Page 50 of The Professor's Possession (Crystal River Billionaire Brothers)

“How is the university treating you?” he asks. “A bit of a step down from Harvard, I must admit. Feels like you’re going backwards.”

“You know perfectly well why I’m back here, Father.”

“Why couldn’t you let others take care of this business for you, Spencer? I hate how you’ve had to come back to sort it out. You really didn’t have to do that. I could’ve paid for things. You could’ve stayed in Boston and carried on with your life teaching at such a fine institution. I was talking to the President of Harvard the other day, in fact, and she was expressing how much of a disappointment your departure has been.”

“Coming back was more important than my life in Boston, Father. My life in Boston meant nothing without what I have here. I want to handle things on my own,” I reply curtly. This serves as the maximum level of resistance you can muster against a man of my father's stature. He's unaccustomed to encountering dissenting voices, particularly from one of his own sons. I respect family enough to give him the status that he deserves as my father, but that certainly doesn’t mean I can’t be my own man and assert my own opinions.

“You’re too proud to use your family’s money to work this out,” Father says darkly.

“Some things can’t just be resolved by throwing around millions,” I reply. “This is one of those things. I want to do this right.”

“You always were very proud. But, then again, so are the rest of your brothers.”

There’s suddenly a lot of noise at the door. The quiet, still atmosphere of the bar is rudely broken by the arrival of a group of men. We all turn to see my brother, Damon, enter with a gang of his own security guys. These men, unlike Father’s, are dressed down in simple collared shirts and no jackets. Ready for a fight. Sleeves rolled up. Tattoos showing. Fists balled.

Damon has always had a taste for the theatrical. He strolls into the bar with the cocky air of someone who owns every room he walks into. My brother is tall like the rest of us Penmaynes. His eyes are midnight black. His sharp cheekbones are shadowed by his short, tousled, jet-black hair. He’s wearing a dark suit, but I can still see the hint of the numerous tattoos that ink his skin. His most noticeable physical trait is the long, thin scar running down his left cheek, clearly originating from some kind of violent encounter that he’s unwilling to share properly with the rest of us.

If you were to encounter my brother on the street, confronted by his demeanor and physical presence, you'd unmistakably recognize him as a man to steer well clear of. He exudes an aura of suppressed aggression, akin to a tightly coiled serpent that could strike out at any instant. He possesses the capacity for cruelty toward his adversaries, and his actions can be remarkably destructive. Beneath it all lies profound intelligence and a keen understanding of human behavior, attributes that have served him well in his chosen illicit pursuits. Despite his criminal tendencies, my brother is loyal and dependable to a fault. He’s surprisingly neat and meticulous in all areas of his life, and deliberately so.

He embraces Royce, then lunges toward me, giving me a vigorous handshake.

“Hello, Spencer.”

“Hello, Damon.”

Immediately following in behind him is August. He’s the doctor of the family. As is his custom, he tends to keep his words to a minimum. He's certainly not astheatricalas Damon, that’s for sure.

“Spencer. Royce. Damon. Hello, boys.”

Soon after, my famous actor-brother, Victor, arrives in a giant limousine like the wannabe movie star he is.

“I just got in from LA,” he explains as he enters with dark sunglasses on. He’s the pretty boy of the family: a guy who could be the main male model in a photo shoot for one of the top fashion brands in the morning even after a full restless night of drinking and fucking and still look the best in the world.

“How’s Hollywood?” I ask him.

My actor brother lowers his sunglasses and smirks at me.

“Very good. I’m flying out for a film shoot in South Africa tomorrow, actually.”

The last to arrive is Connor. Out of all of us, he’s the one that has really stayed in Crystal River. He’s shunned the fame and fortune of our wealthy family to live the simple life of a firefighter here in town, serving his community. I commend him for that, although I know others in my family – especially my father – would have rather wished for grander things from Connor. But what could be more rewarding and wholesome than putting your life on the line to help others?

“Hello, Spencer.” He seems shyer than my other brothers. I can tell he really doesn’t want to be here. I bet it’s his duty to his dead brother that is the main driving force behind him turning up to this family gathering and not some desire to spend time with the rest of us. I believe Connor does love his brothers, but I also believe he can’t fully reconcile his family name with his true self. He would rather shun the life of a rich man and live in poverty and obscurity if that meant he was content and helping others. I do believe his pursuit of being a firefighter in Crystal River has been a way for him to pay some kind of penance – in his own mind – for the house he was born into. But, whatever his thoughts about the rest of us, I do love the man and his simple lifestyles. I think it’s commendable.

After our introductions and catching up with each other, Damon stealthily gestures me toward the bar for a private conversation away from the rest of our brothers.

“Here, drink this,” he mutters conspiratorially.

He offers me a dark beer in a tall glass.

“Another one you’ve brewed?” I ask him before I take a sip.

“Yes.”

“I told myself I wouldn’t get fucked up tonight, Damon.”

I gulp it down. The beer is fucking powerful, with a bitter taste.

My brother sneers. “You like it?”

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