Something Tangible

CHAPTER 1

Hong Kong

Brett Kingston leaned back in his chair swirling the Double Black Johnnie Walker in the tumbler. The music, lights, and a mix of cigarette and cigar smoke barely registered to him as he had his own things to mull over. Then again, neither did the scantily-dressed women who vied for the numerous businessmen’s attention. Moreover, their money. A gentleman’s club to him, but locally referred to as a Buy-me-a-drink bar. One of many.

He glanced at the two men accompanying him, well soused and to his mind, doubtful to be able to make sound decisions. Which explained why he had signed documents- in an inside pocket of his three-thousand dollar suit- giving Midas Corporation and Development the land he’d come to acquire.

Not that it will make the old bastard happy.

The deal had taken two days longer than he’d anticipated. This upset him, as he preferred to keep to his schedule. He took a drink and savored the smoky flavor.

A young woman sauntered up to him and he knew she saw a chance to make good money. She reached out to touch him, but he snagged her wrist before her initiated contact occurred. Private dance?

Her slight and childlike voice grated on his already thin nerves. No, he said.

I make you very happy. She tried sounding sultrier and, in his estimation, failed miserably. A woman shouldn’t have to work so hard to sound sexy. Or look it.

Don’t even get me started on the prepubescent girl appearance some of these assholes think is sexy. It didn’t do shit for him, he preferred a real woman not a girl.

His expression never changed while on the inside he rolled his eyes. I doubt it. I didn’t come all this way to get robbed by some whore.

He shoved to his feet in a smooth motion, not giving a damn about her mixed look of pain and anger, then walked off, simultaneously swinging on his coat. The two men were forgotten and left to fend for themselves. Outside, he withdrew his phone and pressed speed dial three.

What? a graveled voice barked.

A voice that used to create fear and awe within him, now it only irritated him. It’s done.

Do you know what time it is?

An evil and satisfactory smirk turned up his lips. Hopefully, early enough that I disturbed your sleep.

You—

Brett hailed a taxi and climbed in. You’re the one who told me to call when it was finished. It’s finished. Never once did you say to take into account the time difference. He covered the mouthpiece and gave his destination.

It’s barely after three in the morning, here.

He shrugged even though the old bastard couldn’t see him. You can get an early start to your day then. Brett had no remorse about waking the old man early. None at all. The only thing better was when he could ruin his time with a lady. Nevertheless, he’d take this. Any day.

You really are an asshole.

Molded to the image of my sperm donor. His tone was dry and sarcastic.

Wait, don’t hang up. You need to come here.

Most may be upset about being called a sperm donor. Not this asshole. Brett covered the mouthpiece again. Pull over here for a moment. Back to the call. Why? Suspicion flared immediately.

"Because I said so and despite what you think and hope, I’m still your boss. Unless of course you don’t want the company. My firstborn is on his way in. I’m sure he could get it done and probably in half the time as you could."

He ground his teeth at that bit of information. Asa, his elder by two years was the golden child whereas Brett had carried the label bastard son and had done so his entire life. Brett’s mother had been one of Jules’ many women and it was only a miracle he managed to carry the Kingston name. He and Asa had never been friends, they were always pitted against one another, even now. Giving new instructions to the driver, he sat back in the seat. Fine. I’m flying out as soon as we get to the airport.

The evil chuckle let Brett know he’d been played as expected and he shoved his anger back, continuing to maintain his cool composure.

Thought so.

Anything else? he asked. Brett waited a second then hung up on him before the bastard could say another word. He made a fist and struggled to calm down. Asa. The fucker. He hadn’t seen him in a few years. Blowing out an exasperated breath, he waited to get to the private airstrip, placing one call on the way. Tossing some bills at the driver, he stepped out, smoothed down his coat, and walked to the waiting and readied private jet. Go as soon as we have clearance, he said, heading for his seat.

No luggage?

Brett thought about the few items in his hotel room. A few suits and toiletries. Not a damn thing he couldn’t replace without a thought. No. I have everything I need. And he did. The signed papers were what he had come all this way for. Nothing else mattered. To be honest, he wasn’t positive the papers even did. He just didn’t care anymore. Not about anything.

He got a rise out of being an ass to the old fucker but other than that. His life was basically on autopilot.

Very good, sir. His pilot closed the door and went back to the cockpit.

The minute they reached cruising altitude, he walked to where his bag sat and pulled out his computer. This stuff never went to a hotel room if he wasn’t there. He didn’t trust people. He handpicked even this pilot and the crew, having fired the ones his father had sent with the plane, wanting his own. This was all his now, plane and crew. Powering up the computer, he got to work and wondered what devious plan the old bastard had in mind this time.

αβ

Chicago

Seated in his father’s plush office, Brett cast an indifferent look around. It had been a while since he’d been here.

Not long enough, though.

Nevertheless, little had changed. There were no pictures anywhere of family. Sure, there were photos up, ones of the old bastard with dignitaries, presidents, and movie stars. None at all of his children. It was all about what showed off his wealth and power.

The dark green room had hints of silver, black, and gold. A large obsidian desk, polished until you could see your reflection in it, dominated the space. His father’s color choices were congruous with Business 101 negative means. A lot of green, greedy. The old man was definitely that. Gold showed off the wealth and prestige. The silver ‒ cold and impersonal. And black ‒ aloof, secretive, all about power and control. Yes, that pretty much summed him up.

I’m not so different in a lot of ways.

He wasn’t arrogant enough to assume some of the cold traits hadn’t been adapted by himself. It was a clear case of nature versus nurture. His had everything to do with the nature of his childhood surroundings and the very lack of nurturing.

Regardless of the fact, the door behind him barely made any sound, he heard it and turned to stare at his half brother as he strolled in. Asa wore a tuxedo ‒ ever the playboy ‒ the bowtie lying untied around his neck and damned if he didn’t look tired.

Their gazes met and he could see the dislike on Asa’s face. Hell, he felt the same way, although he’d never allow it to show. With a dismissive look, Brett rotated back to watch the man behind the desk with the arrogant gleam in his eyes. A gleam Brett wanted to remove. Wanted it to be replaced with disbelief and even loss or fear.

Jules Kingston was an asshole, no bones about it. But still a charmer with the ladies with his salt-n-pepper hair, Clark Gable build and moustache, and piercing blue eyes. Kingston eyes, the bastard referred to them as. Eyes that could charm a nun out of her habit. Another thing both the old bastard and the half-brother reminded him he didn’t have. Constantly. There was no denying the evil streak in Jules, Brett knew it firsthand. Sure, people claimed Jules was a ruthless businessman, but only those he crushed beneath his heel got to see just how much of a heartless ass he truly was.

Sit, the order came out in a bark.

In his periphery, Brett watched Asa lower his frame to sit in the other leather chair. The half-siblings shared another brief look before focusing on the man before them.

The time has come for you to prove you’re worthy to take over Midas Development. He rubbed his hands together in what could only be referred to as near diabolical anticipation. You have until the end of September to handle these situations.

Brett tensed as two folders slid over the spotless and shiny desk toward them.

The siblings reached for them at the same time, the room deathly silent.

One more thing.

Brett paused in his capture of the pale folder.

Jules peered between both of them. Only one of you can ascend to this position. It’s a race, boys. To see which of my seed can prove themselves worthy to sit here, in my chair.

Asa took his and opened it while Brett stood, grabbed it, and headed for the door.

Where are you going, boy?

He bristled. Never with the name, always ‘you’ or ‘boy.’ Expression blank, he pivoted to face—sadly, the only family he had in the world. The airport.

Don’t have any questions?

Like he’d ask if he did. He knew better than that. "I’m competent and capable of reading a file to get what needs to be done. Besides, it looks like your firstborn seed needs some assistance." Brett turned and left the office, striding away as the door closed behind him.

He couldn’t believe it. His old man had really sunk to a new low with this. Pitting them against one another for the company’s reins.

It’s not like they were friendly or even much on speaking terms, but his was a new low even for that jackass. He pinched the bridge of his nose in the back of the town car as it whisked him out to Chicago Executive Airport. Lord, he was tired. Normally on the flight, he would have slept, however this time, unsure of what shit storm