Read Online The Billionaire’s Curse by Richard Newsome - Free Book Online Page A

Then, as if a door in his brain swung open, he jumped from the bed and grabbed his jeans from the floor. He fished into the pocket and pulled out the page from Oi! magazine that he’d found on the jet. He flattened the crumpled paper and looked again at the photograph of his great-aunt Geraldine: the photograph of her, an old man in a dinner suit, and an enormous…
    “Diamond,” Gerald breathed out loud.
    He stared at the egg-shaped gem in the picture.
    This diamond would certainly be any girl’s best friend…priceless Noor Jehan diamond…much-awaited opening of the new India exhibit this week…rumored to be insured for £100 million…on display until September…
    Gerald’s eyes were drawn to the pile of newspaper clippings. He fanned through the stash of stories. Every one was about the Noor Jehan diamond: about how Geraldine had donated a large sum of money to bring it out from India; about how it was the first time the diamond had left that country since its discovery, expertly cut and polished, nearly eighteen hundred years ago; and about its daring theft from the Reading Room at the British Museum a few days before. For the next twenty minutes Gerald read about the break-in. How the room was locked from the inside and there was no sign of how the thief escaped. Rumors that the policeman on duty was found asleep on the floor with two roses sticking out of his buttocks. Another clipping outlined a theory that the thief had hidden inside a statue of an elephant. The last article featured a photograph of a fierce-looking man with bushy eyebrows and an unruly red beard, his sharp eyes boring holes out of the page. According to the caption, the man was Professor Knox McElderry, curator of the India exhibition. The story said that Professor McElderry had hurled the newspaper reporter out of his office and threatened violence if he ever returned.
    Gerald tried to soak it all in. His mind was awash with questions about murder, stolen diamonds, elephants, and fierce professors, but one thing was clear: He had to get to the British Museum as soon as possible. He had to escape his newfound prison.
    Gerald got dressed and grabbed his battered backpack. It was now almost eight and he needed to get moving. He put the newspaper cuttings and the other documents back into the large envelope. He picked up the bundle of smaller envelopes tied with string and was about to do the same with them when he realized he still hadn’t opened them. He undid the brown twine and spread them on the floor. Geraldine had scrawled a few short words on the front of each of them, but they made no sense to Gerald. One was labeled “Fraternity,” another was “Family Tree,” and a third was a string of random shapes: the number 10, a circle with a line through it, a Y, an arrow, a triangle. One envelope caught Gerald’s eye. In Geraldine’s handwriting on the front was: “Young Billionaire’s Survival Kit.” He tore the flap and pulled out a small leather wallet. He flipped it open, let out a low whistle, and counted out two thousand pounds in crisp new notes. He also pulled out a black American Express card, with a neat Gerald A. Wilkins embossed on the front. He searched the other pockets and flaps of the wallet and found a passport photograph of his great-aunt and a small pocket mirror. Taped to the back was a square of paper. Gerald peeled it off and unfolded another note in Geraldine’s handwriting:
    Every young billionaire needs some walking-around money. The credit card is for emergencies. The mirror is so you can take a good look at yourself before you use it!

    Gerald turned the mirror over and gazed at his reflection, smiling to himself. He was starting to like his great-aunt Geraldine. But his smile disappeared at the sound of a sharp knock on the bedroom door.
    “Breakfast is served in the dining room.” It was Fry. His humor had not improved overnight.
    “Yeah,” Gerald called out. “I’ll be right down.”
    He shoved