When Empires Fall Read Online Free PDF

you have plenty of work to do, as usual.” Marshall winked at his nephew affectionately. “I just wanted to pop by and see if you needed a shoulder to cry on regarding the lovely Tara’s departure.”
    With a derisive snort, Grant shook his head, trying not to be amused. “I don’t cry.”
    “Of course you don’t,” Marshall mused as he glanced over his shoulder at the portraits and photographs on the wall behind him, admiring the paintings particularly. “I always said you look more like my dad than your own father, Grant.”
    “I suppose I should take that as a compliment?” Grant returned to his notepad to scribble down another phone number. “I really am busy, Marshall.”
    Marshall shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks and turned, grinning.
    “Then I won’t keep you.” He let out a slow sigh as he admired his nephew, working busily away at the desk that had been both his and Cyrus’ for so many years, in the same office that had been Winston’s, and Alton’s before him. Tradition. It was a beautiful thing. “I just want you to know that I’m proud of you, Grant. If I’d had children, had a son, I hope he would have been just like you.”
    Grant stopped writing and glanced up, meeting his uncle’s eyes cautiously. Great, treading on emotional ground again. Even though he felt an odd, deeply buried gratification at hearing the words, he still preferred those kind of remarks be kept inside, when all it seemed to do was make him feel uncomfortable. He was God awful at coming up with good replies to comments like that.
    “Thanks. Goodnight, Marshall.” Grant nodded once, curtly, before turning back to his computer screen.
    Marshall only smiled again as he turned away, thinking to himself just how lucky they all were to have Grant be the way he was. Sure, the kid could lighten up a bit once in awhile, but there was no one, absolutely no one, who worked longer or fought harder for the family business than Grant did.
    The man was, put quite simply, one in a million.

     
    The hollow rubber ball smacked with a deafening thud against the broad white wall, then cheerfully rebounded straight for Linc Vasser’s head.
    “ Shit ,” he grunted as he ducked out of the way and swung frantically upwards with his racket, barely managing to clip the ball, causing it to sail back towards the wall and back to his opponent, who swung a bit too short and missed the ball by mere inches.
    Both men collapsed into a sweaty heap on the floor of the racquetball court, chests heaving as they gasped for air. But when they met eyes, both had mile wide grins of pure sportsmanship.
    “Why do I even bother playing with you? I always kick your ass. It’s really not much of a challenge,” Linc huffed as he patted his friend on the back with as much force as he could muster, which wasn’t much since his arm was throbbing from that last hit.
    “Screw you, you don’t always win,” Greg Carson glared back, fire in his soft brown eyes, his blonde hair sticking up in places and his boyishly handsome face flush from the game.
    Linc grinned, his white teeth flashing in a charming smile, his cobalt eyes glittering with triumph and good humor. “You’re in what we call a state of denial, my friend. But it’s okay, you’re a humble man because you always get beaten. In fact, you should be thanking me.”
    Greg let out a breathy laugh and shook his head, reaching out for the blue rubber ball as it rolled towards him. With a wicked smile, he turned to face Linc and held up the ball suggestively. “I’ll humble you, Vasser, by shoving this pretty rubber ball right up your ass.”
    “Threats will get you nowhere with me,” Linc shot back, tilting back his head and shutting his eyes as he tried to calm his furiously beating heart. He was in excellent shape, but even a good game of racquetball could occasionally kick his ass. “Is that why you’re so good on Wall Street? You threatening your clients?”
    Greg laughed again,