Second Chance Gold (Buck Reilly Adventure Series Book 4), John Cunningham [polar express read aloud .txt] 📗

always been attracted to adventure, haven’t you? That’s what persuaded me to invest in your company in the first place.”

“Yes, well, your sixty-four companies—”

“Down to fifty-five now.” He must have seen my brow lift. “Just completed an IPO of several I’d bundled into a conglomerate, dear boy. Sorry for not offering you friends and family shares, but I know your means are limited these days.”

“Congratulations.” I paused. “You never slow down, do you?”

“At my age, slowing down means death.” Harry’s British accent added authority to whatever he said, often tinged with just a touch of sarcasm. It was one of the things I always enjoyed about speaking with him. “And that wouldn’t be much fun, would it?”

The waiters delivered salads, and for the first time I noticed there was both white and red wine poured for each of us. Harry sipped the red, no doubt a rare French vintage. Among his many interests, he was a oenophile. He supposedly had a twenty-thousand-bottle cellar in his country estate outside London. As much as I wanted to guzzle both glasses, my plan was still to fly south right after lunch.

“Could I get an iced tea, please?”

One of the waiters jumped at my request.

“I bumped into Jack out in the lobby,” I said. “Did you invite me here for the same reason you met with him?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, but only for a moment.

“No, dear boy. He contacted me a week ago and asked to meet, so I fit him in to my schedule today. I summoned you for a completely different purpose.”

Harry must have rented the private dining room for the entire day. That was his style—have people come see him away from his office or residence or at a location under his control.

He sat back in his chair and gripped his armrests.

“When you and Jack were partners, I’d always felt you were the more cunning, someone who’d stop at nothing to attain your goal.” He paused. “But while incarceration has sharpened Jack’s focus, the island life has muted your ambition.”

“That’s not true—”

“I don’t mean that as a slight, dear boy. I know you’ve been through a lot.”

“I just don’t care about money like I once did. It drove my every decision, determined my every relationship—and what did it get me?” I sat back and took a deep breath. What’s the point of arguing the pitfalls of wealth with a billionaire?

“You’re a better man now. You’ve matured. You were what—twenty-five or six when e-Antiquity struck gold?”

“So what did Jack want?”

The waiter delivered my iced tea and Harry used the interruption to consume his salad in four bites. My appetite was gone.

“The reason I asked to see you today, Buck, is extremely important to me.” Harry’s eyes locked on mine. “And it’s for a personal reason, not business.”

I waited.

“A dear friend’s nephew has been missing for several weeks now,” he said. “When I spoke to him two days ago, he had all but given up hope that the boy would be found.”

“How old is the boy?”

“Forty, I believe.”

I tried not to roll my eyes. To Harry, every guy under fifty was a boy.

“I assume the police have been doing everything possible to find him?” I said.

“Perhaps not,” Harry said. “He lives in the Caribbean, and as you know, the levels of investigative expertise there aren’t exactly up to par.” He sighed. “And to be perfectly frank, the young man is not well liked on the island where he resides.”

“So you want me to go look for him? What do you expect I might find that the police haven’t?”

“Perhaps nothing, dear boy, but if there is anything to be found, my bet is on you to find it.”

I ran through my obligations back in Key West. There wasn’t much—a couple of charters that could wait, no salvage, and not much income potential on the horizon.

“What island?”

“St. Barthélemy,” Harry said. My jaw tightened. When e-Antiquity was at its pinnacle, just before the financial fantasy collapsed, Jack and I had rented a 140-foot yacht with a crew of 22 and parked it in Gustavia harbor at St. Barths the week before Christmas through New Year’s. We’d flown in our top investors, Harry Greenbaum being the biggest, and lavished them with every comfort. Caviar, champagne, foie gras, no expense spared. The million-dollar tab was one of the catalysts for our company’s quick demise. I looked at Harry—was that a smirk on his face? It was.

The French island was the epitome of the fast lane lifestyle, the sophisticated playground to the world’s rich and famous. Russian magnates, Hollywood movie stars, top fashion designers and celebrities. It remains one of the most beautiful places I’d ever been.

“Who’s your friend?”

“Lou Atlas. His missing nephew is Jerry Atlas.”

“The Lou Atlas? Former presidential candidate and software billionaire?”

“I’d not say he’s sentimental, but his nephew is one of his few heirs. I suggested I might have someone who could pursue a private investigation.”

My turn to smirk.

“Harry, you know I’m not a PI.”

“You’ve said it yourself. Salvaging lost treasure or lost souls, it’s all the same.”

Good grief. The Atlas fortune was huge, multiple billions. But so was Harry’s. Normally, there wouldn’t be much for me to wrestle with—I loved that island. And I’d make a decent payday. But there was something else I wanted from Harry.

“Can you tell me what Jack’s up to?”

Harry frowned. “Picking up where you boys left off, I’m afraid. But no more public company, no more newspaper coverage, and limited investors.”

“Is that what he wanted from you? Money?”

“Of course. And, dare I say, respectability. As I mentioned, Jack’s like a sharpened razor now and his focus is precise. He claimed not to need much money, but a select investor with contacts like mine would be advantageous. He also claims to have copies of all the old research materials that e-Antiquity had yet to pursue.”

The air whooshed out of my lungs. If Jack had the same maps and information I did—and if Harry was funding him …

Harry handed me a piece of