Page 40 of Royal Flush

How admirable of him.

He didn’t own a pet and as far as I’d been able to ascertain, he never had.

However, I listened, mildly amused as well as annoyed. The small crowd was eating up his speech as if he was a god.

“Now, pull out those checkbooks. Minimum ten thousand dollars, y’all.”

Y’all? It was the first time I’d noticed a slight twang. He was from Virginia but with the influx of people from the north the last couple of decades, it still surprised me.

Then again, he could be faking it. So many people pretended they were something they weren’t.

When all but one man had left, most with their wallets in their hands, I chuckled and shook my head.

He was still chatting with whoever had remained when he finally noticed I was standing only a couple of feet away.

The moment of recognition was evident and that alone kept my amusement rolling.

When his jovial expression soured, I finally made my move. My intentions were to put the man in his place with a subtle yet powerful warning. I’d been told I was very good at doing so.

He leaned in, whispering to the kid standing by his side.

While Jameson tried to mask his annoyance, he did send his companion away. I had a feeling the young man was his aide or assistant. Perhaps he was telling the guy to hunt down security.

I had no intention of making a scene.

“Can I help you?” When he feigned not knowing me, I almost laughed.

Still, I accepted his handshake. “Perhaps you don’t know me, Jameson, but you certainly knew my father. In fact, it’s my understanding the two of you were good friends until he tried to expose your unscrupulous side.”

“There are dozens of people who try their best to discredit me. I’m sorry. Who’s your father?”

“Sebastian Royal.” He was a politician. He had a basic ability to act unfazed. But before I looked away, pretending to wave to someone I knew, I’d seen a spark in his eyes. While I couldn’t ascertain quickly if it was derived from concern or anger, I honestly didn’t care at this point.

“I’m sorry. The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Fascinating since the two of you were dormmates for three years. You had many of the same classes together and were on the rugby team.” I returned my now pointed gaze in his direction.

I had to give the guy credit. He was quite masterful at the art of looking confused. And of attempting to recover.

“You mean Winston the fifteenth. Right?”

Winston was my father’s middle name so the recovery was smooth. “So you do remember him.”

“Yeah, now I do, buddy. Although the moment he set foot in the stadium, no one used his first name again, including me. You’re his son.”

So we were going to play it this way. Fine. I didn’t mind the cloak and dagger stuff. There were several phrases I remembered my father saying over the years, like the devil was in the details and cornering an enemy needed to be handled with great care.

I’d been a card player all my life, enjoying gambling for fun. Why not? What I had learned over the years was that men pushed into a corner always showed their true colors.

As long as you could maintain patience.

Nothing had changed. I was here to plant the seed and wait for the fissures to begin. That might take hours or days, but it didn’t matter.

“Ahh. Something new I learned about my dad.”

Jameson studied me carefully, lifting his glass and taking a sip. “How is Sebastian?”

I doubted there was anyone who ran even remotely in the same circles who didn’t know my father was dead. It had been pretty much national news. “He’s dead. Murdered.”

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