by D D Bridges
Copyright 2016 by D.D. Bridges
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without express written consent from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.
Trademarked names may appear throughout this book. Rather than trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.
The information in this book is distributed on an “as is” basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information in this book.
The characters, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictitious and used only for fictitious purposes. Any similarity or resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Prologue
Part 1: The Game, The Streets, The Money
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Part 2: The Untold Truth
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Part 3: Bonjour Paris
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Part 4: Blood and Water
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
The Head That wears the crown
by D.D. Bridges
“Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.” – William Shakespeare (Henry IV)
Prologue
I awoke abruptly out of my sleep. I looked over at the digital clock that sat on the night stand beside my bed and it read 3:13 A.M. I looked around my room, checking to make sure that I was safe, then reached under my pillow for my glock. I was breathing hard and had broken out into a cold sweat. Once again, I’d had one of those dreams. The same dream that I’d been having for the past five years. The one that would start out with me walking through the streets of Atlanta, Georgia where I was born and raised. I’d hear gunfire and run away from it, but the sound would follow me. The faster I’d run, the louder the sound would get. Then I’d hear someone running after me. I’d hear people calling my name; men, women, boys, and girls. But I wouldn’t stop running until finally I’d feel the bullets hit my body from every direction before I’d fall to the ground.
I got out of my bed, still shaken up by the nightmare, wearing nothing but a black tank-top and some basketball shorts. I laid the gun on the night stand then glanced over my shoulder as if I wasn’t alone. I took my black hoodie off of the chair that sat over near the window and put it on. I grabbed the glock and began my routine of checking the entire mansion. This was something that I always did when I had that dream. I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I knew the house was secure. I started with my bedroom, which is the master suite. I looked out of the window and I could see from the gated front entrance all the way up the drive way that circled around a fountain and went around to the front door. Everything was dark, just the way it should be, except for the lights in the fountain and the ones that lined the driveway. I looked across the way to the other side of the house and saw that there were no lights on in the west wing of the mansion either.
I moved away from the window and went into the study. This was where I handle most of my business whenever I wasn’t at the office. I turned on the desk lamp and looked down at the papers that I left on the desk earlier that day. I wiped away the beads of sweat that had formed on my forehead. I looked up and glanced around the room again. I knew that I was probably being paranoid, but I just couldn’t shake that feeling of not being alone. I opened the desk drawer on the lower right hand side. My 22 caliber pistol was there like it should be. I turned around to look at the picture that was hanging on the wall behind the desk. I pulled the picture toward me and it swung open like a door, revealing the secret compartment that was built in the wall that held my safe. I quickly unlocked the safe, putting in a special number combination that only I knew. Once it was open, it only took one quick glance at the stacks of bills for me to know that the right amount was there; the whole one hundred thousand in cash.
I left the study and went into the hallway, still carrying the glock. I knew that it was going to take me about an hour to check the whole mansion, but I had to before I’d be able to sleep. The mansion had twelve bedrooms that were all the size of a small apartment, and fourteen and a half bathrooms. They were all situated upstairs and in the west wing of the mansion. Normally I didn’t have any reason to go into the west wing. Everything I needed was in the east wing along with my bedroom.
My mother pretty much kept things situated in the west wing where she lived along with our staff. Five years ago, when we moved into the mansion, she was more excited about it than I was. She hated living in the hood, and the day that we moved out she made sure everybody knew that we were leaving. The last words that she shouted out the window as we pulled away in the rented U-Haul truck was “All y’all can kiss my ass!” I just covered my face in shame as we drove away.
Growing up in the hood was never a walk in the park and things always seemed to be hard. I hated the fact that in all those years my mom never really seemed happy. To me, she even seemed bitter for some reason. I would take note of the fact that sometimes she talked as if there was someone out there who owed her something. Not only that, but she never talked about my father. I’ll never forget the time when I was eight and I asked about him. My mom got so mad at me that I never had the nerve to ever ask again. She told me, “Your father is nothing but a no-good bastard. And that’s all you need to know.”
We left the hood two days after my eighteenth birthday and two months after the death of my father, Daniel King, CEO of Kingdom Enterprises. I remember the day when I was at the funeral of a man that I never even knew, and my father’s lawyer approached me and informed me that I had inherited over twenty million dollars in houses, cars, clothes, jewelry, and land. He also informed me that I was the heir to a multi-million dollar corporation. This not only meant that I was suddenly a millionaire, but it also meant that I was now expected to be CEO of Kingdom Enterprises. Imagine being eighteen years old, fresh out of high school, and being offered a job as the CEO of a multi-million-dollar company. I was anything but qualified, but my father’s lawyer and the executives of the company were adamant about honoring my father’s wishes and making me the CEO. I spent the first four years at Georgia Tech University getting my bachelor's degree while also training to take over the company. I learned so much during those four years, and after running the company full time for a little over a year now, I was proud to say that based on our numbers, I hadn't missed a beat.
The past five years of my life had been very rewarding. My mother and I were living a life that we only dreamed of ever living. Having money definitely had its advantages, but it wasn't everything. It didn't have the ability to fill the void that I often felt when I lay in my bed alone at night. I was an overnight success story, but people didn't know that at times I struggled to amass the pieces of my life. There were things that I wanted that I didn't know
how to find, and some things that I needed that I felt I would never have. But there was no time for me to think on those things. I was now one of the most prominent businessmen in the nation, number 358 on the Forbes 400 list at only the age of 23. So for a man like me, that meant that there were expectations that I had to live up to and responsibilities that I had to manage. For now, everything else would have to fall back.
Part 1
The Game, The Streets, The Money
Chapter I
After checking the entire mansion I slept for a couple of more hours then got up at six the next morning. I showered, used my clippers to shape up my fade, and then picked out one of my designer suits from my impressive collection. I chose the navy Valentino with tan pin stripes, paired it with a pale blue button down shirt with white collar and cuffs, and finished it off by tying my tan tie in a double Windsor knot. Looking the part was very important. When I clad my six-foot-one frame in one of my suits people responded differently to me no matter where I was. If I was going to be the boss then I had to look like the boss.
The smell of bacon eventually drew me from in front of the ceiling-to-floor mirror in my massive closet and into the dining room. My cook, Martha, always had breakfast ready at the same time every morning. I descended the private staircase from my room into the rest of the house. I walked into the dining room expecting a plate of eggs, hash browns, sausage, and bacon to be awaiting me, but all I found was a glass of orange juice. Before I could go investigate what happened to my breakfast, Phillip, my butler, came out of the kitchen and into the dining room.
"Good morning, sir," Phillip greeted me.
"Good morning, Phillip," I replied.
"I know that you are looking for your breakfast," he said knowingly, "but Martha asked me to let you know that it will be out in just a few minutes. Your bacon was slightly over-cooked so she had to start a new batch for you."
"I wish that she wouldn't worry herself so much," I said as Phillip handed me my iPad, then pulled out the chair at the head of the table for me to sit in. Martha was an excellent cook and I was sure that even slightly overcooked bacon would have been delicious.
"Well, Darius, you know that she is a perfectionist," Phillip said, now standing over my right shoulder. "She insists that everything must be perfect for you."
"Yeah, I know she does," I said with a brief laugh while shaking my head. Martha was a sweet, older woman and I could hear the sound of her soft, high-pitched voice in my head as I envisioned her getting all worked up over some extra crispy bacon.
I shifted my attention to the iPad as I sipped my orange juice. As always, Philip already had the latest issue of the Wall Street Journal pulled up for me. As the CEO of an investment firm, keeping up with the stock market was important and it had become one of my obsessions over the years.
"Sir, was that you that I heard moving around the mansion in the middle of the night?" Phillip asked as he moved to stand beside the table.
"Yeah, it was," I replied, briefly looking up from my article. "I had that nightmare again."
"That's the fourth time this month," he noted, his brow wrinkled with concern. "You don't normally have them this often."
"I know. I don't know what's causing them to be so frequent now."
"Well, I still have the number for that therapist if you're willing to reconsider the prospect of seeing one," Phillip said. Phillip was the only person besides Walter that I told about the nightmares. He began to notice my tendency to wake up in the middle of the night and roam the mansion, so I told him about my inability to sleep because of the dreams. He’d been telling me for the past couple of years that I should see a counselor about it, but I hadn't taken his advice.
"A therapist?" I said.
"Yes. Dr. Richardson is the best therapist in Atlanta. She specializes in just about everything and I'm sure that she'll be able to help you," he pitched.
"Phillip, I appreciate your concern, but I don't need a therapist. I don't want to sit on a leather couch while some stranger makes me tell them my life story," I told him. "Besides, that's what I have you for," I said, causing us both to laugh. Though I was jesting, there was some truth to my statement. Phillip and I had a great relationship. I looked up to him, kind of like an uncle. He was very easy to talk to and he always gave me great advice. He was always there whenever I needed him for anything and it was great having him work for me.
"Very well, Darius," he said with a sigh. "I will go see if Martha needs help in the kitchen."
Phillip disappeared into the kitchen and a few minutes later Martha came rushing out with my breakfast.
"Martha, I was about to die of starvation," I said with feigned exaggeration.
Martha laughed light-heartedly. "Oh Darius, you're so silly," she said as she placed the plate in front of me. "I apologize for making you wait, but I wanted to make sure that everything was cooked to perfection, just the way you like it."
"No need to apologize, Miss Martha. I can live with a few pieces of burnt bacon every now and then," I told her.
"Well as long as I'm around you won't have to," she said with a wink and a smile as I began to eat. "Good morning, Miss. Donna," she said as my mother walked into the dining room.
"Good morning, Martha." My mother was looking beautiful as usual in her long silk robe. It was obvious that she hadn’t had any trouble sleeping like I had. I didn’t know how she did it, but my mom always woke up looking as close to perfect as a woman could without make-up or a fresh hair-do. She was only 43, but looking at her you would swear that she was still in her twenties. And if you asked her, she was.
"What will you be having this morning?" Martha asked.
"I'll just have eggs, sausage, and toast," my mom replied.
"It'll be right out ma'am," Martha said before going back into kitchen.
"Morning, sweetie," my mom said as she gave me a peck on the cheek and then sat in the chair beside me.
"Good morning," I replied. "So what do you have planned this week?"
"Well, Debra invited me to come help out at the youth center in our old neighborhood," she began to tell me. "She said that they're looking for volunteers, so I figured that could be my next venture. What do you think?"
My mom had always been big on community service, even before we had money. She had a big heart and I was proud of her. The holidays had just passed and she spent that whole season volunteering at a homeless shelter. She frequented the shelter so much that I was sure that by now all the bums on the street knew her on a first name basis. But that's just the kind of person that my mother was. She enjoyed helping people and that was one of her greatest qualities.
"The old neighborhood? Haven't you been telling me how you don't want me going back there?" I asked.
"Yes, but it's not like you've been listening to me," she said. "You think that I don't know that that's where you've been running off to on the weekends."
Yeah, she had busted me, but I wasn't about to let her know that. "Momma, I don't know what you're talking about," I said, keeping my gaze on my iPad.
"Boy, don't play with me," she said snatching it out of my hand and forcing me to focus my attention on her. "At least I'm going back to do something good for the community. You go back just so that you can hang out with those trifling friends of yours."
"Come on, ma'. Don't talk about my friends like that. I can't have normal friends just because I'm the CEO of a major company?"
"I just don't like you being friends with drug dealers," she stated.
"Ma' they're not all drug dealers. Just one of them is," I told her.
"Well that's one too many, if you ask me."
"Now you know that I'm not gonna get caught up in that street life," I said as I grabbed my iPad from her.
"You better not be getting caught up with any of those hood-rats either," she told me, causing me to roll my eyes.
My breakfast now finished, I stood and buttoned my jacket. Right on cue, Phillip came in with my overcoat in h
is hand. It was mid-January and in Atlanta that meant that we still had about a month of cold weather left before that Georgia heat started to engulf us again.
"Thanks, Phillip," I said after he helped me get my coat on.
"Have a nice day Darius," he said before leaving the room.
"I gotta get going," I said then kissed my mother on the cheek. "I'll see you tonight."
*******
"Our numbers haven't declined at all in the past seven years, so why make a change now?" Jai asked as me and my executives sat around the table in our conference room.
"Look, we've been doing business with Ziegler Corporations since before I started working here and I've been here for over ten years," Jeff said. "This isn't anything new. Every couple of years or so he wants us to increase our geared investment."
"Yeah, but according to the documents that he faxed over he's asking for way more than he has in the past," Jai said as he flung the papers into the middle of the table.
"How much more?" I asked as I reached for the documents.
"Not anything that we can't afford," Jai replied. "But are we sure that we want to risk that much on this new product that he's trying to launch?"
"Ziegler is always good for it," Jeff said. "Right Walter?"
"Yes, Benjamin Ziegler's business ventures are always lucrative," Walter chimed in. "They've never had a down year which has been good for us considering the amount of money that we've invested in his company."
"But the man is talking about selling diet pills," I said. "That's a little off the cuff from what we're used to him selling."
"Yeah, and do we really want to help him push some new, innovative weight loss supplement," Jai added. “How many of those products flop on a yearly basis?”
"Look, all I know is that this man knows the market," Jeff said. "He knows what will sale and what will flop. Remember a few years ago when he had us pull off of that new electronic device that everybody said was going to be the next big thing."
