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Baker Publishing Group - Paul Robertson

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166 pages

English

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Wealth. Fame. Power. Murder. Jason Boyer Just Got an Inheritance to Die ForThe fortune wasn't supposed to befall him. Jason Boyer had known all along his father's business empire would pass to different hands. Which suited him just fine. The money was crooked and the power corrupt. But when an accident claims the old man's life, everyone is stunned by the unveiling of the will. With the passing of the Boyer crown, power-hungry politicians and shady business partners all try to force Boyer's hand. Fighting the temptation of influence and riches, he simply wants to be a better man than his father--but attempting to stand for what's right soon brings murderous consequences. As those closest to him are endangered--and news emerges that his father's accident may be something more sinister--Boyer finds himself fighting for his soul...and his life!Is There Any Escape for The Heir?All the money he could ever crave.In the splintering crash of a car plunging through a railing, Jason Boyer's life is changed.All the fame he could ever desire.But the last thing he wanted was the throne of his father's corrupt business empire.All the power he could ever wield.The estate should have gone elsewhere, but the will was changed. And now everything is Jason's.But gaining the whole world just might cost him his life.

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Thriller

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Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	01 avril 2008
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781441207852
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0259€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Praise for The Heir
Robertson s first novel is a Grisham-like tale of intrigue and murder about the son, Jason Boyer, of a New England financial titan and kingmaker.
- Booklist (starred review)
A wonderful, vicarious trip into the worlds of money, politics, and power. . . . Something to share with anyone who appreciates good writing and a great story.
- Aspiring Retail
. . . this is very, very good. I m definitely interested in seeing what Paul Robertson has for us next. Recommended.
-Tim Frankovich, christianfictionreview.com
In The Heir, Paul Robertson serves up politics, privilege, and murder with a side of acerbic wit. What a fabulous book-a great mix of angst, humor, and, ultimately, hope.
-T. L. Hines, author of Waking Lazarus and The Dead Whisper On
Robertson s lean and witty writing style fits the plot well. The story is told in first person through Jason s intelligent persona and delivered with enough literary razzle dazzle to make it appeal to not only the plot addict but the word junkie as well.
-Violet Nesdoly, blogcritics.org
Intense and compelling, The Heir is a fast, smart read. The tension and suspense constantly build off one another. Often frustrating, frequently humorous, always thought provoking, The Heir has the makings of a mystery classic.
-Phillip Tomasso III, inthelibraryreviews.net
Books by
Paul Robertson

The Heir
Road to Nowhere
THE HEIR

P AUL R OBERTSON
The Heir Copyright 2007 Paul Robertson
Cover design by Paul Higdon Cover art by Carmelo Bongiomo/Getty Images
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means-electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise-without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Published by Bethany House Publishers 11400 Hampshire Avenue South Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 978-0-7642-0469-2
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Robertson, Paul J., 1957- The heir / Paul Robertson. p. cm. ISBN-13: 978-0-7642-0324-4 (hardcover : alk. paper) ISBN-10: 0-7642-0324-X (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Inheritance and succession-Fiction. 2. Corporations-Corrupt practices- Fiction. I. Title. PS3618.O3173H45 2007 813 .6-dc22
2006037952
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It may be that only a man who has struggled toward a goal for many years and finally reached it can know how much I thank my wife, Lisa, for her love and faith.
Thank you to my parents, Ken and Nancy, and of course to the excellent Ellen, Greg, and Jeff.
To my friends who prayed for and encouraged me and commented on the manuscript, to Steve Laube, and to the superlative staff at Bethany, thanks to you all.
And my gratitude to Mill Mountain Coffee and Tea in Blacks-burg, Virginia-what a great place to write.
. . . I say unto you, It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God. . . .
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
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1
I couldn t take my eyes off the casket. It was expensive, and it glowed, resting among the candles and the heaps of flowers. It so perfectly expressed the man inside.
The dignitaries droned, and I didn t hear them. We knew it all. We knew what he had done with his life. If a man knows his purpose, then everyone else will know it, too.
They d been told what to say and to keep it short, and they obeyed. They d all gotten where they were by doing what they were told.
It was tribute by catalog listing: achievements, philanthropy, and Senate career. The real man was never mentioned-the companies he inherited, the rivals he crushed, the cold blood behind the politics- but everyone knew. Was anyone else listening? It s easy to eulogize a man who knew why he lived his life.
I just stared at that gleaming box and wondered why I was living mine.
We sang a hymn, and that brought me back-words obscure enough to drive any clear thoughts from a man s brain. A voice behind me sang off-key.
I watched the man s wife instead. Her name was Angela, and she was sitting between my brother, Eric, and me. I might have given her a hug, but she had always objected to my familiarity. It was nothing personal; she objected to anyone. Her brother and sister were not at the service.
She was his second wife. The other one died young of cancer, which had been worth a lot of sympathy in his first election. If he had grieved for her, I wouldn t know.
I looked back. The off-key voice behind me was another senator, a man I d never liked. He had no speaking part. It was probably a snub.
For a moment it seemed a pity the whole thing was going by so fast. The church was flawless, and the funeral was such a good use for it. Now I even knew the true purpose of candles: to reflect off that casket. They were going to look tacky anywhere else. And there I was staring at it again.
Candles knew their purpose, but I didn t have a clue about mine.
The governor said his few words about what he had felt when he heard about the accident-the shock and sadness, the great man cut down in his prime, what a loss to the state. He shook his head at the whole sad mystery of life and death and checked his watch.
Jason?
I pushed past Katie and got up to the pulpit. Now the box was right in front of me, shining like a waxed floor. I needed something else to look at.
The back wall of the place had a row of statues in it, saints or angels, and one had his hand up waving at me. I never had written anything to say.
Why am I here? The little saint seemed friendly, so I figured I d just talk to him. I wish I knew. Maybe it was a her, not a him. They all wear robes.
I think he could have told me. He knew why he was here, what he was doing. He never doubted anything he did. Somehow, I was staring at the casket again. I found my friend on the wall. Maybe he is now.
They were all watching me, but I watched the back of the church. The one thing I ever really knew for sure in my life was that he was there. I only saw him a few times a year and I won t miss him for that. It s more like a mountain is gone-one you d see off in the distance.
Katie wanted me to be impressive for the assembled personages. She knew they d be measuring and calculating, putting me in their equations. After three years of marriage, she also knew me enough to know I didn t care. I did hope she wasn t embarrassed. Her mother was sitting behind her and she d be embarrassed enough for all of us.
I wouldn t inherit anything anyway. It was all going to his foundation. Eric and I would just get our monthly checks, as we always had.
The saint s stone hand was palm up, as if it had been holding something that had just flown away. Anyway, he s gone and we re still here, so we ll get by without him. I finally got myself to look at the people. What a well-dressed crowd. And everything he knew about life is gone with him, so I ll get by without that, too.
I didn t have anything else to say. I smiled at Angela, and then I nodded at Eric on her other side.
I waited at the end of the pew as Eric got out, and he patted me on the back. Katie gave me a tight smile as I sat. She was annoyed, but not mad.
Eric was tall, dark, and clueless behind the heavy wood pulpit. We look alike, especially with him wearing one of my suits. For all the money he has, he d never figured out how to buy clothes. It was loose on him, and maybe that was why he looked so young. Or maybe it was because he was so young. There were no questions about life beneath that spiky black hair.
But he kept his eyes on the audience the whole time and told them what a loving father the man had been. He did a good job. I appreciated him because he did the right thing, what I should have done, and maybe he thought what he said was true.
Then the priest said whatever he had to, and it was over. When I got out into the light of day, I was so glad it had lasted no longer than it did.
The rest of the festivities went about the same. In the limo, Katie chattered and Angela sighed about how nice the service had been. Eric was watching boats in the bay.
I watched them, too. I prefer water to land because land is unmoving; the water is never still and has nothing fixed. Long Island Sound, Nantucket Sound, Block Island Sound-we were surrounded by silent waters named for the lands that confined them.
Eric turned to me. What did you mean, you wouldn t miss him?
That s not what I said.
And what were you looking at?
Nothing.
He turned back to the boats and I did, too. I would rather have been out there. Anyone whose ancestors lived on these coasts would feel the same pull.
Across from me, Katie was glaring, so maybe she was mad after all. She had her hair down straight, over her shoulders. Her simple, dark blue dress with the string of pearls was as perfect as the church. She had me done up just right, too, with the black suit she d picked out a year ago for weddings and funerals. She had a tailor come every six months to keep all the suits fitted. That s why it hung so loose around Eric s shoulders.
Change the subject. He really was a great man, I said to Angela.
She smiled, and it was genuine. The funeral had penetrated the pink plastic armor. She wasn t even fifty. Her husband had been fifteen years older, but she d still expected a lot more years with him.
They d been married for nineteen.
Katie smiled at me, and I was out of trouble. I pushed my luck.
What do you think he would have been most proud of?
Most proud? Angela always spoke so quietly, like a kitten. I d wonde