Page 4 of Alpha Bait

"Kendrick's daughter should have come too."

"Kendrick has a daughter?" I asked.

Ames nodded, "You don't know her."

"Is she hot?"

My father chuckled. "Yes, she is."

"Dad!" Ames chided, "That's disgusting."

"I'm on my deathbed," he croaked, "I have to be honest."

I snorted, considering the crock of bullshit he'd fed Kendrick only moments earlier.

"You don't want anything to do with her," Ames replied, "Trust me."

" I get the feeling there's a story there."

"Perhaps Ames has tested the forbidden fruit," said my father.

"Dad, fuck off!" Ames replied.

I loosened my tie and walked over to my father's cigar box for a smoke.

"You know, you should stay away from these things. They'll give you cancer."

"You should know."

I clipped the end of the cigar and Ames walked over to me, giving me a light. I puffed and allowed the bitter Nicaraguan tobacco to burn my lungs. I took a harsh drag and closed my eyes, enjoying the rush.

"You've gotten us into a mess, you know."

My father tipped more whiskey down his throat.

"Yes," he replied, "I know. All you have to do is follow your brother, stay loyal, and don't let those damn Holloways get the better of you."

"Easier said than done."

"No one ever said being a Carmichael would be easy."

We smoked and drank until Selena called to tell us her driver had taken her over to the mansion. At that point, the doctors informed us that our father had four to six weeks left. Selena and the rest of the Carmichael cousins involved in the business had traveled to our mansion to pay respects to the patriarch before his passing.

We returned home and the family rabble roused until the morning. Cocktail shrimp, games of croquet, shooting pheasants on family land, horseback riding and copious amounts of tennis filled our days for the last six weeks of our father's life. Richard Carmichael, II died on January 3rd.

On January 10th, Kendrick passed, outliving him by exactly a week.

An invitation to his funeral turned up in the mail, signed by his wife, Gail Holloway. The invitations came printed on thick black card paper and embossed in gold leaf. I suspected an outreach from Gail in an attempt to end the family feud. Right.

Jamal would never allow that to happen. Still, the invitation sat on my father's desk, which had now become Ames'. My brother decided to RSVP so we could pay our last respects to father's rival.

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