The Inheritors by Harold Robbins Page B

learn about it.
    “Five years from now it will determine who the next President of the United States will be, ten years from now it will put the world in our backyard, fifteen years from now it may take us to the moon.” He jammed all the buttons angrily and the screens went to black.
    “And that’s what you want to walk away from,” he said. “All because the game is too rough. And you’re too sensitive, you don’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings.
    “The rating game you play is a children’s game. When you run a network, you’re helping to shape and make the lives of people the world over. It can be for good, it can be for evil. But it has to be your choice. Only you can be the judge. You’re alone at the top. And the more viewers you have, the more effective you can be. I thought you saw that, maybe I was wrong.”
    He was still for a moment. “I hadn’t intended to make a speech,” he said. “A long time ago in Phrygia there was something called the Gordian knot, and legend held that the man who untied it would be king. Alexander came and cut it with his sword. It was as simple as that.
    “I made the fiftieth floor our Gordian knot. It remained empty four years. I intended it for the man who would succeed me. And all you did to get it was to ask. For only one reason. No one had ever thought of asking before. I thought you would be Alexander. He, too, was very young.”
    He went from his desk to the window. He didn’t look at me. “I’ll accept our resignation,” he said over his shoulder. “But first I want you to read that memo I gave you when you came in.”
    Silently I picked up the sheet of paper from the desk. It was a rough draft of a press release.
    SPENCER SINCLAIR III ANNOUNCED TODAY THAT HE IS ASSUMING THE POSITION OF CHAIRMAN OF THE BOARD OF DIRECTORS OF SINCLAIR BROADCASTING COMPANY. HE ALSO ANNOUNCED THE APPOINTMENT OF STEPHEN GAUNT AS PRESIDENT OF SINCLAIR BROADCASTING COMPANY AND ITS CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER. MR. GAUNT WILL ALSO RETAIN THE PRESIDENCY OF SINCLAIR TELEVISION. MR. SINCLAIR STATED THAT…
    I didn’t bother reading the rest of it. “You could have told me.”
    He turned to look at me. His lips twisted in a wry smile. “You didn’t give me much of a chance.”
    “Are you still willing to do this after the way I spoke?”
    “I gave you the memo, didn’t I?”
    I looked down at it again. President of Sinclair Broadcasting Company. Like being on top of the world. I put the memo back on his desk. “No,” I said. “Thank you, but no.”
    Surprise edged into his voice. “Why?”
    “I’m too young to die,” I said and went back downstairs to my office.
    ***
    It was eight o’clock and we still hadn’t gone out to dinner. We were in bed. I ran my finger down the curve of her spine and cupped my hand over her buttock. I squeezed it. Solid.
    “Like that?” she asked.
    “What’s not to like? I’m an ass man. I thought you knew that.”
    “You’re a lot of things,” she said. She dragged on the stick.
    I took it from her mouth and rolled over on my back. I dragged on the reefer and let the smoke stay deep in my lungs. “Is there any more champagne left in that bottle?” I asked.
    “I’ll see.” She sat up and reached for the champagne in the bucket. She refilled my glass, gave it to me, then refilled her own. “Clear sailing,” she said.
    I could feel the tiny bubbles doing their thing all the way down to my toes. Everything was working fine. Champagne and pot. Dom Perignon and Acapulco Gold. Unbeatable.
    I put the glass and the reefer on the end table and reached for her. She came into my arms as if she had been born there. I drained her mouth. “You’re warm,” I said. “Inside and out.”
    “I love you,” she said.
    I fed on her breasts. The telephone began to ring and I moved down to her belly.
    “The telephone’s ringing,” she said.
    “To hell with it,” I said, moving down to her fur. But she had already picked it up. “Tell them I’m out