over ten years. It’s worth millions!”
Borst blinked and sat back. He knew it, of course. They had discussed it on a dozen occasions. And now he meant to claim it all as his. The man did not respond.
The rage came like a boiling volcano, right up through Kent’s chest and into his skull. Blind rage. He could still see, but things were suddenly fuzzy. He knew he was erupting, knew Borst could see it all—his red face, his trembling lips, his bulging eyes.
Gripping his hands into fists, Kent suddenly knew that he would fight Borst to his death. He had just lost his wife; he was not about to give up his own livelihood. He would use every means at his disposal to claim his due. And in the process he would bury this spineless pimp before him.
The thought brought a sterling cool to his bones, and he let it filter through his body for a moment. He stood, still glaring angrily. “You’re a spineless worm, Borst. And you’re stealing my work for your own.”
They held stares for a full ten seconds. Borst refused to speak.
“What’s the new code?” Kent demanded.
Borst pursed his lips, silent.
Kent spun from the man, exited the office with a bang, and stormed down to Todd’s office. He shoved the door open.
“Todd!” The junior started. “What’s the new AFPS access code?”
Todd seemed to shrink into his chair. “M-B-A-O-K,” he said.
Kent left without thanking him.
He needed a rest. He needed to think. He grabbed his briefcase and walked angrily past Betty’s desk without acknowledging her. This time one of the tellers called a greeting to him as he rushed through the towering lobby, but he ignored the distant call and slammed through the tall glass doors.
CHAPTER NINE
THE MADNESS of it all descended upon Kent one block from the bank. It was then that a burning realization of his loss sank into his gut. If Borst pulled this off—which, judging by the call from Wong, he was doing just splendidly—he would effectively strip Kent of everything. Millions of dollars. That hook-nosed imbecile in there was casually intercepting his life’s work.
Kent’s chest flushed with a wave of panic. It was impossible! He’d kill anybody who tried to steal what was his. Shove a gun in the guy’s mouth and blow his brains out, maybe. Good grief ! What was he thinking? He could hardly shoot a prairie dog, much less another man. On the other hand, maybe Borst had just given up his right to life.
And what of Spencer? They would be virtually broke. All the boasting of Euro Disney and yachts and beachfront homes would prove him a fool. An image of that grinning monkey from the Chicago airport clapped its cymbals through his mind. Clang-ka-ching, clang-ka-ching.
Kent snatched up his cell phone and punched seven digits. A receptionist answered after two rings. “Warren Law Offices.”
“Hi. This is Kent Anthony.” His voice wavered, and he cleared his throat. “Is Dennis in?”
“Just a minute. Let me see if he’s available.”
The line remained silent for a minute before his old college roommate’s voice filled his ear. “Hello, Kent. Goodness, it’s been awhile. How you doing, man?”
“Hey, Dennis. Actually, not so good. I’ve got some problems. I need a good attorney. You have some time?”
“You okay, buddy? You don’t sound so good.”
“Well, like I said, I’ve got some problems. Can I meet with you?”
“Sure. Absolutely. Let’s see . . .” Kent heard the faint flip of paper through the receiver. “How about Thursday afternoon?”
“No, Dennis. I mean now. Today.”
Dennis held his reply for a second. “Pretty short notice, buddy. I’m booked solid. It can’t wait?”
Kent did not respond. A sudden surge of emotions had taken hold of his throat.
“Hold on. Let me see if I can reschedule my lunch.” The phone clicked to hold music.
Two minutes later Dennis came back on. “Okay, buddy. You owe me for this. How about Pelicans at twelve sharp? I already have
Borst blinked and sat back. He knew it, of course. They had discussed it on a dozen occasions. And now he meant to claim it all as his. The man did not respond.
The rage came like a boiling volcano, right up through Kent’s chest and into his skull. Blind rage. He could still see, but things were suddenly fuzzy. He knew he was erupting, knew Borst could see it all—his red face, his trembling lips, his bulging eyes.
Gripping his hands into fists, Kent suddenly knew that he would fight Borst to his death. He had just lost his wife; he was not about to give up his own livelihood. He would use every means at his disposal to claim his due. And in the process he would bury this spineless pimp before him.
The thought brought a sterling cool to his bones, and he let it filter through his body for a moment. He stood, still glaring angrily. “You’re a spineless worm, Borst. And you’re stealing my work for your own.”
They held stares for a full ten seconds. Borst refused to speak.
“What’s the new code?” Kent demanded.
Borst pursed his lips, silent.
Kent spun from the man, exited the office with a bang, and stormed down to Todd’s office. He shoved the door open.
“Todd!” The junior started. “What’s the new AFPS access code?”
Todd seemed to shrink into his chair. “M-B-A-O-K,” he said.
Kent left without thanking him.
He needed a rest. He needed to think. He grabbed his briefcase and walked angrily past Betty’s desk without acknowledging her. This time one of the tellers called a greeting to him as he rushed through the towering lobby, but he ignored the distant call and slammed through the tall glass doors.
CHAPTER NINE
THE MADNESS of it all descended upon Kent one block from the bank. It was then that a burning realization of his loss sank into his gut. If Borst pulled this off—which, judging by the call from Wong, he was doing just splendidly—he would effectively strip Kent of everything. Millions of dollars. That hook-nosed imbecile in there was casually intercepting his life’s work.
Kent’s chest flushed with a wave of panic. It was impossible! He’d kill anybody who tried to steal what was his. Shove a gun in the guy’s mouth and blow his brains out, maybe. Good grief ! What was he thinking? He could hardly shoot a prairie dog, much less another man. On the other hand, maybe Borst had just given up his right to life.
And what of Spencer? They would be virtually broke. All the boasting of Euro Disney and yachts and beachfront homes would prove him a fool. An image of that grinning monkey from the Chicago airport clapped its cymbals through his mind. Clang-ka-ching, clang-ka-ching.
Kent snatched up his cell phone and punched seven digits. A receptionist answered after two rings. “Warren Law Offices.”
“Hi. This is Kent Anthony.” His voice wavered, and he cleared his throat. “Is Dennis in?”
“Just a minute. Let me see if he’s available.”
The line remained silent for a minute before his old college roommate’s voice filled his ear. “Hello, Kent. Goodness, it’s been awhile. How you doing, man?”
“Hey, Dennis. Actually, not so good. I’ve got some problems. I need a good attorney. You have some time?”
“You okay, buddy? You don’t sound so good.”
“Well, like I said, I’ve got some problems. Can I meet with you?”
“Sure. Absolutely. Let’s see . . .” Kent heard the faint flip of paper through the receiver. “How about Thursday afternoon?”
“No, Dennis. I mean now. Today.”
Dennis held his reply for a second. “Pretty short notice, buddy. I’m booked solid. It can’t wait?”
Kent did not respond. A sudden surge of emotions had taken hold of his throat.
“Hold on. Let me see if I can reschedule my lunch.” The phone clicked to hold music.
Two minutes later Dennis came back on. “Okay, buddy. You owe me for this. How about Pelicans at twelve sharp? I already have
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