by Robert Gonko
THE INHERITANCE
by
Robert Gonko
Copyright 2014 by Robert Gonko
All rights reserved
Cover Art by Robert Brooks
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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.
The
re 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.