Page 14 of Broken Brothers

Maybe I was trying to impress Layla. Maybe I just wanted it for myself. Maybe all of that was true.

But as I escorted Craig and Layla out, I knew I would have my answer to the question of if I had done well for the business.

Because finally, John Burnson showed up.

“Well howdy, folks, how are you?” he said, aggressively shaking hands with them. It took an awful lot for me not to roll my eyes at the fake good-natured air that Mr. Burnson put on. “My apologies, emergencies came up.”

“It is just as well, Mr. Burnson,” Craig said. “Your employee Chance here negotiated a mighty fine deal.”

“Is that so?” Mr. Burnson said. He smiled, but I could see those teeth looking for blood behind the the smile. “We’ll have to discuss this lovely deal. What is the final number?”

“$10 million from you, nine and a half percent in us.”

It was almost like someone had gifted Mr. Burnson with a thousand women, because the smile went from fake to real in half a second. His eyes went wide. I had rarely seen him betray his poker face, but boy did he do so terribly.

“I see, very good,” Mr. Burnson said. “You all have a nice rest of your day. Chance, walk with me, would you?”

I shook hands with Craig and Layla one last time. Craig turned quickly, but I caught Layla looking back at me.

For someone who had not said more than two words the whole time, she had sure captivated my attention.

“I’d say you’re out of your fucking mind, boy, but you just pulled off a deal I would not have pegged you capable of doing,” Mr. Burnson said, snapping me out of my thoughts with a laugh. “I guess being in that Hunt household did teach you a thing or two.”

Yeah, it did. Quite a few things.

“I’ll make a deal with you right now, Chance. This might be suicide for the finality of the deal, since nothing is final until its signed, but you clearly have a rapport with the nice Taylors. I was hoping to get nine, but nine and half, why, that might just end up being a bonus for you.”

I knew I would never see a dime, at least until the middle of August when I was up for either a promotion to a regular job or dismissal as an intern. But then again, Mr. Burnson had never said anything like this.

If anything else, it was a resume point I could use if I did, in fact, get let go.

“I will let you take over this case. I swear to sweet Jesus, though, if you fuck this up, you will be gone so fast you’ll be back in your mother’s basement. And I don’t mean dear Mrs. Hunt.”

I fucking hated Mr. Burnson when he spoke like this. Obviously, he knew my secret, but he was not afraid to poke and prod into said secret to get what he wanted. Someday, I thought I’d explode on him in frustration.

For now, though, I just nodded in agreement.

“I understand, sir,” I said.

“Good,” he said. “Keep at it. And hey, at least you’ve got a pretty lady to work with as well.”

Oh, that I do.

That I very much do.

6

SEVEN YEARS AGO

For being the adopted son, I found it strange that I was paying so close attention.

At the Hunt Manor, in the kitchen, Edwin Hunt spoke with a potential client that, based on the house chatter, he’d been pursuing with some healthy degree for some time. I wasn’t actually in the kitchen, of course—Edwin Hunt had only recently begun to allow Morgan in there during meetings, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to get that same opportunity—but I sat near the wall separating it from the rest of the place. If anyone looked at me, they’d see a young boy reading a math textbook.

But if they looked closely, they would see I wasn’t even on the chapter we were covering in class and that I hadn’t flipped the page in a good hour. That, and I had no paper by my side to scribble my math notes on.

No one did, of course. That’s because Mrs. Hunt, as her custom was, had gone out to do some shopping while her husband completed the business transaction. It worked well; it removed any potential for distractions in the house, and Mrs. Hunt got to avoid the sometimes tense, sometimes aggressive conversations that filled the air. If there was one thing Mrs.Hunt loathed, it was those fiery arguments that could make her flip a switch and suddenly turn into a zombie.

Of greater peculiarity, if not surprise, though, was Morgan.