CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Kipton Donahue
Despite Khalid’s monumental fuck up—the bastard went and got himself killed—the ceremony at The Grove was a success. We forged deals and made alliances over good bourbon and even better blow jobs that would never have been made in conference rooms or office buildings. That was the way it had always been done. Since the dawn of enlightenment, mankind needed a group of leaders to guide them, steer them, keep them in line. The way a parent would a toddler. We kept them from eating too much, spending too much, having too much. The world required balance, and we gave it to them.
People, as a society, were lazy. If one person said the sky was blue and another said it was gray, humanity spent more time arguing over who was right than walking outside to find out the truth for themselves. Truth was what we told them. Truth wasourjob, not theirs.
That was what the Obsidian Brotherhood was about.
There was an order to things, and we did what we had to do to keep it that way, no matter the sacrifice.
I buttoned the top button of my coat, then tugged on my sleeve, adjusting my cuff links.
Grace, our housekeeper, met me in the kitchen and handed me a cup of coffee—strong and black, just the way I liked it. I gave her a friendly swat on her plump, round ass when she walked away—just the waysheliked it.
I’d had a small TV installed underneath one of the cabinets so that I could always start my day with the morning news. I pressed the remote and the screen came to life.
I stood in front of the kitchen island and took a sip of my coffee without sitting down. Early morning meetings didn’t allow time for breakfast, and this morning’s meeting was top priority. The hot liquid warmed my throat.
Joanna, my favorite morning news anchor, faced the screen with a solemn expression on her gorgeous face. Pity. She was so pretty when she smiled.
“A search-and-rescue operation concluded this morning with tragic results after the crash of a Gulfstream G100 Saturday night. According to reports, the private plane was on its way to Barbados when it suffered engine failure and went down about sixty miles from the point of takeoff. Listed among the passengers was Caspian Donahue, heir to the famous Donahue oil dynasty, and Tatum Huntington, youngest daughter of Senator Malcolm Huntington. Also listed among the passengers was Prince Khalid Falih of Saudi Arabia. Falih was rumored to be a close family friend. Three crewmembers have also been reported as not surviving the crash. A private memorial will be held at Green-Wood Cemetery on Thursday.”
I cleared my throat and clicked off the TV, leaving the rest of my coffee on the counter, untouched.
This was who we were. This was who I had to be.
I tried to teach that to Caspian, but he was too damn stubborn. He should have never gone after her. I knew he would, though. He let his feelings get in the way, and he played right into my trap. He was reckless. Untrainable. He didn’t deserve the privileges that had been bestowed upon him.
I did.
***
The petite blonde smiled at me when I walked into the office. Her appraising look ended with one of approval. I liked her smile. She had a fuckable mouth. If she knew I was about to walk out of here three billion dollars richer, she would fall to her knees without me even asking.
“Kipton Donahue for Judge Flannery.”
Moments later, the judge walked out of his office to greet me. “Mr. Donahue. Please accept my sincere condolences. Such a tragedy.”
I’d been playing the role of grieving father for three days. At this point, I could have won an Oscar.
I closed my eyes and gave a brief nod, as if in remembrance, then inhaled a deep, calming breath before opening them again. “Thank you.” I kept my voice low.
He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go to my office.” He glanced at the blonde. “Hold my calls.”
She nodded, then focused her attention back on me as we walked away. I would definitely have her on her knees later.
“Please, have a seat,” the judge said, gesturing to one of the brown leather chairs in front of his desk.
“I know this may seem out of place, but timing is sensitive, you understand.” I unfastened my coat buttons and made myself comfortable.
Judge Flannery settled into his chair and straightened his tie. “Of course.”
“The paperwork is in order, then? For the trust?”
With Caspian dead and no other heirs, the trust automatically transferred to me.
He swallowed hard, then cleared his throat. “I’m afraid the assets have already been distributed.”
Until now, patience had been my best friend. I’d waited twelve years for this moment. I woke up every morning anticipating the power I would hold in my hands. I sacrificed my own blood for it. Patience disappeared in a cloud of smoke with his words.
Sweat broke out on my back and my palms. I slammed my fist against the wooden desk in front of me. “That’s impossible.” I’d made sure of it. I’d killed for it.
The office door opened, and an armed police officer flanked each side. An obvious hint that this discussion was not up for debate. They weren’t stupid enough to arrest me. I’d be out within the hour and neither one of them would ever work again.
“Who? When?” I asked, already knowing at least one of the answers. It didn’t matter, though. I had the resources to find where he’d hidden it from me.
The judge smirked, and pride smeared across his old, wrinkly face. Lying, backstabbing, bastard.He was supposed to be working with me. “Your son. The day after his twenty-fifth birthday.”