by Brandt Legg
“As you may or may not also be aware,” she continued, “Mr. Vonner was married twice. His first wife was extremely well-compensated at the time of their divorce, more than twenty-five years ago. His second wife, whom he loved very much, predeceased him four years ago. He had no children.” The attorney’s last sentence hung in the air a moment, as if it were her main point.
Hudson suddenly wondered if the old bastard had actually left him something, perhaps out of guilt for all the lies, manipulations, and killings. All Hudson wanted was Vonner’s files on the REMies. That treasure trove of data could make all the difference in his war with the elites.
“I am here on behalf of Mr. Vonner’s estate,” she said, suddenly bringing Hudson’s attention back.
The president nodded, gave her a serious expression, but the sudden hope continued that maybe Vonner had left him some of the files. All Hudson wanted was the truth.
The attorney looked from Hudson to Schueller, cleared her throat, and changed the world. “Mr. Vonner bequeathed a considerable portion of his estate to you, Schueller Pound.”
“Me?” Schueller burst out. “Why me?’
“Yes, indeed,” she said, shuffling some papers in a folder. “That’s quite a question, and I'm not sure I can answer it fully today. You see, Mr. Vonner was an exceedingly complicated man, and—”
“Surely he had other heirs,” Hudson said. “While I'm happy to see Schueller getting an inheritance, it does beg the question . . . I mean, it's nothing I would've expected from Vonner.”
“As I said, he was quite a complicated man. Most people had a certain idea about Mr. Vonner.” Her eyes lingered on Hudson’s for a long moment. “And most people were wrong.”
“How much are we talking about?” Schueller asked hesitantly.
“Approximately fifty-two billion dollars.” She paused, knowing the impact of her words.
Schueller gasped.
“That's crazy,” Hudson said, jumping up and beginning to pace.
The attorney concealed a smile. “Mr. Vonner believed, Schueller, that you are best suited to carry out his work.”
“His work? What do you mean?” Schueller asked.
“With respect, Ms. Blanchard,” Hudson began.
“Please, call me Kensi.”
“Fine, Kensi. Vonner was a . . . well, how should I say this? He wasn’t exactly a nice man. We’re talking about a manipulator . . . a murderer.”
“Mr. President, I assure you that Arlin Vonner never killed anyone in his life. I’m willing to stipulate that my client operated outside generally accepted standards in pursuit—”
“Then maybe you didn’t know him as well as you think,” Hudson interrupted. “Maybe he didn’t pull the trigger, but he did order killings.”
For a moment, Kensi glared at the president, but then the expression softened to one a parent might have with a confused child. “Shall I continue?” she asked.
Fifty-two billion . . . the words kept thundering in Hudson’s mind, giving him an instant headache. He glanced at his son, who looked as if he’d just won the lottery, wearing a grin and shocked expression that combined to make him look almost silly.
“Mr. Vonner had inherited and amassed great sums of money,” Kensi went on. “He spent his time working to grow his fortune, but his main goal, what drove him, an obsession really, indeed what he believed was his sole purpose in life . . . ” She paused once again to make eye contact with each of them. “Mr. Vonner wanted to win the CapWars.”
Schueller and Hudson looked at each other, then back at her. It didn’t surprise Hudson that Vonner wanted the ultimate prize. He’d known that for a long time, but whenever anyone mentioned either the words “CapWars” or “REMies,” it always made him nervous. How did a person learn the truth about the conspiracy which had engulfed the world for more than a century? How much did they actually know? Which side was that person on? Could they be trusted?
Hudson stared even more suspiciously at Kensington Blanchard. Was this all true?
“Vonner wanted the CapStone?” Hudson asked.
“Yes, he did,” Kensi replied. “However, you must understand, Mr. Vonner wasn't trying to win the CapWars so that he could be an emperor and rule the world.” She smiled in an indescribable way.
“Vonner wanted to control the world, though. That’s what he did,” Hudson said, looking toward Schueller. He knew his son believed this about the man. Schueller had been the first one to point out that Vonner was evil and couldn’t be trusted. But now, perhaps Schueller had been bought off by the dead man. Fifty-two billion dollars can change a lot of things, not the least of which is people.
“He wanted to win the CapWars,” Kensi persisted, “so that none of the other SOB's—as he called them—would win and mess things up further. Believe it or not, Arlin Vonner was trying to fix things, Mr. President.”
“Oh, he was good at that,” Hudson said. “I’m living proof.”
“I’m not certain what is causing you to be so hostile,” Kensi said. “One might expect that when someone’s son receives a life-altering windfall, there might be celebrations, at least some happiness.”
Hudson just shook his head. “Incredible,” he said, mostly to himself. “Fricking insanely incredible.”
She considered Hudson carefully, then lowered her voice and said, “Mr. Vonner left you something else to help with the CapWars. Vonner Security.”
“His security agency?” Schueller asked.
Hudson looked at his son as if surprised to hear him speak.
“Oh, you’ll find it’s a little more than a security agency,” Kensi said. “But I’ll be able to help you with that when the time comes.”
“What is it then?” Schueller asked.
Hudson thought of Fonda’s description of VS as “assassins, mercenaries, and terrorists.”
“VS is more like an army. Think commandos,” she said, turning from Schueller to Hudson. “There’s one agent in particular, Mr. President, whom you should meet. Her name is Tarka. She’s one of the top operatives in the organization, and she’s saved your life more times than you can imagine.”
Hudson nodded, but he was still barely able to express his thoughts. Vonner, the CapWars, fifty-two billion dollars, Schueller, VS agents, Vonner as a “good guy” . . . did he believe that? Did he finally have the answer he’d been asking since that day in the bank when Vonner asked him how he’d like to be president? Hudson knew that good guys were not always all good, and that bad guys weren’t always all bad. He’d learned that in the world of politics, international intrigue, the REMies, and the CapWars.
He studied the attorney. Did she really know all about the REMies and the CapWars? What else did she know?
“Miss Blanchard, how much—”
“Please, it’s Kensi.” She smiled.
“Kensi, how much do you know about the REMies?”
“Enough to know not to answer that question,” she said, suddenly looking hard and serious again. “I should tell you there’s another reason that Mr. Vonner chose you to be president, and chose Schueller as a beneficiary.”
Hudson sat back down, his palms clammy.
“Near the end of the nineteenth century,” she began, “the early CapWars were waged. Two of the first conflicts among the titans of industry, who were vying for control of a young world economy, were the Panics of 1893 and 1896. Those CapWars were won by a man named John Collins.”
“Yes,” Hudson said, remembering. “Vonner told me about Collins the night I won the election. Collins was my great, great, great grandfather.”
“That’s right,” she said. “John Collins was also Arlin Vonner's great-grandfather.”
“What?” Hudson said, looking at her for confirmation of what he was trying to grasp.
“Yes,” she whispered, as if revealing a great secret.
“Vonner and I are related?”
“Cousins. Distant cousins, but cousins.”
“Dad, could that be true?”
“That's right. And now it's returned to your line,” Kensi said.
Hudson and Schueller looked at each other again, stunned by the revelations, both imagining what they were going to do with fifty-two billion dollars, wondering if now maybe the CapWars were winnable, possibly even by them.
END OF BOOK TWO
CAPWAR EMPIRE (Book Three of the CapStone Conspiracy) is available here.
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About the Author
USA TODAY Bestselling Author Brandt Legg uses his unusual real life experiences to create page-turning novels. He’s traveled with CIA agents, dined with senators and congressmen, mingled with astronauts, chatted with governors and presidential candidates, had a private conversation with a Secretary of Defense he still doesn’t like to talk about, hung out with Oscar and Grammy winners, had drinks at the State Department, been pursued by tabloid reporters, and spent a birthday at the White House by invitation from the President of the United States.
At age eight, Legg's father died suddenly, plunging his family into poverty. Two years later, while suffering from crippling migraines, he started in business, and turned a hobby into a multi-million-dollar empire. National media dubbed him the “Teen Tycoon,” and by the mid-eighties, Legg was one of the top young entrepreneurs in America, appearing as high as number twenty-four on the list (when Steve Jobs was #1, Bill Gates #4, and Michael Dell #6). Legg still jokes that he should have gone into computers.
By his twenties, after years of buying and selling businesses, leveraging, and risk-taking, the high-flying Legg became ensnarled in the financial whirlwind of the junk bond eighties. The stock market crashed and a firestorm of trouble came down. The Teen Tycoon racked up more than a million dollars in legal fees, was betrayed by those closest to him, lost his entire fortune, and ended up serving time for financial improprieties.
After a year, Legg emerged from federal prison, chastened and wiser, and began anew. More than twenty-five years later, he’s now using all that hard-earned firsthand knowledge of conspiracies, corruption and high finance to weave his tales. Legg’s books pulse with authenticity.
His series have excited nearly a million readers around the world. Although he refused an offer to make a television movie about his life as a teenage millionaire, his autobiography is in the works. There has also been interest from Hollywood to turn his thrillers into films. With any luck, one day you’ll see your favorite characters on screen.
He lives in the Pacific Northwest, with his wife and son, writing full time, in several genres, containing the common themes of adventure, conspiracy, and thrillers. Of all his pursuits, being an author and crafting plots for novels is his favorite.
For more information, please visit his website, or to contact Brandt directly, email him: [email protected], he loves to hear from readers and always responds!
BrandtLegg.com
Books by Brandt Legg
CapWar ELECTION (CapStone Conspiracy #1)
CapWar EXPERIENCE (CapStone Conspiracy #2)
CapWar EMPIRE (CapStone Conspiracy #3)
The CapStone Conspiracy (books 1-3)
Cosega Search (Cosega Sequence #1)
Cosega Storm (Cosega Sequence #2)
Cosega Shift (Cosega Sequence #3)
Cosega Sphere (Cosega Sequence #4)
The Cosega Sequence (books 1-3)
The Last Librarian (Justar Journal #1)
The Lost TreeRunner (Justar Journal #2)
The List Keepers (Justar Journal #3)
The complete Justar Journal
Outview (Inner Movement #1)
Outin (Inner Movement #2)
Outmove (Inner Movement #3)
The complete Inner Movement trilogy
Dedication
As always, this book is dedicated to Teakki and Ro
And to Blair Legg 1957-2017
Acknowledgments
One of the things I like about writing series is being able to tell a bigger story. Another thing is getting to thank people multiple times for helping. Endless gratitude to my wife, Ro, who deals with all aspects of the story, including large parts that never make it into the books, and for the many interesting suggestions she offers which do get in. A million thanks to my mother, Barbara Blair, who reads and re-reads, proudly claiming to represent “the reader,” and also amusing me by purporting to be “objective”. Bonnie Brown Koeln, as always, pushes through the draft manuscript, looking for every typo and inconsistency as if she were on a grand expedition. Cathie Harrison, who, regrettably, I’ve never met in person, yet I fondly picture among blackberries, the green countryside of New Zealand, in a world of rabbits, alpaca, cats, dogs, other critters, and the occasional ice spirit. And for my late brother, Blair, who while I was writing this book discovered what happens in “the nine minutes” and beyond. I’m still hearing your echoes and feeling your presence. Certain scenes in this book were also aided by an old pilot friend, Glenn Turner, who made sure I had the information needed and arranged for me to speak with the right person to accurately handle Air Force One. Thanks, Glenn! Also, more appreciation to my copy editor, Jack Llartin, for taking care of the rough edges. And, finally, to Teakki, who patiently waited to build and play Legos until I finished writing each day.