What Doesn't Kill Us--A McKenzie Novel David Housewright (shoe dog free ebook TXT) 📖

ingratiate himself with our family; even met with my niece and her cousin near their school. Because of the lies he told—calling himself Dee Dee, claiming to be a reporter working for a local business magazine among others—we had assumed at first that he was in league with Reinfeld. That’s what my sister Jenna and our cousin Marshall claimed anyway. Seeing the two of them together at the shareholders’ meeting seemed to support that theory. Finally, we decided enough was enough. Let’s find out what the man wants. I must admit that McKenzie surprised us. Believe me when I tell you that we are not a family that is easily surprised.”

“How did he surprise you?” Harry asked.

“He claimed that DNA evidence gathered by an ancestry site suggested that he was our brother, half brother.”

“Is that possible?” Schroeder asked.

“Oh, yes. Our father … We won’t discuss him today. But yes, it is conceivable—do you like that word, conceivable? It’s conceivable that McKenzie is our brother.”

“That must have been upsetting news,” Harry said.

“Not at all.” Porter took a long sip of his ale. “When McKenzie first approached us, approached Marshall and his daughter Elliot, we viewed him with suspicion. Granted, our judgment was colored by both his lies and Reinfeld’s activities. Still, the reason that Charles submitted his own DNA to the ancestry site—actually, gentlemen, we are now drifting into an area that is, if you’ll excuse me, none of your business.”

“Oh, c’mon, Porter.”

The three spun in their chairs toward the doorway to the study. A man stood there, his arm supported by a woman. He was tall with blond hair—only about four percent of the male population in America had blond hair; something Harry had learned in the course of his employment. The man looked old and tired.

“The news is going to get out sooner or later,” he said. “We can’t keep it a secret forever.”

“Gentlemen,” Porter said. “This is my younger brother, Charles, and my even younger sister, Jenna.”

Both Harry and Schroeder stood; Porter did not. Jenna helped Charles to an empty chair facing all the other chairs. Charles didn’t offer to shake hands with the men and they didn’t offer to shake hands with him.

“Don’t worry,” Charles said. “I’m not contagious. I don’t have the virus or anything like it. I have a liver disease. Primary sclerosing cholangitis to be precise.”

Jenna helped Charles sit and stepped away from the chair. She looked as worn out as Charles did. Though much smaller than her brother, she also had blond hair—about four percent of American women are natural blonds, the remaining forty percent have blond hair because that’s the way they want it. Hers was cut short.

“I’m sorry to hear that you’re ill,” Schroeder said.

“Thank you,” Charles said. “I see you found the Westvleteren.”

Schroeder told me later that Charles King reminded him of a character in a Raymond Chandler novel, The Big Sleep, Schroeder’s favorite. Because of one ailment or another, General Sternwood couldn’t drink, so he took pleasure in watching Philip Marlowe drink. “Nice state of affairs when a man has to indulge his vices by proxy,” Sternwood said in the book. “It’s pretty pathetic when the only pleasure I get these days is watching other people drink my booze, but there you are,” Charles said in his library. “I have a case of scotch that I bought in Edinburgh over the winter. You guys should take a few bottles when you leave.”

“Then what will we use to toast your recovery?” Porter asked.

“Good point. Never mind.”

“Mr. King…” Schroeder said.

“Charles.”

“Charles, we’re told that you’re aware that Justus Reinfeld is making a move on KTech…”

“You might say we’ve encouraged it.”

“Encouraged it?”

“We understood that once Charles stopped coming into the office, once he stopped appearing in public, shareholders would become anxious and start unloading their stock,” Porter said. “The price would decline.”

“So we scattered a few bread crumbs for Reinfeld to find,” Charles said. “Gave him the impression that KTech was a prime target for a takeover, which is untrue by the way. He started buying. Other shareholders saw him do it so they started buying, too. Right now our stock price is the highest it’s ever been.”

“It’s not hard to profit from the herd mentality when it comes to the financial markets,” Porter said. “Especially if you’re driving the herd.”

“Who’s been dropping the bread crumbs?” Harry asked. “Not you two?”

“Jenna.” Both Charles and Porter turned and smiled on their sister. “It was her idea. She’s always been smarter than her big brothers despite her troubled past.”

“Which is in the past.” Charles spoke as if he was daring her to contradict him.

“Which is in the past,” Jenna repeated instead.

“Tell me, though, Special Agent Wilson,” Charles said. “Do you think that’s why McKenzie was shot, because he discovered Reinfeld was trying to game us?”

“We’re looking into it,” Harry said.

“That would be”—Charles paused as if he was searching for the perfect word—“ironic.”

“Excuse me, sir,” Schroeder said. “What’ll happen to KTech if things don’t work out the way you plan?”

“Who gives a shit, really? Like the man said, you can’t take it with you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m dying,” Charles said. “I have two and a half, three weeks tops. Unless I receive a liver transplant. Most of my family and closest friends, people we trust, have been tested to determine if they’re compatible. Unfortunately, they’re not.”

“Is there a donor list?” Schroeder said.

“There is. I’m in the bottom third.”

“Couldn’t you…”

“There are some things that money simply can’t buy.”

“Go public. Advertise…”

“That would destroy my company.”

“A small price to pay,” Schroeder said.

“You think so? In any case we have time, not much, but a little time before we need to make that decision.”

“McKenzie,” Harry said.

“McKenzie was a potential donor,” Porter said. “He and Charles even have the same blood type. Once he was made aware of the situation, he seemed keen to help us. That’s the part that caught us by surprise. He hesitated before making a full commitment, however. My impression was that he wanted to make a phone call