The Philanthropist's Danse Read Online Free PDF Page A

gentlemen care for some refreshments?” Jeremy kept his tone neutral, though he was faintly amused by Junior’s overdone outrage.
    MacLean and Hagood ordered scotch and sandwiches, but Junior waved the major-domo away and refused to continue his conversation until Jeremy had left. As soon as the servant had departed, he approached MacLean with his eyes full of dark rage. “Don’t think you can talk to me like that, Larry, ever. My father might have tolerated your ignorance, but I won’t.”
    He glared at MacLean and raised himself as tall as his stacked heels allowed, but Larry snorted. “Junior, you’re full of shit. You’re the biggest disappointment my poor friend ever suffered in his life. Don’t threaten me, son. You’re not man enough to back it up.”
    Junior flushed deep scarlet and stared at MacLean for a long second before he turned and left the room with the rebuke ringing in his ears. He walked fast, looking neither right nor left until he reached his suite and slammed the door shut. He didn’t stop moving until he had circled the suite several times and felt his rage begin to ebb. His eyes were hot and wet. He hated that they welled with tears when he was enraged, it made him look weak.
    Junior clawed off his expensive silk tie and poured a large slug of vodka into a glass with one hand as the other unsnapped his collar. He took an aggressive gulp and felt the satisfying burn of the liquor travel through his body. It warmed his body to his toes, but did not touch the cold heart that beat inside his chest.
    Junior felt his calm return as a pleasant thought came to him. I’m not Junior anymore. The Old Man is gone. I’m head of the family now. I’ll get what’s mine, and Larry MacLean can go to hell . Junior looked at his reflection and tilted his head back. He believed that he looked taller in the pose. He would use the pose tomorrow. His self-confidence returned as he realized he would no longer have to live in his father’s shadow. A cold smile appeared on his face. Junior Thurwell hummed a happy tune, and danced slowly around the room in celebration of his father’s death.
    $
    Larry and Freddie sat in contemplative silence. The only acknowledgement of Junior’s sudden departure had been Freddie’s raised eyebrow. They faced each other in a couple of overstuffed wing chairs, neither willing to break the silence.
    Jeremy returned with drinks and sandwiches and broke the mood. They exchanged small talk as they loaded their plates with food and enjoyed their host’s choice whisky. Eventually Freddie looked at MacLean and asked the question that vexed him. “What was Thurwell thinking that made him do this to his family? Why make them compete for his money? I can’t figure it out.”
    Larry understood Hagood’s bewilderment. “I don’t know. It’s not what I’d have expected of Johnston.” His voice cracked as he mentioned his friend’s name. He was hurt that Thurwell had chosen to die alone. “I could have been here, if he’d just said something. You know, at the end. It’s bad enough for me, but Bethany? How must she feel?”
    MacLean felt old, his friend was gone and yet here he was in the library drinking with Johnston’s arch-rival. Nothing made sense. Larry even felt some small sympathy for Junior. He had never warmed to the oldest son as much as he had to Bethany and her younger brother. He suddenly regretted his angry words with Junior and resolved to apologize when he next saw him.
    Freddie Hagood was in a state of shock himself. He was well-used to meeting his rival at the mansion, though few people knew about their bi-annual rendezvous. In the City, they traveled in the same social circles and were both generous donors to charitable causes. Their well-publicized and bitter rivalry had appeared to the world as a blood sport, but, in fact, there was much that united the two magnates.
    When William Bird had called last November to delay their scheduled year-end meeting,