. "They're the prime suspects."

"What?" Bill replied, shocked.

"That's nuts!" Jerry exclaimed.

"You'd better be able to back that up," Sallie said. "I don't like people coming into my house and calling my boys criminals."

"The driver's name is Stu Peart," Steve said. "He's worked for you for years, hasn't he?"

"Sure," Nick said. "That's why this is so shocking."

"Peart told me that these two offered him one hundred thousand dollars in cash to drive Sam to one of Curtis Enterprises' old buildings instead of bringing him here," Steve explained. "He's given the same statement to the police."

"Did you beat him in to saying that?" Jerry asked, belligerently.

"He was eager to talk," the private detective smiled.

"This is outrageous," Bill declared. "I run a multi-billion dollar corporation. I don't kidnap people."

"And if I wanted to hurt this loser," Jerry said, indicating Sam. "I'd do it myself."

"You'd have to go through me, first," Steve said.

"Think you can take me?" Jerry asked, smiling.

Steve smiled back. Sam knew that look on his friend's face. Jerry's chances of leaving this room on his own two feet had just dropped considerably. "Steve," Sam said. "Ease off."

Steve took a reluctant step back. Moments later the police arrived to question Bill and Jerry, taking them into another room. Sallie sat down next to Sam. "Sure you won't have that drink?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Sam said. "But thank you."

"Don't worry," Nick said. "We've put on extra security. You'll be safe here."

"What about my family?" Sam asked.

"Charley's with them," Steve said. Charley Bennett was Steve uncle and the owner of Bennett Investigations.

"Thank you," Sam said. "All of you. If nobody minds, I'd like to get some rest."

"You don't want any supper?" Sallie asked.

"I don't have much of an appetite right now," Sam said.

"We have a room ready for you," Nick said. "I'll take you on up."

"Steve, you mind coming too?" Sam asked. "Something I want to talk to you about."

Nick showed Sam and Steve to adjoining rooms on the second floor. They were every bit as luxurious as the suite back at the Fairmont, if not more so. Sam walked over to the window and stared out at the sprawling estate.

"If you decide you want something to eat, dial 5 on the phone," Nick said. "They'll make you anything you like."

"Thanks," Sam said.

Nick left the room. "What did you want to talk to me about?" Steve asked.

"Can the local cops be trusted?" Sam asked. "The Curtises are pretty powerful around here."

"I'd love to tell you that the police will always act with integrity no matter who they're investigating," Steve replied. "But I've seen enough back home to know that isn't always the case so I guess my answer is that I honestly don't know. If you're about to ask me to look into it, I'm a little reluctant. We don't like to meddle in active police investigations."

"I know," Sam said. "It was just a thought."

"If Houston PD can't pull it together for some reason, I'll look into it," Steve said. "But we should give them time to do their thing first. That okay with you?"

"Sure," Sam said. "I want you with me at that meeting tomorrow. Jerry...I hate to say this but he scares me."

"You have good reason to be scared," Steve said. "When I was checking the Curtis family out, I discovered that Jerry's first wife divorced him on grounds of spousal abuse. He's also been picked up by the police for getting into bar fights. There's never been suspicion of criminal activity beyond that, but if I learned anything as a cop it was not to underestimate people."

Sam nodded. "I have a feeling you're going to be doing a lot of work for me," he said. "I want you to know that I appreciate it. I know it's probably going to cut into your other cases."

"After that retainer you paid, I think Charley might kill for you. Don't worry about it."

Sam nodded absently. "If it helps, I do think you'll be safe here," Steve said.

"Maybe," Sam said. "Maybe."
SEVEN

Sam did not emerge from his room until mid-morning the next day. He'd spent a good part of the night on the phone with Tracie who was just as scared as he was. Nothing had happened in Port Mason, thank God, but Sam did not like being away from his family at a time like this. He wanted to get home as quickly as possible.

The meeting with the Curtis family convened in what Sam had been told was an 'informal' dining room. Sallie Curtis sat at the head of the table, Bill and Jerry seated on her left and Nick on the right. Nick gestured for Sam to sit with him. Anderson Braddock, Sam noticed, was absent.

"You get any sleep?" Sallie asked as he sat down.

"Not really," Sam admitted.

"We can put this off if you like."

"No, let's get on with it."

"Okay." Sallie turned to Charlton. "You. Out."

"With all respect, Mrs. Curtis," Charlton began. "I represent Sam's--"

"I said out," Sallie commanded. "You wait in the other room with the rest of the lawyers. This is family business. We'll call you in when we need you."

Sam nodded his approval and Charlton reluctantly left. "We can get a lot more done without those bloodsuckers," Sallie said.

"What's he still doing here?" Jerry demanded, indicating Steve.

"I feel safer with him around," Sam said.

"Can't stick up for yourself?" Jerry sneered.

"After yesterday, I think Sam's entitled to have someone he trusts close by," Nick said. "Especially around you two."

"We had nothing to do with it," Bill insisted. "And I think the police are satisfied with our explanations."

"Then why did Peart finger you two?" Nick asked.

"I don't know, but if I get my hands on that lying sack—"

"Jerry!" Sallie barked.

Jerry looked ready to keep talking but Bill put a hand on his arm. "It doesn't matter," he said. "Let's get on with it."

"Are you two ready to listen to reason?" Sallie asked.

"I resent that," Bill said. "There's nothing wrong with trying to protect our family and our company."

"Sam is part of the family," Sallie replied.

"His...parentage has yet to be proven," Bill said.

"How can you look at him and still question that?" Nick asked. "It's like looking at old pictures of Dad."

"That doesn't make him one of us," Jerry said. "What's he ever done for the company, or for the family? Dad worked hard all his life to build his fortune. We can't let this bas-"

"Jerry," Sallie warned.

"We can't let him take what's rightfully ours," he finished.

"The three billion is his," Sallie declared. "Hank set up that trust for him years ago. You can't do anything about it."

"My concern is the twenty percent share of the company and the seat on the board," Bill said. "The damage an...unqualified board member could do is terrifying."

"I don't know about that," Nick said. "I've gotten to know him a bit. He might have some good ideas."

Jerry laughed. "I know your game," he said. "You're cozying up to him so that he'll back that alternative fuel project. Damn waste of time and money."

"The oil business won't last forever," Nick said.

"Shit, here we go again," Jerry said.

"Dad thought it was worth looking into," Nick said.

"You've sunk millions--"

"Enough," Sallie said. "You boys can argue about that later."

"I'd like to say something," Sam began. "Mr. Braddock--"

"Braddock!" Jerry barked. "That old coot probably cooked up this whole scheme! I never did trust him!"

"You've hated him ever since he stopped getting you out of trouble," Nick said.

The room was silent for a moment. Sam could see the anger in Bill and Jerry's eyes. This could get out of hand very quickly and was glad he'd brought Steve along. He silently offered up a quick prayer for strength.

"Mama, I don't understand your part in this," Bill said. "Why are you supporting this man?"

"I knew Hank was a cheat," Sallie said. "Sometimes I wonder why I put up with it. I don't have a good answer for that. As for Sam, nobody asks to be born, and nobody can control what they're born into. At least Hank did something for his son."

"I don't care," Jerry said. "As far as I'm concerned, he has no right to anything."

Jerry looked right at Sam as he said this. As much as he wanted to, Sam didn't flinch. Jerry scared him to death but something inside refused to bend. He gave the credit to God and did his best to keep his trust in the Almighty.

"I came here to negotiate," Sam said. "I came here to be reasonable. For my trouble I've been kidnapped, threatened, and insulted. The bible teaches me to turn the other cheek. I've turned it, and gotten it slapped as well. I'm starting to think maybe it's time for some changes at Curtis Enterprises."

"Don't you dare!" Bill said. "We won't let you get away with it!"

"You should have thought of that before you tried to have me kidnapped," Sam said, standing up. "I'm going home. Next time, you can come see me."

He left the room, followed by Steve. "Didn't know you had it in you," the private detective said.

"Neither did I," Sam admitted. "Let's get out of here."
EIGHT

At a few minutes before nine the following Sunday morning, two black Dodge Durangos drove up to the front doors of Chester Avenue Christian Church. Sam, Tracie, and their children got out of the second vehicle and entered the building. The SUVs drove off and parked at opposite ends of Chester Avenue, where their drivers could keep an eye out for trouble.

This fuss made Sam feel like he was under Secret Service protection but after what had happened in Texas he was taking no chances with his family's safety. They were now under the protection of Tyler Security.

Thanks to Sallie Curtis, they'd found a temporary home on the estate of the Atkins family, the wealthiest landlords in the area. Nothing of any importance was built in Port Mason without one of them being involved. Hank had had strong business ties with them.

Today's trip to church was their first venture off of the Atkins estate since Sam's return from Texas. The security people weren't entirely happy about it, but Sam and Tracie insisted. He needed to be with his friends and fellow believers, to fight this growing sense of isolation that had been building since learning of his inheritance.

As they entered the lobby, people stopped and stared. Sam felt like he was on display, and he didn't like it. Part of him wanted to turn around and walk out.

Then a man Sam didn't recognize handed him a blue-backed piece of paper. "Alex Peterman, attorney-at-law," he said. "Becky sends her regards."

Peterman fled the church before anyone could say or do anything. Sam opened the paper. His ex-wife was suing for one hundred million.

"I've heard of Peterman," Aaron Charlton said over the phone. "He's your typical ambulance-chaser. He likes to make a lot of noise and scare insurance companies into settling out of court. He's not too well thought of by the respectable members of the bar."

Sam and family were on their way back to the Atkins estate. The children were riding in the lead SUV so he and Tracie could talk to the lawyer. Sam had his cell on speaker.

"This is going to get out, isn't it?" he asked.

"With a guy like Peterman, you can count on it," Charlton said. "One of Peterman's usual weapons is publicity, especially if you decide to fight the lawsuit."

"I can't let her get away with this," Sam said.

"I'll be better able to advise you after I see the papers," Charlton said. "I'm on my way to meet you now."

"Aaron, it's Sunday," Tracie protested.

"I consider myself on call around the clock," Charlton replied. "And with something like this, we really need to get up to speed as quickly as possible. Trust me."

The Atkins estate was just west of the city limits. After passing through the front gate, they drove towards the main house. It wasn't as large or opulent as the Curtis mansion, but it was definitely out of Sam's league. Or rather, the league he used to be in. Before reaching the house, they turned off onto a side road that went around it. They passed a tennis court, swimming pool, and a garage that was more than twice the size of their house on Knox Avenue.

Beyond the garage was the guest house where Sam and his family were staying, a two-story colonial almost as big as the main house. Aaron Charlton's Mercedes was parked out front. Sam didn't see Kristen or Noah, but Sam Jr. stood by the front door, an expectant look on his face. "Who's Becky?" he asked, as he had after Peterman served the papers.

"Not now," Sam said, entering the house.

Sam, Tracie, and Charlton sat down in the study, which was already Sam's favorite room in the house. The walls were lined with leather-bound books. The solid oak desk was an antique. Sam was particularly fond of the red leather executive chair, in which he sat.

The lawyer seemed to have bounced back from the adventure in Texas much better than Sam had. Of course, he hadn't been the target. Charlton quickly scanned the document. "I'm sorry to have to ask you this," he said. "But I have to know. Is any of this true?"

"I never raised a hand to her," Sam said. "And I never verbally or emotionally abused her. She cheated on me and I left her."

"And the paternity of her child?"

Sam looked at Tracie with some despair. "Honey, we have to be honest about this," she said. "You've never been sure, have you?"

"You don't know?" Charlton asked.

"Not with one hundred percent certainty," Sam admitted.

"What do you want to do?" Charlton asked.

"If Kyle's...mine, I'll support him," Sam said. "But this business with Becky herself is outrageous. I can't let her get away with it."

Charlton shook his head "You need to be realistic. Do you really want your dirty laundry aired in court? A settlement now can save you a lot of grief later. I can talk Peterman down on the amount, that shouldn't be a problem. The figure they named in the lawsuit is really nothing more than an opening bid, anyway."

"Wouldn't that be the same as admitting guilt?" Sam asked.

"No," Charlton said. "You agree to a settlement without an official finding of fault. It's done all the time."

There was a knock at the door. "Dad?" Sam Jr. said from the other side.

"Not now!" Sam responded, sharply. Tracie gave him a look and he realized he'd made a mistake. "I'm sorry, what is it?"

Sam Jr. came in carrying his new iPad which he handed it to his father. On the screen was the latest from _The Port Mason Register_. Sam was glad he was sitting down because when he saw the headline, he wanted to faint.

It said: 'Ex-Wife: Billionaire beat me.'
NINE

Aaron Charlton was trying to reach Alex Peterman. He was on his third attempt. Sam massaged his temples as he stared at the story by John Pullman. Sam Jr. was still standing there. "Why didn't you tell me about this?" the boy asked.

"I never wanted you kids to know about Becky," he said. "I wish I'd never met the woman."

"What happened?" Sam Jr. asked.

Sam hesitated. "You might as well tell him," Tracie said. "He'll get it out of you eventually."

"True," Sam said. "Okay, but you don't repeat this to your sister and brother. Understand?"

"Sure."

"I met Becky in college," he said. "We hit it off. It was a mostly...physical relationship, if you know what I mean."

Sam Jr. nodded. They'd had a few talks about this sort of thing recently. "Anyway," Sam continued. "We'd been together for about a year when she had this idea of dropping out, getting jobs, and getting married. I didn't agree at first. Finishing college was more important to me than it was to her, but we did get engaged.

"When our junior year was over we decided to take a trip together and went to Las Vegas. It was a wild time. I still don't remember some of it."

"And that's when you got married?" Sam Jr. asked.

"By an Elvis impersonator, no less," Sam said.

His son couldn't help but laugh at that. "Please tell me you have pictures," he said.

"This may sound funny to you, but it got serious pretty quickly," Sam said. "My mom and dad were furious when we got back. They weren't all too fond of Becky and were heartbroken that they didn't even get to attend my wedding. My mom didn't speak to me for weeks."

"We'd been married for about six months when everything fell apart," he continued. "I came home early from work one day and found her in bed with another man."

"Whoa," Sam Jr. said. "What did you do?"

"I left," Sam replied. "Packed a bag and walked out. I went home, begged Mom and Dad to forgive me, and filed for divorce. The hardest part when Becky said she didn't want to be married to a wimp and had been thinking about leaving me anyway. I had gotten boring."

"That sucks," Sam Jr. said.

Sam nodded in agreement. "That about sums it up," he said. "Mom and Dad let me move back home as long as I finished my degree, which I did. After the divorce I never saw Becky again, but Steve Bennett ran across her a few years later. That's when I found out about...Kyle."

"Who's Kyle?"

"Becky's son," Sam said. "And maybe mine."

"Holy shit," Sam Jr. said.

"Language," Tracie chastised.

"It's okay," Sam said. "This one time, I think we can let it go.

"Steve was on the police force when it happened," Sam said. "He responded to a domestic disturbance. Becky had gotten into a fight with a boyfriend. Steve arrested the guy for hitting her and discovered that she had a son who at the time was four years old. By this point, it had been almost five years since I caught Becky with that other guy. You can do the math.

"Becky never contacted me, never asked for money or any kind of help with Kyle. But there's always been this nagging doubt in the back of my mind. The timing is just close enough to be suspicious.

"Now listen to me," Sam said, looking his son in the eye. "I never, ever hit her. I never abused her in any way. I don't care what this lawyer, the paper, or anyone else says."

"You want to play hardball, Peterman? We can do that!" Charlton said into his phone. "We'll see what the judge has to say!"

He ended the call. "I miss old-fashioned phones," the lawyer said. "You could slam those to hang up on someone."

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"Arrogant little SOB," Charlton said. "He says the money's not-negotiable and dared me to face him in court. Dared me! I'll wipe the floor with him."

"What makes him so confident?" Tracie asked.

"That's the question," Charlton said. "Is there anything your ex-wife might have that could bolster her claims? Any public arguments, any friends who might try to corroborate her story?"

"I don't remember many arguments at all," Sam said. "Of course, we did drink a lot in those days."

"We can't waste any time," Charlton said. "He's declared a PR war and we have to do something about it. Do you think your detective friend can help?"

"I'm sure he can come up with something," Sam said.

"You'd better get him on it, then," Charlton said. "Compared to your wealth, the amount she wants is not that big. The real threat here is to your reputation."

"I've never been too concerned with what people think of me," Sam said. "Why should I start caring now?"

"Because you're a public figure now," the lawyer replied. "You may not know what your plans are yet, but I think they're going to be big. If we let your ex-wife and that ambulance chaser ruin your reputation, your life will be much more difficult."

"So I pay them off," Sam said, disgusted. He looked to Tracie. "What do you think?"

"I think Aaron's right," she said. "But it's your decision."

The idea of giving Becky anything really went against the grain, but he supposed he was going to have to do it. "There's one more thing I'm concerned about," he said. "Opening the floodgates. If it gets out that I settled, I may have no end of lawsuits from people who think I owe them a living."

"You're going to have that problem anyway," Charlton said. "The best we can do in this case is a non-disclosure agreement. Nobody needs to know the terms."

"Okay," Sam said. "Let's do it. But push for the DNA test, Aaron. We need to know for sure about that."

"Will do," Charlton said. "If I can get Peterman to take my calls. I'll let you know what happens."

As they saw Charlton to the door, they were surprised to see Steve and Charley Bennett walking up. Sam smiled at the sight of Steve's uncle. Charley could be a real character sometimes, but that joviality belied a toughness bred from a career in law enforcement. One crossed him only at one's own peril.

"You want the good news or bad news first?" Charley asked.

Steve gave his uncle a puzzled look but said nothing. Suspecting he was being set up, Sam nevertheless said, "Good news."

"Sorry, there isn't any," Charley replied. His nephew rolled his eyes. Sam was not surprised. Charley's sense of humor could be a little strange sometimes. "We've got nothing but trouble for you, Sam."

The way he smiled told Sam it wasn't quite as bad as it seemed. "Come on in," he said. "Let's hear it."

"We have a mystery on our hands," Steve said, once they were seated in the study. "I ran across more Susan Orricks than I thought I would, but none of them match the information on that birth certificate. I couldn't understand it, at first. Usually there's something, even if it's just an old address listing. I came up bust."

"What my nephew here forgot is that there was a time before the Internet," Charley said. "A time when it was a lot easier to use an assumed name. Once I reminded him of that, he did his job a lot better."

Charley never missed an opportunity to get in a dig on Steve. Steve just shook his head. "There was a Susan Marie Orrick living in Port Mason when you were born but she was fifty-one," the younger Bennett said. "It turns out that she ran a home for unwed mothers over on 70th street. She died eighteen years ago. There are no living relatives we can talk to."

"How many women do you think she loaned her name to?" Tracie asked.

"I thought about that," Charley said. "So I called in a favor down at the courthouse. The answer is: none. This appears to have been a one-time deal."

"It may have been a lucrative one," Steve added. "That place she ran struggled for funding until you were born. After that, it never lacked for money again. Orrick closed the place a few years before she died and retired with a nice pension. I'm trying to find out where the money came from but it's going to take a while."

"Did you ask Anderson Braddock?" Sam asked.

"He says he knows nothing about it," Steve replied.

"You could have called me, you know," Sam said. "No reason to drive all the way out here."

"That's not the only thing we wanted to talk to you about," Charley said. "There's been a development in that kidnapping attempt in Texas."

"This doesn't sound good," Sam said.

"It's not," Steve said. "Stu Peart disappeared. His monitoring device sent out a signal that it had been tampered with but by the time Houston PD ran it down he was long gone. Without him, there's no way to prove or disprove Bill and Jerry's involvement in what happened."

Sam sighed. Things just kept getting worse. "So what happens now?"

"I want to head back down there," Steve said. "I might be able to poke around in places the police can't."

"Meanwhile, I'll take over the search for your mother," Charley said.

"That's going to have to wait," Sam said. "I have another job for you.

He filled them in on the lawsuit and media coverage. "Told you Pullman's a jerk," Steve said. "He needs to work for a tabloid or something, not a normal paper."

"I'll get on it right away," Charley said.

When the Bennetts left, Sam hoped he'd have the rest of the day to at least try to relax. This was not to be. Later that afternoon he got a phone call. It was his cousin Ted, in trouble again and needing Sam's help. This day just kept getting better and better.
TEN

Ted Harman was the proverbial black sheep of the family. Sam was an only child, but Ted was like a brother. As children, they had been inseparable. As they grew older Ted's substance abuse issues caused a lot of problems, but Sam never abandoned him. He certainly wasn't going to do that now.

On Monday morning, Sam entered an attorney's consultation room at the Port Mason county courthouse, where his cousin was about to be arraigned. Ted's appearance had changed since the last time Sam saw him. His head was shaved, there were a couple of new tattoos, and he'd grown a long beard. He smiled when Sam walked in.

"Hey rich boy!" he said, jumping up and hugging Sam. "Thanks for the lawyer. She's a piece, isn't she?"

"As much trouble as you're in and you're checking out your lawyer?" Sam asked, shaking his head. Same old Ted.

"Might not be seeing any girls for a while," Ted said, sitting back down.

"It's your own fault."

"Shit! Don't start that."

"Selling cocaine? I'm supposed to be okay with that?"

"Got to make a living."

Before Sam could reply to that, the lawyer he'd hired came in. Eileen Girardi had been referred to him by Aaron Charlton. She was widely considered the best criminal defense attorney in town and the bane of local law enforcement. Her expression as she sat down was grim.

Girardi was blunt. "This is not good," she said. "The SWAT team's equipment now includes video cameras mounted on their helmets. They have clear shots of you with the drugs.

Sam shook his head. "Way to go."

"The police have been building this case for weeks," Girardi continued. "According to the complaint, their people made several small buys from you and your friends, then tracked you to that house. They have video of the buys, too. Plus, one of your friends is already trying to cut a deal and is pegging you as the ringleader.

"Now for the good news. They're willing to deal it down to a class B charge. You'll get five years, you won't have to go to Crossville, and as long as you behave yourself inside, you'll go to the top of the parole eligibility list."

"In exchange for what?" Ted asked, warily.

"Your supplier," Girardi said.

"Fuck that," Ted said. "I'm not rolling."

"Are you nuts?" Sam asked. "You want to go to prison?"

"Beats the shit out of being dead," his cousin replied. "And that's how I'd end up if I talk."

"You've never seen the inside of Crossville, have you?" Girardi asked.

"Nope."

"It's a hell on earth," she said. "The gangs rule the place. Do you really want that to be your life for the next twenty years?"

"It might not be that bad," Ted said.

"Let me have a moment with him," Sam said. Girardi left the room.

"You're not talking me out of it," Ted said. "I don't care what you say."

"Could they really get to you in jail?" Sam asked.

Ted laughed. "Are you kidding?" he replied. "It's easier to kill someone in there than it is on the outside."

"There has to be a way."

"I wish there was," Ted said, sounding downcast for the first time. "I don't want to go to prison. But I don't want to end up dead, either. Remember what happened to Steve's brother?"

Tom Bennett had been murdered five years earlier. The crime remained unsolved and had set into motion the events that drove Steve off of the police force. "Are these the same people?" Sam asked, incredulously. Steve would go nuts if he found out Ted had the information he'd spent the past few years looking for.

"That's not what I meant," Ted said. "But word is Tom was killed because he'd been offered a deal and didn't say no right away. That's all it takes in this town. I'm not going to end up the same way."

"Maybe we can work something else out," Sam said "Now that I have money, I can--"

"No way!" Ted declared. "You are not getting mixed up in this. It's too dangerous."

"But--"

"No buts. There is shit you can't get involved with. These people, they wouldn't just take it out on me. They'd come after you, too."

Sam didn't know what to say to that. "You're the only one who's been decent to me all these years," his cousin said. "And I love you for it. I may have fucked up my own life, but I won't do that to you or your family. Go spend your money, raise your kids, live your life, do those great things I always knew you could do. Don't worry about me."

"How can I not worry about you?" Sam asked. "You're going to be in one of the worst prisons in the country."

"And I'll be protected because I'm keeping my mouth shut," Ted said. "It'll be alright, Sam. Just promise you'll come visit from time to time. Who knows, I might even get religion in there. Weirder things have happened."

Sam stared at his cousin for a moment, remembering the good times. Ted teaching him to ride a bike, play baseball, and sneak into R-rated movies. Ted being there for him when his first marriage collapsed and attending the funerals of both of Sam's parents. Sam couldn't stand the thought of Ted going to prison, but after what had been said, he knew there was no way around it.

"We'll pray for you," he said. "And I'll always be here."

For once, Ted didn't respond with a wisecrack. The two cousins embraced again, Sam wondered if it was for the last time.

Sam stepped out of the consultation room, looked at Eileen Girardi, and shook his head. "I didn't think you'd be able to talk him out of it," she said. "And despite what I said about Crossville, I don't blame him for staying quiet. The drug dealers around here don't take kindly to snitches."

"So I understand," Sam replied. "Isn't there some way to fight them?"

"Sure, but it would take a lot more money and manpower than this city can afford," she said. "Especially with the economy the way it is."

It always came down to money, Sam mused. Then his expression changed. It did always come down to money. That was something he had plenty of. As he left the courthouse, he started making calls.
ELEVEN

When Sam got back to the house, he found Nick Curtis sitting in the living room with Tracie. Nick smiled when Sam came in and even embraced his younger half-brother. That was a surprise. Sam still wasn't sure where Nick stood. "What brings you here?" he asked.

"Business," Nick said. "What else?"

"Naturally," Sam said. "What kind of hornet's nest did I stir up?"

"Bill and Jerry are fit to be tied," Nick said as they all sat down. "Besides the police investigation and your threat, they're in trouble with their wives. Someone sent my sisters-in-law videos of their husbands with other women. Darla and Tessa are both talking to divorce lawyers. What's even more interesting is that these videos are making their way around the company intranet."

"And why did you come all this way to tell me?" Sam said. "I know you own a phone."

Nick chuckled. "I thought it would be better if we talked in person," he said. "First, I have to ask if you or your detective friend had anything to do with those videos."

"I know I didn't," Sam said.

"And the detective?"

"If Steve pulls something like that, he makes sure the intended target knows who did it."

"Yeah, he did strike me as that type," Nick agreed. "I also want to talk to you about the company. How much trouble are you planning to stir up?"

"I may have been blowing smoke," Sam admitted. "Bill and Jerry really ticked me off."

Nick laughed hard this time. "I love it!" he exclaimed. "They think you're serious! I've never seen Bill so nervous or Jerry so mad! They are completely terrified that you're going to destroy the company!"

He descended into laughter again. "You don't seem to be too upset about it," Tracie observed.

"I'm not," Nick replied. "We really don't have much in common. When I was younger I didn't even want to be part of Curtis Enterprises. It was only when Dad expanded into emerging technologies that I got interested. He wasn't the best father, or human being for that matter, but he had vision.

"That brings me to the main reason I came," he said. "Would you be willing to exercise your voting share to help me with some things?"

"Maybe," he said. "Depends on what you have in mind."

"I want to spin off the new technology division into a separate company," Nick explained. "Dad wouldn't go along with it and neither do Bill and Jerry. Mama agrees with me and is willing to back the move. Between us we only control forty percent of the voting stock. If you came in with us, we could pull it off."

"Tell me more," Sam said.

Nick spent an hour telling Sam about all the projects going on in that segment of Curtis Enterprises. The scope was breathtaking. They were even trying to break into space exploration. That alone was enough to intrigue Sam, a lifelong space enthusiast.

"Sure beats the heck out of the oil business," Sam said. "That holds absolutely no interest for me. Who would own the new company?"

"At first it would be you, me and Mama," he replied. "In a few years we would take the company public. That will open up whole new avenues for us. We would always keep control, though, to make sure that we're really pushing the limits and not just trying to boost share value. I want to make new things and for those things to make the world a better place."

"It sounds exciting," Tracie said.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Mind if I think about it? It's a big step."

"Take your time," Nick said. "You shouldn't rush into anything.

Sam thanked him and invited him to stay for a few days. The truth was that he was stalling for time. He wasn't going to do anything until Steve found out exactly what was going on.
TWELVE

Steve Bennett checked into the Ramada Houston Intercontinental near the airport at a little before ten that evening. The private investigator was tired and frustrated. He'd spent the hours since his arrival working with the Houston police trying to find Stu Peart only to come up empty. One of his specialties was supposed to be missing persons. Some specialist he was turning out to be.

He found his room on the first floor, slipped the keycard into the slot, and opened the door. As he fumbled for the lights, a hand grabbed his arm and jerked him inside. Steve swung his bag wildly and felt a thump as it connected with something. The grip on his arm loosened.

He jerked his arm free and drew his gun as he backed into a wall, kicking into the darkness. His foot connected with flesh and he heard a grunt. Steve aimed the gun at the floor and fired a shot.

"Shit!" the attacker shouted, sounding terrified. The door opened and Steve saw a figure run into the lit hallway.

Steve ran into the hall himself, raised his gun, and shouted at the running figure. "I will shoot you!" he shouted. "Stop!"

The attacker did so. Steve could see that the man was wearing some kind of headgear. "Keep your hands where I can see them!" Steve commanded as he slowly approached.

Curious hotel guests started peeking out their doors. "Somebody call the police," Steve said as he reached the attacker. "You, turn around slowly."

It was Stu Peart. He was wearing a headpiece that positioned a small scope in front of his right eye. Steve recognized it as a night vision monocular, frequently used by police SWAT teams and the military.

"If it isn't my old buddy, Fuck You," Steve said. "You want to do it the easy way this time?"

Peart nodded slowly.

"He fingered Bill and Jerry again," Steve reported an hour later. Sam listened intently as his friend recounted his little adventure. "Houston PD's going to be talking to both of them, this time at the station house. Hope I get to see them hauled in."

The call had woken him from the first sound sleep he'd had in days. He was wide awake and had the phone on speaker so Tracie could hear as well. "Thank the Lord you're alright, Steve," Tracie said.

"I don't think it was a hit," Steve replied. "He was carrying a gun, but didn't draw it. Peart claimed that they were just trying to scare me off. If that's true, it was a pathetic attempt. You know I don't scare easily."

"Do I ever," Sam said. "What do you think Bill and Jerry will do next?"

"Beats me," Steve said. "But I've been thinking about this whole thing and I'm not one hundred percent convinced that they're really behind it. Peart could be lying."

"Why do you say that?" Tracie asked.

"If those two were going to hire muscle to pull shit like this, they'd hire people who know what they're doing. I've caught Peart twice now and it was fairly easy both times. There's something else going on here."

"What do you want to do next?" Sam asked.

"Dig into Peart's background, Curtis Enterprises, the family, everything. Maybe if I tick off the right people, the real perp will show himself."

Sam knew there was no talking Steve out of it. "Be careful," he said.

"God bless you," Tracie added.

"Thanks," Steve said. "I'll be in touch."

He hung up. "I don't like this," Sam said.

"Neither do I," Tracie said. "But what can we do besides pray for him?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "I just don't know."

He didn't sleep for the rest of the night.
THIRTEEN

Sam took his wedge, lined up his shot, and chipped the ball onto the green. At first he thought he'd pulled it off. The ball was rolling right down the line towards the pin. He clenched his fist in anticipation but, at the last second, the ball broke to the right and kept going. It wound up about ten feet from the cup. It was a good thing Tracie wasn't there; she would have chastised him for his comments.

Nick Curtis sympathized. "I thought for sure you had that," he said, stepping onto the green with his putter in hand. Nick was proving to be a much better golfer than Sam. He'd reached the green in two strokes and was well positioned for birdie, his ball only four feet from the cup. Sam's chip had been his fourth shot; he would be lucky to escape with a bogey.

Sam exchanged his wedge for his own putter and joined his half-brother on the 7th green of the River Oaks Country Club. As a guest of the Atkins family he'd been given a complimentary guest membership and was being courted to join the club permanently. To his surprise, he was actually thinking about it.

Sam's ball rolled into the cup on the first try. Nick made his Birdie a moment later and they walked back to their cart. "You been playing golf long?" Nick asked.

"About six years," Sam said. "My pastor got me interested in it. I know I'm not all that good, but I have fun and my son's started playing with me. You?"

"I took it up in college," Nick said. "A buddy of mine persuaded me to try it and I was hooked. My sons play with me. They're both a lot better than I am."

"Nick, I've got to ask you about Stu Peart," Sam said as they drove to the eighth tee. "What do you know about him?"

"He's been with us for five or six years," Nick said. "We've never had trouble with him."

Sam told Nick about Peart's capture the night before but kept Steve's suspicions about the man to himself. He wasn't sure why, but he had a strong sense that the fewer people who know exactly what Steve was up to, the better. "Was he anyone's driver in particular?" Sam asked.

"Dad's, mainly," Nick said. "Stu took good care of him and Dad returned the favor with bonuses and even a bit of money in the will. I don't know, maybe he thought it wasn't enough."

"Maybe," Sam said. "Do you know if he had any kind of grudge against Bill or Jerry?"

Nick seemed surprised by the question. "Not that I know of," he said.

A foursome was getting ready to tee off so they had some time to wait. Sam recognized Mayor Eric Hawkins and his wife, Laurie. He didn't know the couple they were playing with. The mayor saw him and brought his group over to say hello. Sam didn't like politicians, but he did his best to be gracious.

The couple they were playing with was much younger. Craig Blackburn was the mayor's deputy chief of staff. His girlfriend, Amanda Clark, was a reporter for _The Port Mason Register_. That gave Sam some pause but he reminded himself that she was probably off duty. He introduced Nick.

Mayor Hawkins insisted on letting Sam and Nick play through. Nick went first and hit a long drive right down the middle of the fairway. Sam was a little intimidated as he set up his own tee shot. To his amazement, his ball only pulled a little to the right and landed just short of Nick's.

"Nice shot," Hawkins said. "How about we mix things up?"

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"Let's make it two threesomes. You can play with Laurie and me while Mr. Curtis joins Craig and Amanda."

"I have a better idea," Amanda said. "Craig and I will play with Mr. Harman."

"Fishing for an interview, Amanda?" Hawkins asked with a smile.

"Always," Amanda replied.

"Honey, you're on vacation," Craig pointed out.

"Just a friendly conversation," Amanda said. "I need to show Mr. Harman that not all reporters are like John Pullman."

"Miss Clark--" Sam began.

"Amanda, please."

"Amanda," Sam said. "To say that the last few days have been stressful would be a gross understatement. I came here to relax, have a little fun, and get to know my brother a little better. If none of you mind, I think Nick and I should be getting on with our round."

The reporter seemed disappointed but she nodded in understanding. "I tell you what," Sam continued. "I'll give you my cell number. Call me tomorrow and I'll talk to you."

"Thank you, Mr. Harman," she said. He gave her his number, made his apologies to the mayor, and got in the cart with Nick.

"You might have missed an opportunity back there," Nick said.

"I can't stand politicians," Sam said. "And except for Steve's dad, I'm not too crazy about journalists."

"But you might need them both someday," Nick said.

"For what?"

"The press for friendly publicity," Nick explained. "As for your mayor, never alienate someone who has power over zoning."

Sam grimaced at the idea. "I'm just trying to help you out," Nick said. "We have to make deals with politicians all the time to get things done. It stinks, but it's the way the world works. Give and take. It's all give and take."

After they finished their round they decided to try the club's lunch buffet. Not long after they sat down, Mayor Hawkins and his group came in to eat. Nick's advice was still going through Sam's head and he decided that his half-brother might have a point. He got up and went over to speak to Hawkins as his honor was starting to fill his plate.

"I'm sorry I gave you the cold shoulder earlier," Sam said. "It's been a tough time and I'm a little on edge. Why don't the four of you join Nick and me for lunch?"

Hawkins beamed and gladly accepted the invitation. Two tables were put together. "Would you mind if we kept this little chat off the record?" Sam asked Amanda Clark. "Just for now, I promise."

"All right," Amanda replied. "But you owe me a full interview."

She smiled as she said it so Sam agreed. "Mr. Harman--" the mayor began.

"Sam," he replied. "I don't stand on ceremony."

"I was talking to the police chief the other day," Hawkins said. "He told me you've been asking a lot of questions about the department's budget. Why are you so interested?"

Sam told them about the situation with his cousin and the difficulties the police had fighting crime in Kingman Heights and the old factory district. "Chief Huston and his staff told me exactly what they would need to really get aggressive down there. We're talking around a hundred new cops plus vehicles, weapons, and other equipment. I imagine you've seen the numbers."

The mayor nodded. "I'd love to give them everything on their list, but I have no idea where the money would come from."

"I've been working with the department on this since Eric first took office," Craig Blackburn said. "What they want would require a budget increase we can't afford."

"You can't," Sam agreed. "But I can, and I'm going to. I'm going to set up a grant to the police department. Fifty million a year for the next five years."

Everyone was speechless. Nick chuckled. "This proves Sam is a Curtis," he said. "He thinks big, just like we do."

"Are you serious about this?" the mayor asked.

"Yes," Sam replied. "My best friend used to be a cop. He was always telling me that cops are outgunned because the bad guys have more money. It occurred to me that maybe we should fight fire with fire."

"I don't have the words," Hawkins said.

"There would be a few conditions," Sam added. "The city would not be allowed to tap the money for anything else, no matter what. The police department would have to agree on a detailed spending plan before any funds are disbursed and there would be regular audits to make sure none of the money...disappears."

"That's a good idea" Amanda said. "The procurement office doesn't have the best track record."

"We fired most of those people in the first term," Blackburn said. "But it's still a wise precaution."

"You're being incredibly generous, Sam," Laurie said. "But you do understand that law enforcement is only part of the problem."

"Sure," Sam said. "That area is so depressed that many of those people have nowhere else to turn. I'm going to try and do something about that. I just don't know what yet."

"This is incredible," Hawkins said. "I come to play a round of golf and suddenly one of the city's biggest problems is about to be solved. That's what I call a good day."

Sam couldn't help but smile at that. This wasn't turning out to be so bad after all.
FOURTEEN

On Thursday morning Sam went to the Nardulli Building, where his lawyer's firm had its offices. He met Charley Bennett in the lobby. The private investigator handed him a folder, the contents of which he found quite interesting. Sam thanked him and got into an elevator. He was now ready for his meeting.

Aaron Charlton was waiting for him at the front desk. "They're here," he said. "You sure you want to do this?"

"Definitely," he said. "Did she bring Kyle?'

"No, he's in school today. Is that a problem?"

"No, just curious. Let's do this."

Charlton led him into a conference room where Sam's ex-wife and her lawyer were waiting. It was the first time Sam had seen Becky since their divorce was finalized. Except for a few age lines, she didn't look all that different. Some of the good memories came back. He silently took a seat.

Alex Peterman tried to seize the initiative. "Whatever you're offering had better be good," he said. "My client will not tolerate any further abuse or insults."

"Mr. Peterman," Charlton said, keeping calm despite what Sam guessed had to be considerable temptation. "Your filing contains many allegations, but no evidence to support them. You have portrayed my client as a wife-beater and deadbeat dad in the press with nothing to support those claims. I think you have a great deal of explaining to do."

"We'll present our evidence in court," Peterman said, confidently.

"You'll present your evidence before then," Charlton replied. "Or have you forgotten the rules of discovery? It wouldn't surprise me since your cases seldom reach trial phase. Our litigation unit lives for this sort of thing. Mr. Harman is willing to be generous and forgiving, considering how he and your client parted. I would suggest you take our offer seriously."

"And what is that offer?" Peterman asked.

"A monthly stipend of no more than five thousand dollars for your client and a fully funded college education for Kyle," Charlton replied. "If a DNA test proves that he is Mr. Harman's son, additional support will be provided. For you, Mr. Peterman, a nominal fee of ten thousand dollars."

Peterman laughed. "You have a lot of nerve," he said. "Come on, Becky, we'll settle this in court."

"Only if you want to lose your license," Sam said. "I happen to know for a fact that the state bar will revoke the license of any attorney found to be sleeping with a client."

"That's outrageous!" Peterman exclaimed.

Sam held up the folder given to him by Charley Bennett. Becky saw the Bennett Investigations emblem on it and sagged in her chair. Peterman suddenly looked a little less confident.

"Now I'm no lawyer," Sam said. "But I'd call photos and an apartment lease pretty compelling evidence. Then there's the statement of the landlord, who has fielded frequent complaints from other tenants about the noise from....moments of passion. I'd forgotten how loud you could be, Becky."

"You bastard!" she spat.

"Who cheated?" Sam replied.

"It boils down to this, Peterman," Charlton said. "You will withdraw your lawsuit, issue a public apology, and go back to personal injury cases or whatever it is you do for a living. Otherwise the contents of this file go to the bar association."

Peterman looked crushed. Sam couldn't exactly blame him, but he had little sympathy for the man. "On my way here, I passed a wreck at 12th and Buchanan," he said. "You might want to hurry."

"Fuck you," Peterman said, taking his briefcase and storming out of the conference room.

"Nice guy," Sam said. "Aaron, give us a minute."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Charlton left the room. Sam hadn't been alone with Becky since that day years before. He wasn't sure what to feel now. His new marriage was the real thing. He had children who meant everything to him and the Lord in his life. That meant he had to forgive. It wasn't something he wanted to do but he didn't recall God commanding him to forgive only when he felt like it.

"Okay, you won," Becky said. "What more do you want?"

"The truth," Sam said. "Kyle. Is he mine? I can't believe you don't already know."

Becky sighed. "No," she said. "He looks too much like Dan."

"Is that the guy I caught you with?" Sam asked

"Yeah," she said. "As soon as he found out I was pregnant he took off. I never saw him again."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Sam said.

"You don't fucking care. You've got your new wife, your kids, all that money. Why the fuck would you care about me?"

"No good reason I can think of," he replied. "But I hate hearing about fathers who run out on their kids. That's even worse than what you did."

"Yeah, I'm a real fuck up," Becky said, bitterly.

"If you'd come to me in the first place, we could have avoided all this," Sam said.

"Alex didn't think that was a good idea," Becky said. "He said we could do better by suing."

"And just how were you going to prove spousal abuse? You know I never laid a hand on you, not even at the end.

"He really thought you'd settle before it came to that.

"That's because he's a slime-ball."

"He's probably going to throw me out of the apartment, now."

"If he does, find a hotel and I'll put you up until you get settled," Sam said. "Does Kyle know the truth?"

"No," she said. "I had to convince him to go along with it and the only way to do that was to tell him that you're his father. Sam, would it really be too bad for you to play along? He needs a father and from everything I hear, you're a good one."

"I try," Sam said. "But that would be a lie."

"You always did have an honest streak," she said.

"It's occasionally gotten me into trouble."

She smiled a bit at that. "I guess I should be grateful that you're willing to help at all," she said. "But it seemed so unfair that you became a billionaire and I was left out in the cold with a kid to support."

That was a point Sam had trouble finding a counter-argument for. "Where does Kyle go to school?" he asked.

"Wilson High."

Wilson High was widely considered the worst school in town. That settled it. No matter what Becky had done to him, or to herself in the years since, he wasn't going to let the kid suffer for it. "Get him out of there," Sam said. "You can stay in my place on Knox for a while. Nobody's using it and you can send Kyle to Jefferson. It's a much better school."

"You'd give me your house?" Becky asked, astonished.

"No, but I'll let you borrow it," Sam said.

"What will Tracie say about that?"

"I doubt it will bother her. She's wanted me to be generous with you from the start."

"She sounds nice," Becky said.

"She's the best."

"You know, if I could do it over again..."

Sam laughed. "Tell me about it," he said.
FIFTEEN

The hand clamped over his mouth startled Sam awake. He tried to move but something heavy was pinning him to the mattress. "If you move or make a sound, your pretty wife here dies," a man's voice whispered into his ear.

Sam froze. He was being held down by a man wearing a black ski mask. His back was to Tracie so he had no way of knowing what was happening to her. What about the kids? Were they being threatened? Was he about to die?

"I'm not here to hurt you," the voice whispered. "I have a message. Nod if you understand."

Sam nodded. "You are an unbelievably lucky man, Harman," he said. "People will kill for what you have. If you don't want to ruin everything, you will do exactly what you're told

"First, call off your private detective. He'll never be able to prove anything and if he keeps trying, he will suffer. Second, you will do nothing to threaten Curtis Enterprises. You will agree to whatever we propose.

"This is not a game, Harman. See how easily I got to you? I can do it again and again. I can slip in here at night and murder each of you in your beds. You won't stand a chance."

Sam felt something sharp jab into his arm. "It's just a sedative,"the man said. "Sleep tight."

"We've got a cordon around the house," Sheriff John McCreary said later that morning. "And my deputies are searching the surrounding area but I have to be honest, Mr. Harman, the intruders are long gone. Are you sure you can't give a time for the attack?"

"The way he had me pinned down, I couldn't see the clock," Sam said.

"And I don't remember a thing," Tracie added. "Not even the injection."

Tracie had been jabbed with a needle as well, presumably before Sam's 'visitor' delivered his message. Sam Jr. had found them in their bed, seemingly asleep. When he failed to wake them, he called 911.

They came out of it in the emergency room at St. Mary's Hospital a little after seven. It was nearly nine but they wouldn't be released until the preliminary blood work was done. There was no telling at this point what they'd been injected with.

The home invasion case was being handled by the Sheriff's office, since the Atkins estate was outside the Port Mason city limits, but McCreary was coordinating his efforts with the PMPD. Chief Alan Huston was in the room with them along with a contrite Stan Tyler, who was deeply embarrassed by the breach of his security.

"I've already contacted the Houston Police," McCreary said. "They're going to bring the Curtis brothers in for questioning."

"That won't do much good," Sam said. "Bill and Jerry have been questioned twice and they keep pulling this stuff anyway."

"If it was them," Tracie said.

"I don't see who else it could be," Sam said.

"We'll find out," McCreary said. "That's a promise."

Sam regarded him with some skepticism, but held his tongue. McCreary did not have the most ethical reputation these days and he was an elected official, which always put Sam off. The sheriff and his department were the focus of corruption investigations. Sam guessed that his deep pockets were what attracted McCreary to personally handle this case.

"We appreciate whatever you can do," Tracie said.

"We'll keep a close eye on your family," McCreary said, with a glance towards Stan Tyler.

"Be nice, John," Huston said. "Stan had a good perimeter in place."

"Not good enough," Tyler said. "If it had been, these creeps wouldn't have gotten in. We're going to have people in the house from now on, Sam. This won't happen again."

"That's fine," Sam said. "I don't blame you for this."

"I blame myself," Tyler replied. "And I'm very sorry."

The ER doctor came in with the preliminary lab work. "You were both injected with small doses of Propofol," she said. "It's a general anesthetic, and very dangerous if not handled properly."

"Isn't that what killed Michael Jackson?" Tracie asked.

"Yes," she said. "Like I said, it's dangerous stuff. Based on these numbers, though, each of you was given the proper dosage to keep you under for four hours or so."

"So that would put the injection time at around three," McCreary said "Plenty of time for them to get away."

"Have you called Steve Bennett yet?" Chief Huston asked. "That threat needs to be taken as seriously as the one made to you."

"Can I use your phone?" Sam asked.

Huston handed it to him, but, as Sam expected, his childhood friend was not frightened by the threat. "I'll have more luck finding a connection if I stay," Steve said. "We've just found out something interesting about Peart's background."

"What's that?" Sam asked.

"He doesn't have one until he came to work for the Curtis family," Steve explained. "No prior work record, no credit history, no driving record, no previous residence and, this is the kicker, no fingerprints in any official database."

"How does that happen?" Sam asked.

"That's what I'm working on right now," Steve said. "If you really want me to come home, I will, but I'm close to something here. I can feel it."

"Okay, but keep your head down, will you?" Sam said. "I don't want to have to explain anything to your folks."

"Neither do I," Steve agreed. "I'll get back to you later."

Sam gave the phone back to Chief Huston. These intruders, they could have murdered his whole family. They hadn't, praise the Lord, but they could have. It shook him to his very core. He couldn't allow that to happen again.

Hank Curtis' murderer looked up from a computer screen to see an angry older woman storm through the door. "You said he wouldn't be hurt!" she exclaimed.

"He'll be alright."

"Your guys shot him up with something!"

"A perfectly safe anesthetic. The dosage was calculated by a doctor who owed me a favor. Now settle down."

The woman tried to calm herself but the killer could see that she was having trouble. "We're very close now. A couple more days, at the most, and it will all be over."

"You're not going to do anything else to him?"

"I don't need to," the killer said.

"I want your word."

"You have it," was the reply. "I swear he won't be hurt."
SIXTEEN

Early Saturday morning, a Tyler Security SUV drove onto the grounds of the state police academy, just north of Port Mason. The sprawling facility, considered one of the best in the country, trained officers from throughout the state. The only other time Sam had been here was years before, when Steve Bennett graduated.

Sam's presence here was the result of a favor called in by Charley Bennett. Once admitted, he was taken to the shooting range, where Charley and a uniformed state police sergeant were waiting for him. Charley held a small duffel bag.

"Are you sure about this, Sam?" Charley asked. "Conceal carry's legal, but not something you should rush into."

"They were in the house," Sam said. "They could have done anything to my family. I won't let that happen."

"Okay," Charley said. "This is Sergeant Mike Dunleavy. He's in charge of small arms training and the firing range. He'll take good care of you."

"Sergeant," Sam said, shaking hands with him. "Thanks for doing this."

"It's not a problem," Dunleavy said. "Charley has too much dirt on me to refuse a favor."

"Don't let him fool you," Charley said. "He has just as much on me."

Dunleavy led them into a building. "We generally don't operate on the weekends," he said. "So the range is all ours. Have you ever fired a gun before?"

"Steve took me once," Sam said. "I didn't do very well."

"How far were you from the target?"

"I'd guess about fifteen, twenty feet," Sam said.

"That's the problem right there," Dunleavy said, unlocking a door. "Come on in."

He turned on the lights and explained that this was the room they used for close-up weapons training. A target had been set up on a wall of sandbags. A table with three pairs of safety glasses and three sets of ear protectors sat about five feet in front of it. "Anyone in law enforcement will tell you that most gunfights take place within a range of five feet or less. For personal protection, that's what you need to learn."

Charley took a box out of the bag that looked just like one the Steve had used in Texas and opened it. "This is what Steve and I use these days. Sig Sauer P229, forty caliber model. PMPD switched to them right before Steve...left. See how it feels. Don't worry, it's not loaded."

Sam gently took the gun in hand. He remembered something Steve had told him and placed his right finger on the slide, above the trigger. Keeping the weapon pointed down, he ejected the magazine to verify it was empty, then pulled back the slide to make sure there wasn't a round in the chamber. Dunleavy nodded in approval.

The sergeant had Sam step up to a firing line five feet from the target. Charley gave him a loaded magazine. Sam loaded the gun. "We'll keep it simple," Dunleavy said, handing him safety glasses and ear protection. "Just squeeze off a few rounds to get comfortable with the weapon. Aim for the center of the target."

Sam put on the protective gear and did as Dunleavy said. He gripped the gun carefully, but not too tightly, and aimed at the paper target. When he squeezed the trigger, the gun jerked up from the recoil. It was more powerful than he remembered. There was a hole in the target, about three inches from the center, to his left. He leveled the gun and fired again. The second hit was just a hair to the left of the first. On the third try he managed to get it a little closer to the center, but just a little.

Dunleavy tapped him on the shoulder and held his hand out for the weapon, which Sam carefully handed over. They took off their hearing protection. For the next few minutes, Dunleavy walked him through some simple adjustments in his stance and grip to improve his accuracy. When Sam tried again, he did much better. Four shots came within an inch of the center.

"Good," Dunleavy said. "Very good, in fact. Do you feel more comfortable with it now?"

"I think so," Sam said.

He was about to load another magazine when Charley got a phone call. He listened to the other party for a moment, his face going pale with shock. "How bad?" he asked. "I'll get down there as soon as I can."

"What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"Steve's been shot."

Sam chartered a plane to take him and Steve's family to Houston as quickly as possible. A Learjet was warming up when Sam and company arrived at the airport. To his surprise, Tracie and the kids were waiting for him.

Tracie had packed a bag for him and the kids wanted to say goodbye, she explained. Both she and Stan Tyler tried to talk him out of going but Sam wouldn't budge. He was responsible for this. He was going.

His heart sank when Steve's parents arrived. Jim Bennett, Charley's older brother, and his wife, Ann, had been like second parents to Sam growing up. They'd been next door neighbors and close friends to Sam's parents. It wasn't fair. First Tom, now Steve.

It was all he could do to keep from breaking down in tears as they approached. "I'm so sorry," he said. "He was trying to help me and..."

Ann hugged him tightly and Jim put a hand on his shoulder. No words were spoken and none were needed. Sam knew they didn't blame him. The problem was that he blamed himself.

The Bennetts boarded the plane, leaving Sam with his family. "Be careful," Tracie said. "Please. I'm so afraid for you right now."

"I'm afraid for me, too," Sam replied.

He hugged and kissed each of his children. Sam Jr. looked as worried as Tracie did. Kristen also looked concerned. Only Noah smiled. "Can you bring me something when you come back, Daddy?" he asked.

"You've got it," Sam said. "Let's have a quick prayer before I go."

They prayed for Steve, for a safe flight, and for Sam. They hugged and kissed one last time before Sam boarded the plane. Minutes later it was in the air.

Hank Curtis' murderer received the report of Sam's departure from Port Mason calmly. This was it. Endgame.
SEVENTEEN

The Houston police had few facts when Sam and the Bennetts arrived at Methodist Hospital. A housekeeper had found Steve outside his hotel room with a gunshot wound to the chest. No gunshots had been reported so he likely had been shot elsewhere and left in the hotel.

Steve had been working with Detectives Phil Edmiston and John Taylor on unraveling the mystery of Stu Peart and the apparent conspiracy against Sam. They were now investigating the shooting.

"Steve was supposed to meet us for breakfast," Edmiston said. "He said he was going to work some military sources of his last night and share the results this morning. When he didn't answer his phone we headed to the hotel. By the time we got there he'd been found and the paramedics were on the scene."

"Military sources?" Charley Bennett asked. "Why?"

"Peart got into a fight with a couple of inmates yesterday," Taylor said. "We saw the video. He took them both down like a pro. He made it look easy. That doesn't exactly fit with the bumbler who peed his pants the first time Steve caught him, does it?"

"Peart's been well trained," Edmiston added. "We ran his picture through the military databases but didn't come up with anything. Steve thought he might have been special forces. He said he'd give the picture to some friends who knew where to look."

"Where's Peart now?" Charley asked.

"In isolation at the county jail."

"I'd love to have a few four-letter words with him," Charley said. "I know you guys won't let me, but I would enjoy it so much."

Sam understood better than most the bond between Steve and Charley. They were more like best friends than uncle and nephew. Steve had always idolized him; following him into the military, law enforcement, and finally private investigations. Charley's distress, and anger, was all too evident. If he caught up with those responsible, Sam wouldn't give a dime for their chances.

"Steve didn't have his cell phone on him when he was found," Taylor said. "And it wasn't in his hotel room, either. We tried locating it by GPS, but it's been turned off."

Charley got out his own phone. "He was carrying a company phone," he explained. "I should be able to get his usage log, see who he's been talking too."

A few moments later he had the information he was looking for and called the number. He went to the other side of the waiting room to speak privately. As he did, a man in surgical scrubs entered the room. There was some blood on his shirt. "Bennett family?" he asked.

"Yes," Jim said, his voice full of trepidation.

The man introduced himself as Doctor Spencer, the surgeon who had operated on Steve. "Your son has a strong constitution," he said. "We almost lost him twice but he bounced back. I don't want to make any promises but if he keeps showing the kind of strength he's shown so far, he'll pull through."

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. "He's not out of the woods yet, though," Spencer cautioned. "The next few hours will be critical. If he'd gotten here any later..."

They all understood what that meant. Sam uttered a brief prayer of thanks. "Has he said anything at all?" Detective Edmiston asked.

"He has a tube in his throat and another in his chest," Spencer replied. "He won't be talking for a while."

Sallie and Nick Curtis arrived. Sallie embraced Sam warmly and greeted the Bennett family. "You all can stay at my place," she said. "We'll take good care of you while your son recovers."

"Don't bother arguing with her," Sam said, seeing that Steve's mother was about to do that very thing. "It doesn't work."

"You're learning," Sallie said. "I can't believe those boys would go this far."

"Mrs. Curtis," Edmiston said. "Can you tell us anything that might shed light on what's been going on here?"

"I'm afraid not," she said. "I haven't said much to Bill or Jerry since that first attempt to kidnap Sam."

"I don't know anything either," Nick added. "They haven't even been to the estate."

Charley came back over, having finished his call. "This is worse than I thought," he said. "Stu Peart's real name is Harlan Flinn. He was in Delta Force."

"How did you find that out?" Taylor asked.

"When Steve was in the army, Delta Force tried to recruit him," Charley explained.

"I remember that," Sam said.

"He never told us," Ann said.

"He doesn't like worrying you," Sam reminded her. "Besides, he turned them down."

"Anyway," Charley continued. "Steve has an old buddy who still works with them. Peart, or Flinn, was a Delta operator for six years."

"What's somebody like that doing driving a limo?" Jim asked.

"Curtis Enterprises has some strong business ties to the military," Nick said. "It wouldn't surprise me if Dad knew who he was and hired him to double as a bodyguard or something like that."

"Flinn was in jail when Sam was attacked the other night," Charley said. "That makes me wonder how many more of these guys are involved."

"Sam, we need to get you back to the estate," Nick said. "You're the target of all this. You'll be safe with us."

"I agree," Charley said. "I'll work with these guys to get to the bottom of this."

Surrounded by family bodyguards, Sam, Sallie and Nick left the hospital. A limousine escorted by SUVs took them back to the estate. Nick personally escorted Sam to the room he'd occupied on his last visit and left him to get some rest.

Sam dropped his bag on the floor and flopped into a chair. He wasn't cut out for this sort of thing. Steve was the adventurous one, the type to jump in before anyone else, to push the limits. Sam was more sedate. Despite these differences, they'd been friends since childhood. The thought of losing Steve was nearly unbearable.

He heard a soft scratching sound behind him. When he got up to investigate, he saw envelope on the floor just inside the doorway. He didn't think he'd seen that when he came in. It must have been slipped under the door. He picked it up.

There was a typed note inside. "Go to the third floor and knock three times on the first door on the right hand side. Your birth mother is there. Come alone. If you don't, she dies."

Steve Bennett's eyes crept open. As he regained consciousness, he remembered what had happened. He tried to shout out, but the tube in his throat didn't allow it. He was in the hospital, he realized. How long had he been here? How had he wound up here? Where was Sam?

A nurse came into his view. "Steve," she said. "Can you hear me?"

He nodded and tried to talk. "Stay calm," the nurse said. "You've just had major surgery."

He grunted again and gestured for something to write with. "You need to rest," the nurse said. "Whatever it is, it can wait."

Steve shook his head violently. She didn't understand. Sam had to be warned. He tried to get up but the nurse pushed him back down. "You need to be still," she said. "You have a chest tube in. If you don't calm down you'll have to be sedated."

He gestured again for something to write with. The nurse, realizing it was the only way to keep him calm, gave him pen and paper. He wrote furiously, then gave the note to the nurse. Her eyes went wide as she read it. Steve pointed at the door. She ran out.

Sam climbed the stairs to the third floor. He felt strangely detached, like he wasn't in control of his actions. There was no one around and the mansion had an empty, deserted feeling. It gave him the creeps. He reminded himself to keep his trust in God. No matter what happened, even if he died, God would not abandon him.

He had been such an idiot. He knew who was responsible for this, and it wasn't Bill and Jerry. It had been Nick all along. That must have been what Steve had discovered, and why he'd been shot. As for Sam's birth mother, it was the perfect bait. How had Nick found her? It didn't matter, he supposed.

He approached the indicated door, took a deep breath, and knocked. A man he didn't recognize opened it and indicated he should come in. Sam found himself in somebody's outer office. The man who let him in gestured towards a closed door. "In there," he said, making sure Sam saw the gun on his belt. Sam got the message. He approached the door and, after a nod from the gunman, opened it. For a moment he stood there, dumbfounded.

"Come in, Sam," Sallie Curtis said. "I've been waiting for you."
EIGHTEEN

"Sallie?" Sam asked, incredulous. No, it couldn't be her.

"Get in here boy!" she commanded. "Now!"

Sallie Curtis sat behind a desk, a triumphant smile on her face. Another gunman stood nearby with his weapon pointed at the head of a woman Sam didn't recognize. "I'm sorry," the woman said. "I--"

"Allow me to make the introductions," Sallie interrupted. "Sam, meet your mother, Priscilla Atkins."

"Atkins?" Sam repeated.

"How do you think my men got into the house?" Sallie asked. "Priscilla provided the security access codes."

"I had no choice," Priscilla said. "She--."

"Quiet," Sallie said. "You two will have plenty of time to get acquainted later. First, business."

She took some papers out of the desk. "You are going to sign complete control of your shares over to me, now. Then you and Priscilla can go back to Port Mason and do whatever you want."

"That's all?" Sam asked.

"It's enough," Sallie said. "You really don't have a choice, Sam. I'm not going to waste what little time I have left trying to persuade you. Sign it now, or he pulls the trigger."

Sam stepped towards her. A pen sat next to the papers. He picked it up and signed the documents where indicated. He put the pen down and stepped back. "How do you expect to get away with this?" he asked.

She laughed. "I don't," she said. "I don't have long to live anyway, so I really don't care. What time I do have left, though, will be enough for me to finally get back at Hank for what he did to me."

"He's dead," Sam said. "How can you hurt him now?"

"I'm going to destroy everything he cared about, which means Curtis Enterprises," she said. "To do that, I need majority control. Between your shares, and Nick, I can finally do it."

"So Nick is in on this," Sam said.

"I wouldn't risk him," she said. "I know a mother shouldn't have a favorite child, but I do and it's Nick. He's not a ruthless, cheating bastard like his father. He's nothing like his brothers, either. He's a dreamer. With the company out of the way, he could make those dreams happen. Now that I control your shares I can help him do that and get back at that son of a bitch I married."

It hit Sam, then. "You murdered him, didn't you?"

"Very good, Sam," she said. "Six months ago I found out I have an inoperable brain tumor. It's a weird thing to find out you're dying. It gives you perspective. I couldn't stand the idea of Hank outliving me. It would be like letting him get away with everything he ever did. You've got to know how that feels, Sam. Your first wife cheated on you."

"I didn't turn to murder," Sam said, feeling strangely confident.

"Don't take the high road boy," Sallie said. "The men with the guns work for me, remember?"

Sam fell silent. "I could have divorced him," she said. "I thought about it. You know why I didn't? Because no matter how much money I took from him, he'd still have control of his beloved company. That was the love of his life, not me. Oh, I technically owned twenty percent of it, but that wasn't enough to change anything.

"I really didn't know about you until he was dead," she said. "It was quite a shock, but it also solved the problem of getting majority control. For once, that old bastard did me a favor.

"Curtis Enterprises is finished," she said. "With Nick's help, I'm going break it into pieces and sell them off, one by one. Nick will get the technology division and he can do whatever he wants with it. Bill and Jerry will end up with plenty of money if their wives don't wipe them out in divorces, which would serve both of them right."

Suddenly, she sagged in her chair. "What a day," she said. "It's wore me out. Take them back to his room and keep them there for now. Get his cell phone and make sure the phone in his room is turned off."

The men started to lead them out. Nick burst in, followed by Charley Bennett and the police detectives, who had their weapons drawn. "Nobody move!" Edmiston ordered. "You two, put the weapons down!"

The gunmen did as ordered. "Mama?" Nick asked. "You...you really did this?"

Sallie smiled enigmatically. "I still beat him," she said. Then, with a speed that belied her age, she pulled a small pistol from an open drawer, put it in her mouth, and pulled the trigger.
NINETEEN

Priscilla Atkins told the police that she'd been invited to Texas by Sallie Curtis after Hank's death. Once on the estate, Sallie's men locked her in her room, only letting her out to see Sallie when there was no one else around. At one of those meetings, she was told in no uncertain terms that Sam would be killed unless she gave Sallie the security access codes for the Atkins estate.

Tracie came to Houston to be with her husband, leaving the kids in the care of her parents. After picking her up at the airport, Sam took her with him to Methodist Hospital. Steve was out of the ICU and, according to the doctors, out of danger as well. A long recovery was predicted but not in doubt. Sam was relived, but still felt terrible that his friend had almost died because of him.

When Sam and Tracie entered the hospital room, they were delighted to see Steve sitting up in bed. His uncle was sitting next to him. Steve looked weak, but he smiled when he saw them. Sam went over and embraced his friend. Tracie kissed him on the cheek.

"I know that look, Sam," Steve rasped. "It's your 'I feel guilty look.' Don't. You didn't do anything. It's my job to take risks."

"They said you shouldn't try to talk kid," Charley said. "So for once, shut up."

Steve smiled but did as his uncle said. "He actually did a stupid thing," Charley said. "Looking for former Delta operators on his own? Not his smartest move."

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," Steve said.

"So what exactly happened?" Sam asked.

"The short version is that my nephew here can be a real idiot," Charley said. "But I suppose you want the long version, don't you?"

"If you don't mind," Sam said, dryly.

"After he found out about Flinn, he decided to play lone wolf and go to the guy's apartment," Charley said. "There were two men cleaning the place out. He waited, and followed them back to the Curtis Estate. He talked his way past the guards at the gate and got into the mansion.

"It was a trap, wasn't it," Tracie said.

"You married well, Sam," Charley said. "She figured it out faster than Captain Crazy, here."

Steve shook his head ruefully. "You never let up, do you?" he rasped.

"Keeps you humble," Charley said. "Now shut up and let me finish. Sallie was waiting for him at the door. She took him up to her office on the third floor, and shot him herself. Then she had her goons leave him in the hotel, where he would be found quickly. The idea was to lure you here. It worked."

"I still can't believe it was her," Sam said. "I'd come to the conclusion that it was Nick. I am an idiot."

"No, you're not," Tracie said.

"Even I didn't suspect her," Steve said. "She fooled a lot of people. It happens, Sam. Don't beat yourself up over it, okay? I'll be alright and she's dead. It's all over."

Sam and Tracie returned to their suite at the Four Seasons hotel. Priscilla Atkins was there, waiting for him. "Can I talk to you?" she asked.

"Sure," Sam replied, introducing her to Tracie. "Come in."

Tracie made an excuse about needing to work out and went to the hotel's gym so Sam could talk to Priscilla alone. "I owe you a huge explanation," Sam's birth mother said.

"The police told me what Sallie did," Sam said. "You don't have to explain,"

"No, not about that," she said. "Don't you want to know your story?"

They sat down on sofas. "You have to understand how I was raised," she said. "The earliest lesson I remember was never embarrass the family. We're supposed to be the cream of the crop. There could never be a hint of scandal. So when I got pregnant, it was considered a disaster.

"My father was furious. He wouldn't have what he called a 'bastard grandchild' and tried to make me have an abortion. I refused. My mother intervened and arranged for me to go to a home for unwed mothers."

"Run by Susan Orrick," Sam said.

"You found out about that?" she asked.

"The Bennetts did," Sam said.

"Susan was such a good friend to me," she continued. "She never judged me. She never judged anyone. She just did what she could to help women in my situation. She even lent me her name when it came time to give birth. After that, I made sure the home had all the money it needed. I cried my eyes out when she died.

"Before you were born, I had decided to keep you," she said. "Dad was so furious that I thought he was going to hit me. Instead, he did what, at the time, I thought was worse. He controlled my trust fund, you see, and threatened to completely cut me off if I didn't give you up. I did what he said. I was scared of being on my own.

"I'm not trying to make excuses," she continued. "I know I shouldn't have done it. I've come to understand that there are some things more important than money. For the last few years, I've thought about getting in touch with you. I knew who you were, you know. Hank kept me informed."

"So why didn't you?" Sam asked.

"Because in a family like mine, there's always going to be intrigue and backstabbing," she said. "The Curtises are the same way, You've seen that for yourself. I didn't want you exposed to all that. It doesn't matter now, of course."

"So...so you did want me?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," Priscilla said. "And I still do."

Sam wasn't sure who made the first move, but it didn't really matter. All he knew right then was that his mother was hugging him. It was all that mattered.
TWENTY

In early July Sam had a surprise visitor. Anderson Braddock showed up on his doorstep, his appearance shocking. He was in a wheelchair equipped with an oxygen tank, a mask hanging from a strap around his neck. He looked pale, almost as if at death's door. "What happened?" Sam asked.

"My third heart attack," Braddock explained. "Right after Sallie died. I guess it was the shock of what she did."

"Should you even be traveling?"

"Probably not. I didn't think you'd want to come back to Texas, though, and some things are better handled in person. Besides, if the end really is near, I want to keep at it as long as possible. Retirement isn't for me any more than it was for Hank. Mind if I come in?"

Sam wheeled him inside. They were still living in the guest house on the Atkins estate and were even considering making it their permanent home. He took Braddock into the study. "So why did you come all this way?" Sam asked.

"First, to tell you how sorry I am about what happened," he said. "Hank always told me that when he died, I was supposed to make sure you'd be okay. I didn't do a very good job of that."

"It's hardly your fault," Sam replied. "Sallie fooled everyone."

"She sure did," the old lawyer agreed. "Still, I promised Hank and I haven't done a very good job of keeping that promise. How's your detective friend doing?"

"Getting better every day," Sam said. "I sent him to Aruba for his recovery. He didn't argue."

"He turned out to be a handy guy to have around."

"He always has been."

"I hear you gave him ten million dollars."

"He earned it," Sam said.

"I think Hank would have agreed," Braddock said. He opened the briefcase on his lap and took out a manila envelope. "This is the other reason I came. We're still working on the estate and I ran across this. It was addressed to you. I have no idea what it says."

Sam open it, examined the contents, then handed a sheet of paper to Braddock. "Go ahead," he said. "He was your friend."

Braddock read the letter. "One thing about Hank," he said when he was finished. "He was always full of surprises. Damn, I miss him. Sallie too, in spite of what she did."

Sam said nothing. Braddock waited a bit, then spoke again. "What are you going to do?" he asked.

"Can you help arrange a meeting?" Sam asked.

A week later Sam took his seat on the board of directors. He did not speak to any of his half brothers. Bill, Nick, and Jerry sat across from him with their aides. A portrait of Hank Curtis hung on the wall. From where Sam sat it seemed like his biological father was looking down on him.

Bill officially called the meeting to order. "Let's get right to it," he said. "This company needs a direction for the future. The four of us will have to decide on that direction. I'm sure each of us has ideas on which way to go. Today, we'll hear all those ideas."

That went on all morning. Nick re-iterated his long-standing idea of spinning off the technology division into a separate company. Jerry wanted to sell off several lines of business and plow the profits into expanded oil exploration. Bill's main concern was increasing profitability by 'revamping' the benefits structure and 'streamlining' the payroll with an eye towards taking the company public down the road.

They went back and forth for about an hour or so. Sam listened patiently and quietly, taking occasional notes. Every so often he caught one of the brothers looking at him nervously. He held back a smile.

Finally, Nick couldn't contain himself anymore. "Sam, you haven't said a thing, " he said. "I can't believe you don't have an opinion."

"He's just scared without his hired gun to back him up," Jerry said.

"Sam doesn't scare as easily as you think," Nick replied.

Before Bill could get into the act, Sam slammed his palm down on the table. The room fell silent. "Enough!" he exclaimed. "My kids are more mature than the three of you. Sure, they bicker, but not like the three of you. Have you forgotten that you're supposed to be brothers?"

"This is a business meeting, not a family one," Bill said.

"That's the problem," Sam replied. "You all put business and making money ahead of family. Even your...our father didn't do that."

"How the hell would you know anything about our Dad?" Jerry asked.

Sam held up a piece of paper. "He left me a letter," he said. "I'd like to send everyone else out of the room for a moment. The four of us need to speak, privately."

Everyone else cleared out. Sam opened his briefcase and took out three envelopes. "There's one for each of you," he said. "Hank left them to me with instructions to give them to you when I thought the time was right. I think it is. Before you do anything else, you need to read them."

He handed each of them an envelope, then sat down while they read. Nick was the first to finish. "I had no idea," he said.

"Me neither," added Jerry in the quietest voice Sam had ever heard him use.

"Why didn't he tell us this when he was alive?" Bill asked.

"I don't know," Sam said. "But does it matter? You know now."

The three men nodded. "What happens now?" Nick asked.

"That's up to you," Sam said. "He wanted us to work together to run this company, not to compete with each other. So what's it going to be?"

The next day Sam boarded his new private jet for the trip home. Everything had been settled, at least for now. As the plane waited it's turn to take off, Sam read his letter again.

"Dear Sam," it began. "I'm sorry the two of us will never meet. I just don't think it would work. For one thing, there's Sallie. I'm ashamed to say that I'm scared of the old bitch, but there you have it.

"Then there's my boys. I'm afraid I didn't do a very good job of raising them. Each of them has turned out to be a spoiled brat. I didn't see that until it was too late, of course, and now I'm too old to straighten them out.

"I've kept an eye on you over the years and I've noticed something. You always put family before anything else. The folks that adopted you raised you right. I raised my boys to be businessmen above all else. That was a mistake.

"Eventually, those boys will break up the company. That's fine, it the way things go. What I want you to do is make sure they don't break apart from each other. Since you'll have a strong voting share, they'll have to listen to you. Even though we've never met, something tells me you'll do the right thing.

"While you're at it, though, I want you to do some things for yourself. Figure out what you really want to do, and then do it. Above all else, though, take good care of that family of yours."

It was signed "Your old man, Henry William Curtis."

That was a lot of faith to have in someone you'd never met, he thought. Then again, he had faith in God and had never met Him face to face either. That was something to think about.

This might just work out after all.
AFTERWORD

I have a t-shirt that says 'Warning! Might do stupid things at any time.' It seems to fit as I commit acts of great stupidity on a regular basis. The story you just finished reading is my attempt to correct one of those acts.

I self-published the original version of _The Inheritance_ in March of 2013. It was, in short, a stupid thing to do. The book was far from ready. It was riddled with typos, grammatical errors, and the plot really wasn't up to par. I didn't consider that just because you can do something, it doesn't necessarily follow that you should. The bad reviews that quickly followed really brought me down. For the record, I deserved every one.

Over the next few months, I tried to put it behind me as I worked on my next novel. My disappointment in _The Inheritance_ was never far from my mind, though. I had failed miserably, and had no one to blame but myself.

One of the nice things about self-publishing today is that you can put out a new version whenever you want. When I finished the third draft of the new book, I decided to make one more pass through The Inheritance to see if I could at least tighten some things up and fix some of the more glaring mistakes. I started reading the last draft of that manuscript and came to a startling conclusion.

It sucked.

There's no other way to say it. It sucked. To quote Beavis and Butthead, the book 'sucked more than anything that has ever sucked before.' That may not be entirely fair. The film _Batman & Robin_ has no redeeming value while the original edition of _The Inheritance_ at least has good cover art (thanks, Bobby!).

I still thought the concept had merit so I decided to see what I could do with it. It didn't take long to rewrite it and the version you just read is much shorter than the original. When I decided to make the death of Hank Curtis a murder, everything fell into place.

They say you never get a second chance to make a first impression. I hope I can be the exception to that rule. If you read the original and gave this version a chance, bless you and thank you. If you're a new reader, welcome. I hope you enjoyed _The Inheritance_ and I hope you all stick around for the future installments in the Port Mason series.

In case you wonder who gave me that shirt, I bought it myself.

Robert Gonko

January, 2014
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I have an amazing support mechanism, the most important component of which is God. Without getting too preachy, let me just say that He has sustained me through a long and difficult 2013 and is setting me up for great things in 2014. Thank you, Father.

My beloved wife, Angela runs a close second. Thank you, honey, for not giving up.

Josie and Jimmy don't yet realize how much inspiration and motivation they've given me. Thank you, kids!

I don't think words can express how much I wish my mom and dad could be here to see this. They always believed in me, even when I didn't believe in myself.

My brother, Todd, and his family are the best. Yes, Todd, I said that about you.

Thanks to the usual suspects at Koke Mill Christian Church. I especially want to single out Pastor Stan Summers, John Lovell and Pat Kessler for sticking with me.

Edward Howell has been my dear friend and brother since kindergarten. He's another person who never gave up on me. Now, if I could just get him to read this...

I want to thank Karen Harman for letting me borrow her last name and for telling me exactly what was wrong with the manuscript every step of the way. Thanks also to Morgan Wirth for catching stuff no one else did.

I have many, many more friends who have supported me and been there for me. I can't possibly name them all. If you're reading this and think you might be one of those friends, you're right.
About the Author

Robert Gonko lives in Illinois with his wife, Angela, and their children, Josie and Jimmy. Like his page on Facebook or visit his blog at http://robertgonko.wordpress.com.

COMING SOON

Steve Bennett, Private Investigator, returns for Book Two in the Port Mason series:

### The Servant

Look for it in 2014
