The Man Who Built the World Read Online Free PDF

generated from land rents and the occasional sale of a patch of ground for development. There was a title somewhere in his family; Lord or Baron, maybe, though his father had never used it. He had a vague memory of overhearing his grandfather being referred to with a title, but both grandparents on his father’s side had died during his early childhood; their graves were in the churchyard in the village. Those on his mother’s side had always been strangely absent. She had never spoken of them, and he had rarely asked; perhaps she had had her own family rift to deal with. If she were alive now he thought she might understand how he felt.
    Looking up at that huge building, he realised his father was sitting on a goldmine. With lands covering several miles of forests, moors and farmland, his father’s worth was immeasurable. Even had Bethany still been alive Matt would have stood in line to inherit enough to put aside ideas of working for the rest of his days, and probably those of his family. Even if his father had written him out of the will he still had rights. He would have gotten a substantial portion at least.
    I don’t want it. I want to forget this place, it’s all I’ve ever wanted. There’s too much blood here, too much darkness.
    A couple of lights shone from ground floor windows, but curtains were closed against the night. Something – a dim light – suddenly flashed in one of the upper rooms, and Matthew jumped. Gone as quickly, probably an internal hall light being switched off, yet it still spooked him, sending a shiver down his whiskey–numbed spine.
    The moon cleared momentarily, exposing a sleeping hulk parked on the gravel outside the garage, similar to the old open–backed truck his father had owned before, but a newer model. He heard the sound of a dog barking a long way off, and he turned on his heels, looking nervously back across the courtyard as he made his way across to the house.
    He didn’t give himself time to bottle out, stepping into the deep shadow beneath the arched recess and thumping hard on the heavy oak door.
    Sometimes they come back. Well, Dad, here I am.
    ‘Dad ? Dad !’
    No answer. He reached out for the huge, brass door handle.
    BOOM !
    Matt instinctively dropped to his knees as a gunshot echoed out across the courtyard, sen ding sleeping birds skyward in a cacophony of shrieks and terrified calls. The dog began to bark again.
    ‘Fuck this,’ Matt muttered, picking himself up, and starting back across the courtyard. I should never have come.
    Fear gripped him and he began to run back across the courtyard, feet splashing through puddles left in the gravel by car tyres. By the time a second gunshot sounded from somewhere deep in amongst the trees, Matt had lost all sense of reason and had begun sprinting for the head of the lane as fast as he could. He didn’t care that he would have been safer under the cover of his father’s porch, he just wanted to be away from that place.
    He turned down between the trees, breathing hard, his shoes and the lower part of his tro users soaked. Ahead of him he could see the lane entrance, illuminated by the churchyard street lamp. It looked so far away.
    And then a figure stepped out of the trees, directly in front of him.
    Matt cried out and tried to turn, but lost his footing on the loose gravel and instead sprawled forward, his face striking the rough ground and his hands landing in a puddle that slopped muddy water back over him. He shook his head, dazed from the fall, and started to rise, only to find the huge, bulky figure looming over him. Something was thrust towards Matt’s face, something long and metallic. He flinched.
    A bright light blinded him. He lifted a hand to cover his eyes and a second later the torchlight flicked off.
    ‘Huh. Well, I never . . .’
    The torchlight flicked on again, this time a little to the right so that it cast a glow bright enough to illuminate them both. Matt lifted his head, saw first a pair of