Page 81 of Alpha Bait

"There's been an accident. Our Post source says news will break tomorrow that Indie Holloway is dead."

I hung up without replying. Two pieces of bad news at once had shaken me to my very core and I threw my phone on the ground releasing a scream of frustration and rage. I had just been growing accustomed to life in Sicily, but now I wished I had never left New York.

The two people I cared about most in the world were now dead. I didn't wait for confirmation. I knew it was true. The strange feeling I'd had a couple days ago and the radio silence from both of them proved that something had gone wrong.

I couldn't tell if Jamal were responsible for this, or if this had simply been a coincidence that the two of them had ended up dead within a few hours of each other.

I felt sick. The last time my brother and I had spoken, he mentioned having to tell me something important about Indie. He'd never had the chance.

Now both of them were dead and I was thousands of miles away and legally obliged not to enter city limits.

I had to do something. I refuse to allow Jamal to render me impotent. I had no choice but to break the law. I didn't relish in it, but a man must oblige his duties.

Without my brother and without me, my second cousins and my various aunts and uncles would all be vying for the family fortune. With nothing to unite them, with the Holloway acquisition on the horizon threatening their wealth, they would become like children rushing at a broken piñata hoping to get a piece of candy. This was not how my father's legacy was supposed to end.

I growled and threw my fist at the wall in frustration. I dented the drywall and shook my throbbing knuckles until they didn't hurt anymore. Fury still roared.

I'd have bet a fortune that Jamal played a role in both deaths. If my brother had somehow passed away, or if the news had only been about Indie, I would have suspected nothing. The combination of deaths and the timing appeared far too intentional.

Getting in touch with Xander again proved far more difficult than I anticipated. My cousin, when I did manage to get a hold of him, was elusive and insisted that I should not return to New York for my brother's funeral.

Hearing the phrase, "Ames funeral", forced me to acknowledge his death in a way that I hadn't done before.

After that senseless phone call, I spent the entire day in bed with whiskey and a cigar by my side. My house staff couldn't keep their whispers to themselves. Even my assistant seemed concerned and she pulled me aside to tell me that she believed I should go to New York immediately.

Easier said than done. I called Xander to inform him that I intended to return to New York and our conversation ended in another fight. He insisted that I would cost the family too much money in legal fees if I were to return and that making the arrangements for Ames was stressful enough along with managing the fears of our ravenous board of directors. I insisted, but our argument only escalated and I hung up on Xander again.

They didn't have a choice. I was returning to New York. My heart sank when I realized that I wouldn't get to see Indie while I was there. I'd always expected she would be a part of my life in the city. The tragic realization steeled my resolve.

My assistant arranged a pilot and passage on the family jet in secret. I prepared my new house in Trapani to be rented to an old Chinese couple, then sold.

I had no intention of returning to Europe. I was too much of my father's son to sit idly by while our fortune fell into shambles and while Jamal danced atop our ever increasing number of graves.

Making decisions didn't come easily, and they definitely didn't come until I was properly drunk. My beard had grown out longer than it had ever been before. My hair hung to my shoulders and I was sure that barely anyone in the city would recognize me. Italy had left me with a deep suntan that darkened my complexion to a tawny color, and freckled my face.

Despite my best attempts, I would still have to wait one week for the jet, which meant I would miss my brother's funeral and Indie's too. Of course, I would have never been invited to Indie's funeral and I would have never gone at the risk of exposing what we had vowed to keep a secret. Her death had almost hit me harder than my brothers.

I was a mess. I spent the week leading up to the flight in a drunken stupor. I knew that I should've kept a clear head. Grief promoted whiskey to the only thing that could ever get me out of bed. Grief had its talons hooked into me.

The plane ride back to America was the longest of my life. Each hour grated on me and the motion of the plane did nothing to help my stomach which had been rubbed raw from days of whiskey, tobacco, and the occasional bits of fresh bread and cheese that my assistant attempted to slip in.

I had no clue what I would find in New York. Xander's insinuations led to few expectations that my family had remained intact. Not only had I lost the woman I loved and my brother, but I would not even have the company to show for it. The talons sank in deeper.

I expected no greeting at the private landing strip. After disembarking, my aunt, Bryn Garrett, awaited me. She wore a tweed Chanel suit, strings of pearls and her familiar frown. Her short bottle blonde hair cradled her head in a stiff bob.

"Did you think you could come to New York without anyone noticing?" She said.

Some greeting. At least she smiled, which was rare for Carmichaels.

"I'm here to sort out family affairs."

"Not everyone in the family will be happy to see you, Richard."

"Aren't you one of those people?" I asserted bluntly.

I have never liked my aunt very much, but she won me over with her next sentence.

"On the contrary. I have a taste for order, Richard. Since your brother has passed, the family seems to have lost their taste for it. I want everything restored to the way it was and I firmly believe that you're the only person who can do it."

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