Read Online Gold of Kings by Davis Bunn - Free Book Online Page A

southern causeway to the convention center, a new structure in a redone region of West Palm Beach. A huge marquee over the front entrance announced the annual art and treasures fair.
    The convention center was Palm Beach elegant, with plush carpeting and walls of glass overlooking the obligatory palms and oleander borders. Chandeliers hung from a pine ceiling stained to look like teak. The people spoke in polished tones that suggested they were born to handle treasure other people sweated over. Storm had left him a merchant’s badge at the front desk. A woman who managed to look casual in silk and pearls directed him down the proper aisle.
    When Harry found Storm, he said, “I’ll never complain again over paying you folks your cut.”
    Harry helped Storm unpack a variety of items from crates, all of which bore pink tags marked Vetted. In the terse manner of someone chewing over a lot more than the work at hand, Storm described the honor of being invited to join as one of only 212 exhibitors allowed to rent space. Other vendors passing their booth scouted the terrain like vultures hovering above an almost-dead body.
    When Storm went quiet, he said softly, “The loss just keeps on growing with each breath.”
    She gave him what Harry could only call a look straight from Sean. Layers of meaning, intent as a drill. Storm said, “There’s something I need to tell you.”
    Harry let her draw him to the back of the booth, where a clever little corner held a trio of chairs and an Italian Renaissance secretary, for those moments of discreet negotiation. Like now.
    Harry was so touched by Storm trusting him it took a moment for her words to sink in. “Sean orders you to New York,” he summarized, “where he fires you in the back of a limo, then drops dead half an hour later. Then the day after you get back, this so-called lawyer you’ve never met waltzes into the shop.”
    â€œLess than an hour after I opened up.”
    â€œAnd takes you to a bank vault where you find his notebook ?”
    Storm gave her head a tight shake. Not in denial. Tamping down on a sudden surge of grief. “Sean knew what was about to happen to him. He knew, and still he went on with it.”
    â€œI’ve been wondering about that very same thing.”
    â€œWhy didn’t he just stop ?”
    â€œIt was important.”
    Her eyes glittered so bright it hurt Harry to meet her gaze. “More important than Syrrell’s?”
    Harry heard the real question, the one Sean’s granddaughter would never ask—more important than being there for her? He saw the yearning for what the old man had probably never offered: a kind word, an embrace, an affirmation. Harry said, “Let’s look at what we know. Sean cared for you enough to set you apart. You’ve got the tools and the space to operate. If you want to.”
    â€œWhat I want —”
    â€œListen to what I’m saying. Getting angry with the old man now, when he’s gone, won’t get you any further than while he was alive.” Harry gave her time to blink, to breathe, to refocus. “Sean had something in his sights that was bigger to him than his company, than his life . What could that possibly have been?”
    A droll voice filled the empty moment. “Storm, finally. I’ve been looking all over.”
    Storm did not look up. “Curtis, now isn’t a good time.”
    â€œI won’t keep you long. It’s only the matter of that Grecian vase.” A foppish gentleman stepped into the booth. The gold insignia on his navy blazer caught the light as he pointed. “I have a buyer, you see.”
    â€œThe price is the same as last week.”
    â€œDo be reasonable. I’m offering cash on the silver palaver, as it were. Take it while you can claim it as your own, that’s my advice. Next week,who knows, your money could well go straight into some banker’s purse.”