Page 1 of Alpha Bait

Before

RICHARD CARMICHAEL

Smoke drifted from the tip of my father's Cuban. Sunken eyes, a murky bottle green, were narrowed in my direction. He'd use his last moments on earth fighting for the Carmichaels; I knew that much.

"Don't you think it's time we put this petty dispute to an end?" Ames suggested.

My father shot him a glare sharper than a fencing saber.

"Quiet, boy."

Ames fell silent and took a step back from our father's worn leather chair. He folded his arms, standing in line with me.

I leaned over and whispered to him, "So you're learning not to get in the middle of their spats."

"He's more stubborn than an ox."

"Kendrick is no saint.”

Kendrick leaned over and rested curled fists on the table. His cognac colored skin, the texture of full-grain leather, was just as withered as my father's and his eyes just as sunken. Two old friends turned rivals with the same fatal diagnosis sat across from each other and neither of them would budge.

"If you won't give up the technology that I invented, Richard, I'll have to do everything in my power to ensure no one in your entire bloodline has a good night's sleep after I'm gone."

Kendrick threatened him in a low, bass voice with the grave smoothness of a jazz singer. He never raised his voice but his eyes burned charcoal black.

"You might have invented the technology Kendrick, but I built the structure of this business."

"A structure that is sure to crumble once you're gone," Kendrick replied with a smirk.

My father scowled.

"The last quarter is no indication of how well the Carmichaels run a business."

"We'll see about that. You're on your way out, old man. Once you're gone those spoiled bastard children of yours will run your business into the ground."

"Father," Jamal interjected, resting a hand on his father's shoulder and glancing over at me and Ames apologetically.

Jamal, Kendrick Holloway's eldest son, had his mother's skin color and wit with his father's ruthlessness for business. He'd been groomed to take over his father's company from the time he was a young boy. I knew Jamal like a brother but needless to say we'd drifted apart through the years as our fathers’ disputes over technology and patents grew more intense.

The boy I'd grown up going to Chewonki summer camps with had taken a different path. I'd gone to St. George's, he'd gone to Exeter. We'd had one year at Princeton together but due to difficulties with the administration, I'd transferred to Yale. Jamal had gone on to do an MBA at Harvard and a law degree at Columbia.

Kendrick had good right to be proud of his son, but he'd been wrong to underestimate the Carmichael family.

Father tapped his cigar against the Swarovski crystal tray I'd picked up for him in Milan.

"What do you want, Kendrick? You didn't come here to spit on a dying man. Surely.”

"No," he replied, "I'm giving a dying man an opportunity to admit he was wrong before he passes. Admit you stole from me. Admit you used my ideas and built your business on the back of my hard work."

Father smiled.

"I will never admit that, Kendrick."

"Fine then. So be it."

"I gave you a chance, Richard. When I walk out of this room, just know that no matter what happens, your company will die along with you."

Kendrick pushed himself to his feet. Jamal held onto his arm as he wheezed and let out a loud shuddering cough. Cancer worked its way through his body with the same virility as it had my father. All the money in the world wouldn’t save either of them from the inevitable fate that neither of them truly believed they'd face: Death.

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