Prologue
The mansion had been built in the late 1800s by a transplanted New Englander desperate to spend the fortune acquired in the silver mines of Colorado. The fortune hadn t outlived the New Englander's proliferate heirs, and the house had been sold, to first one party, then another, until it had finally come into the possession of its current owner.
The house bespoke culture, elegance, tradition. And money of course, but not in a garish way. The Persian rugs, the oriental lamps, the highly polished dark wood floors, the wall of mahogany bookcases and the spare grouping of a gold brocade sofa and two complimentary armchairs in front of the fireplace-were all from another era-a time of peace and leisure and contemplation. Sitting in this gracious room with the two or three well chosen paintings and the plethora of family photographs in ornate silver or china frames, one felt a part of a more restful time, a more gracious time-a time and a place that should not be able to exist when the skyscrapers of downtown Denver were visible from the windows.
Arthur Curran owned this house. He now sat quietly behind the massive cherry desk, his eyes on the three other people in the room. Family was important to Curran and since the recent loss of his only son, these three represented all the family he had left.
He looked at them-no, studied them, maybe for the first time. What did he really know about any of them, how they thought, what they felt? He'd supported them most of their lives, educated them, set them up in whatever business their interests had taken them. All three, in some fashion, worked for one of his businesses-either legal or illegal. All three of them probably had more than a rudimentary knowledge of some of his less than legitimate sources of income. And all knew what their cousin had been doing at the time of his death.
His murder.
A legal murder, perhaps, but murder nonetheless.
His eyes settled on his nephew. David tolerated the scrutiny without a flicker of emotion crossing his perfect features. Curran knew he had been short with the boy-man-since Steven's death. David couldn't help it that not only was he not Steven, he was Steven's exact opposite-blond where Steven had been dark, reserved where Steven had been gregarious. David and Steven-their birthdates separated by a matter of mere weeks-had been best friends as well as cousins. Tightly allied. Solidly at each other's backs. David had become even more withdrawn since Steven s funeral. Did he expect to just step into Steven's shoes-Steven s position in the business and in his father's life?
David's sister sat next to him on the velvet sofa. Nina was the youngest of the three. The beautiful face, silver-blonde hair and cool emerald eyes hid a cutting intelligence and wit. Curran knew Nina enjoyed letting people underestimate her, assuming she was nothing more than a dumb blonde with a lot of money behind her. Hardly dumb. With an MBA from Stanford and a law degree from Harvard, Nina now worked for Curran's chief counsel, keeping the legal businesses legitimate and the illegal ones hidden.
Curran's eyes drifted slowly to his other niece. Monica sat to the side, alone and somewhat distant from the other two. Her blue eyes coolly studied both them and her uncle. Monica always was separate from the others. His wife's niece, not his, although Curran didn't feel he d ever treated her differently than the others. Three years older than David, Monica had grown up as the quiet one. It was practically impossible to tell how she felt about anything. Even David and Nina's masks had slipped at their aunt's funeral the year before. Monica's mask never slipped. Sometimes her uncle wondered if it was a mask at all or if she really didn't care about anything. Except her work, of course. Monica was a research chemist and biologist. The only time her uncle could remember seeing her excited about anything since she was a child was when she had been explaining some new drug she was developing to Steven.
Three weeks before his death.
Oddly enough, Monica broke the silence in the room. "Uncle Arthur? You called us here." It was a statement, not a question. David and Nina both shot her surprised looks, then turned their attention to him.
Curran opened the center drawer of the desk and pulled out the three checks he had written that morning. He lined them neatly up on the edge of the desk. No one made a move to take them. David's eyes flickered down, once. That was it.
"Twenty million dollars for each of you. Yours immediately, and without any strings." His voice cracked over the snapping of the fire.
Fleeting looks of surprise crossed David's and Nina's faces. Monica showed no change of expression, but her eyes did drift past him to the window, looking at the rain falling for a few minutes before she shifted back to him.
"Each of you is free to take your check, now, and walk out of here. Your jobs won t be affected, and I won't think any the less of you." He paused. "However, if you do so, the twenty million represents your sole inheritance from my estate. You won't be mentioned in my will." He eyed each of them steadily.
All three of them nodded. Faint looks of puzzlement.
"The three of you are fairly clean," Curran went on. "You might know a lot-Nina and David possibly more than you, Monica." Even to himself he doubted that. Monica kept her mouth shut and her ears open. She probably knew a hell of a lot. "But I've never asked any of you to do anything directly illegal. You take the money now, that will never change. All I ask is that you keep what you know to yourselves. You are family. I expect that of you."
The fire crackled again. David shifted on the sofa. Nina glanced across the room at Monica. And Monica looked out the window again.
None of them made a move toward the checks.
"I gather there's an option?" David broke the silence this time.
Curran leaned back in his chair. For the first time, he felt a smile cross his face. "Oh, yes. If any of you-or all of you-are interested...I suggest we play a little game."
"A game?" Nina this time.
Curran opened the drawer again and pulled out the packet of photos he'd secreted there. He tossed them on the desk, watching three sets of eyes widen as they recognized the man. "This is your cousin's killer."
David's eyes flickered and a quick look of loathing crossed his face. "The bastard," he spat. Curran nodded, surprised. For David, that was quite an emotional reaction.
"What kind of game are we talking about, Uncle?" Monica again.
Curran eyed each one of them, satisfied they were with him in this. He pulled out the last item from the drawer-a thick sheaf of papers. Nina seemed to realize what it was. He couldn't tell about the other two.
"This is my new Will," Curran said. "It's made out for all three of you to equally split everything. And I"ll register this Will..." he tapped the face in one of the photographs. "The day one of you kills this man."
End Prologue