The Family Business

Genres: Christian Suspense

Synopsis

New York Times best-selling author Carl Weber and award-winning novelist Eric Pete team up to deliver the first in a much-anticipated new trilogy. The Family Business features two times the heat, two times the fun, and two times the drama as the members of an unforgettable family (not to mention lovers and hangers-on) find their way in and out of trouble. As their many fans will attest, Weber and Pete share a talent for penning juicy fiction that their audience can’t get enough of.

Release date: December 7, 2012

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 384

Sample

“Okay, Paris, let’s go over this one more time. What exactly did the man who shot Councilman Sims’s son look like?”

It was late, almost three in the morning, and standing in front of me was an obnoxious New York City homicide detective with bad breath and a Brooklyn accent. He and his partner, a homely brown-skinned woman who needed to do something with her ugly-ass weave, had me sitting in a small, dimly lit room somewhere in a police station in Brooklyn. This was the fifth time he’d asked me the same damn question, and there was no doubt in my mind that he was going to ask it again, because I wasn’t saying shit.

You see, less than two hours before, I’d witnessed the shooting of my date, Trevor Sims, son of New York City councilman and congressional candidate Ronald Sims. Regrettably, Trevor didn’t make it. He died five minutes after he was shot, right in my arms, which was why I was covered in his blood from head to toe. To say I was having a bad night was an understatement. I was having a terrible fucking night.

“Trevor, dammit! His name is Trevor! Stop calling him the councilman’s son. He has a name,” I corrected him as tears welled up in my eyes. I would have paid a million dollars to be anywhere but where I was right then.

“Correction, Paris. Had. He had a name,” the bad-weave bitch stressed. “Trevor’s no longer with us, because he’s dead, and we’re trying to figure out who did it. Now, I hate to break this to you, but you’re the only witness we got to his shooting, so we’re going to go over what you saw again. And, Paris, this time I want some fucking answers.”

“Look, I told you I ain’t got nothing to say. I just wanna go home. Look at me.” I spread my arms apart so that they could see my blood-soaked DKNY dress.

The dog-breath detective laughed. “You’re not going anywhere until we get some answers, Paris. We’ve got a congressional candidate’s son in the morgue. Do you have any idea what that means?” He paused only for a second and then answered his own question. “That means the newspapers and media are going to be crawling all over this. Which means the chief of detectives is gonna be crawling up my lieutenant’s ass, wanting some answers. Which means my lieutenant’s gonna be crawling up my ass, looking for those answers. So, until I get them, I’m gonna be crawling up your ass.”

“You can crawl wherever the hell you want to,” I said flatly, folding my arms in defiance. “I ain’t got shit to say.”

I stared at the cop and wondered, if Trevor’s dad were a garbageman or the janitor at Jamaica High School instead of a councilman running for Congress, would we even be going over this so thoroughly? My fellow clubgoers were being questioned all over the precinct about other victims of tonight’s shootings, but Trevor’s death was drawing the most attention because of his father’s political connections and the fact that it was the only shooting outside the club, not inside. I was sure the mayor would have something to say about it in the morning. I just hoped they left me and my family out of it. God, my dad was gonna kill me just for being there.

“Why don’t you have shit to say? Because of some stupid ‘no snitching’ code of the streets?” the female cop snapped. “Is that it? You got some stupid moral code?”

I stared at her briefly, then exploded in anger. “Are you for real? Do I look like I’m worried about some moral code of the streets? Bitch, I’m wearing a ladies’ Rolex that’s worth more than both your damn salaries combined.” I flashed my wrist in front of her face. “Look, I’m a party girl, not a gangbanger. I’ve got Kim Kardashian on speed dial, not Lil’ Kim. But maybe you don’t know who I am, so let me introduce myself. My name is Paris Duncan, daughter of LC Duncan, the owner of Duncan Motors, the largest African American–owned car dealership chain in the tristate area. He donated almost a million dollars to the PBA last year, so why y’all hassling me? Maybe you need to make a few calls and find out just who the fuck I am and where I come from.”

“We already know who you are,” she replied irately, “and personally, I’m not impressed with you or your nigger-rich daddy. I just—”

I sprang to my feet, pointing my finger up in her face. “Don’t be talking about my father, bitch. You don’t know him!”

“I don’t need to know him! And I’ll talk about whoever I damn well please. Now, get your finger out my face and sit your ass down before I break it and you.”

“I’d like to see you try.” I was about to step around the desk and show her just who she was fucking with. Good thing for her that her partner cut me off.

“Paris, please sit down. Don’t pay attention to her. She’s not going to do anything to you. Just have a seat so we can talk, please. This is about Trevor, not you and her. Let’s focus.” He guided me to my seat, then turned to his partner. “Anderson, sit your ass down!”

Would you believe that hooker with a badge did exactly as she was told? I turned my attention to her partner, who pulled his chair up next to me, gently encouraging me to sit down, like he was on my side. I gave that heifer a smirk that said I knew who had the real power in that partnership.

“Okay,” he said. “So, if it’s not some code, then why won’t you cooperate? We’re not the enemy here. We’re just trying to find out who killed your boyfriend, so why won’t you help us?”

“He’s not my boyfriend. He was just a good friend. We just started dating.” What I really meant was that he was a friend I never should have gone out with. “And the reason I ain’t talking is because my lawyer’s not here . . . yet,” I replied. “I know my rights.”

“You ain’t got no rights,” his partner barked.

“Anderson, will you please shut the hell up?” he snapped so I didn’t have to. He turned to me, speaking so nonchalantly I almost felt like he meant it. “Paris, you’re not under arrest, so what do you need a lawyer for?”

They were playing one hell of a game of good cop/bad cop, and I bet all those fools they interrogated fell for it—but not me.

“Yeah, famous last words. I’m not trying to cause any trouble. I’m just protecting my rights. Y’all ain’t gonna get me caught up in no shit. My father told me about how cops play games and set people up, and he also told me to never say a word until I had a lawyer present.” I sat back cozily, as if I were on a piece of designer furniture at home instead of this rickety old piece of shit in a police station.

“Look, we’re not trying to play games or entrap you. You’re a party girl . . . a celebutante,” he said, making air quotes with his fingers. “I get that. But the longer we’re playing around here, the longer your boyfriend’s killer goes free. Don’t you want justice?”

“He’s not my boyfriend. How many times do I have to tell you that? And of course I want justice, but I also want to be alive to see it. Those dudes that killed Trevor are still on the street. I’m not getting involved with you so that they can come knocking on my door.” I mumbled, “I’m not stupid. I watch Criminal Minds and Law and Order.”

“Look, Paris, we can protect you. And we’ve got a pretty good idea who these guys are, but we just need a witness—someone who can identify at least one of them—and I know you saw who did this, didn’t you?”

I didn’t answer him, but couldn’t restrain a nod in the affirmative.

He smiled, then said, “He was a big, dark-skinned black guy with a bald head, wasn’t he? He was the one who shot Trevor, wasn’t he?” I gave him a half nod, and he turned toward his partner with a nod of his own. “Look, Paris, all I need you to do is write down what you saw and look at a few pictures, and then you can get on out of here.”

“That’s it?” The thought of escaping that place had me lifting my head, but I wasn’t convinced by a long shot. “That’s all you want from me?”

“Yep, that’s it,” he said. “So, are you ready to go on the record with that? Write this down for us? Please.” He picked up a legal pad and a pen. “You write this statement and I can have you out of here in a half hour, tops.”

“I can have her out of here right now, and she doesn’t have to write down a thing.”

I cut a smile as my brother-in-law, Harris, stepped into the room, followed by a balding white man in a bad suit. Harris was the husband of my older sister, London. He was one of the best attorneys in New York and worked exclusively for our family business, Duncan Motors.

“What he said,” I added, suddenly perking up.

“Who the hell are you?” Anderson asked.

“I’m her lawyer, and unless she’s being arrested for something, I’m taking her home.” He held out a hand to help me up out of the cheap-ass chair. “Come on, Paris.”

“Lieutenant, she knows who the killer is,” Officer Unbe-weave- able whined to the white guy who’d come in with Harris.

He just shrugged. “Cut her loose.”

“Bye, guys,” I said as I snatched my purse from the table. Walking to the door, I turned to Brooklyn’s ugly-ass partner and smiled. “You impressed now, bitch?”

I almost skipped past Harris and the lieutenant, grinning from ear to ear, until I saw the imposing figure standing in the corridor outside the door.

“Uh-oh.” I nearly let go of my bladder and peed on myself. Just the sight of my father, LC Duncan, standing there with his trademark fedora, tailor-fitted overcoat, and gray scarf draped over each shoulder scared the crap out of me. A huge part of me would rather have gone back in the room and faced the cops than dealt with the scowl on my father’s face.

“Daddy, I didn’t do anything. I swear.”

Eight hours earlier ...

I walked into the large conference room of Duncan Motors for our annual year-end board of directors meeting, followed by my wife, Charlotte, who I called Chippy. Already seated at the table was Orlando, our tall, slim, brown-skinned third son. He had a phone to his ear as he worked an iPad like it was a piece of him. He didn’t say much, other than to acknowledge his mother with a wave as we took our seats. Orlando wasn’t being rude or anything; he was engaged in a phone conversation with one of our distributors about a shipment of pre-owned Bentleys for one of our six high-end pre-owned car dealerships.

Like myself, Orlando was a workaholic. He ran a tight ship, for which the devil was in the details. He was the company’s chief operating officer, in charge of running the day-to-day operations of our dealerships. Only thirty-three years old, he was turning into one hell of a man, if I did say so myself. Of course, like everyone, he had his flaws of a sort. He had no idea I knew anything about it, but we were going to have to address it in the very near future.

“We’re good, Pop. They turned the cars over to our guys in Maryland, and the shipment will be delivered sometime tomorrow,” Orlando called out to me with a thumbs-up before continuing his conversation. In addition to our pre-owned car dealerships, we also owned three Toyota dealerships, which made us one of the largest African American dealers of cars in America, as per Black Enterprise magazine.

Chippy shook her head. “Will that boy ever learn to slow down?”

“Somebody has to pull the load around here,” I replied, wishing the rest of my children had what Orlando possessed. They all contributed to the family business, but none of them had his work ethic. He was the first one in the office every morning and the last one out every night.

“I heard that,” my youngest and more defiant son, Rio, chimed in as he walked into the conference room and took his seat. Rio was wearing a bright yellow paisley shirt that could be seen halfway across Queens.

He glanced over at Orlando, who had just finished up his conversation. “No offense, bro, but I bust my ass around here just as much as you. You’re not the only one who makes a lot of money for this family. I don’t hear anybody complaining when the money from the clubs gets deposited on Monday morning, or about the two BMW 650 convertibles DJ Two-Tone bought on my recommendation last week.”

Rio spearheaded the marketing and promotions aspects of Duncan Motors, a creative endeavor he came up with himself. He paired the two things celebrities loved most: exotic cars and parties. Where there were celebrities, there were fans willing to buy everything their idols purchased. I wouldn’t admit it to him, but his brainchild was a brilliant, unquestionable success that had only served to expand the family’s reach in ways I didn’t think possible.

Orlando nodded, acknowledging his brother’s work, but I took a different path, rolling my eyes in my youngest son’s direction. “Do you call going out to a club all night and sleeping until three and four in the afternoon busting your ass?”

“Nope,” Rio huffed, meeting my gaze with one of his own. “I call it the night shift. When you’re sleeping, I’m working. Why can’t you understand that? Is this because I’m gay?” Rio pulled his sunglasses down, peering over them as he struck a very feminine pose.

“Don’t mess with your father, Rio. Not tonight, all right?” Chippy warned, with a look that said she meant business.

Rio shrugged his shoulders and gave her an angelic smile. Of all our children, he was the closest to Chippy. She loved and accepted him as is—no exceptions. I, on the other hand, loved my son but just couldn’t accept his lifestyle. I just couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that my son was a homosexual. I didn’t think I ever would. His sexual preference disgusted me.

“I’m not messing with him, Momma. I’m just trying to make a point. I bring business into this company too.” Rio sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “I just think a little recognition would be nice.”

“Are you finished?” I asked. The look on my face said everything that didn’t come across my lips.

With a final glance from his mother, Rio softened his demeanor and nodded. “Yeah, Pop, I’m finished.”

I turned my attention away from Rio just as a cute little bundle of energy came into the room, scurrying around the conference table and chairs as if they were her own personal playground. That little bundle of joy was my granddaughter, Mariah, and with her mother on her heels, she bolted just out of reach behind me and her grandmother.

“Mariah! What did I tell you about running in here?” her mother shouted.

Mariah’s mother, my eldest daughter and fourth child, London Duncan Grant, was a tall, classy, butter almond–colored woman, the spitting image of her mother when she was the same age.

“It’s okay, London,” I said, handing my only granddaughter one of the lollipops I carried in my suit pocket just for such occasions. She was the apple of my eye. I loved my children, but my granddaughter stole my heart from the moment I set eyes on her. As far as I was concerned, I would lay the world at her feet. “Let her be. She has just as much right to be here as the rest of us. One day this will all belong to her, anyway.”

Mariah took the lollipop out of my hand and gave me an affectionate kiss on the cheek before taking off again. When she passed my eldest son, Junior, he caught her with one arm and deposited her in his lap as he took his seat. She giggled at her uncle’s sudden display of strength. If she were older, she wouldn’t have questioned it at all, because Junior was six feet five inches tall and a solid 270 pounds of pure muscle.

As big as he was, Junior could be as gentle as a lamb—unless provoked. He was in charge of our car carrier and transportation fleet of trucks, along with overseeing our service mechanics. He wasn’t involved much with the financial end of our company, but he could drive and fix anything with an engine, which in our business made him very valuable indeed.

“Humph. Daddy, you’d let that girl get away with murder if you could. I don’t recall you ever saying anything like that to us when we were growing up,” London said with a slight attitude as she took a seat beside her husband, Harris Grant. He and my daughter had met while she attended George Washington University in Washington, D.C., and Harris was attending Georgetown University Law School.

Harris was always thinking, and that keen mind of his had allowed him to graduate magna cum laude from Georgetown. In the years since he and London got married, Harris had become an integral part of all our business affairs and was now the company’s in-house legal counsel. This allowed London to happily relinquish her duties as sales manager and focus on being a loving mother and devoted wife, something she took very seriously and sometimes to extremes.

“Y’all were my kids. It was my job to raise you right. Mariah’s my granddaughter, and it’s our job to spoil her.” I smiled at my daughter, then lifted my hand to my wife, who gave me a high five.

“Well, that ain’t making my job any easier. That girl is just as spoiled as can be.”

“Ha! That’s what the fuck I’m talkin’ about, Mariah,” Paris, Rio’s twin and perhaps the most attractive of our children, blurted out inappropriately as she walked in with some man I didn’t know behind her. “Let them spoil you, girl. You gonna be just like your aunt Paris, aren’t you? Kiss the boys and make them motherfuckers cry!” Paris laughed, but no one in the room—other than Rio—joined in.

London glanced at her younger sister and rolled her eyes. “Could you please stop cursing in front of my daughter? What is wrong with you?”

“Stop tripping, London. She hears much worse than that just sitting out in the service area with Junior and them.”

“Well, I haven’t heard that, but I heard you—”

Harris gently took his wife’s arm and mumbled, “London, it’s not worth it.”

London glanced at me and my wife and then at her husband before she sat back in her chair obediently. “This is some bull. They’d never let me get away with this.”

“Daddy,” Paris said in this gushing voice that customarily rose in pitch when she was seeking my approval. It usually worked, too, except when it had to do with men. Yes, she was a daddy’s girl; there was no question about that. I didn’t know why, but I had a weakness for my youngest daughter, despite the fact that she always seemed to be getting herself in some kind of trouble I had to bail her out of. “Daddy, I’d like you to meet Trevor. Trevor, this is my father, Lavernius Duncan Sr.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir. Ma’am,” he said, greeting Chippy as well. “You have a wonderful daughter.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. Still holding the young man’s hand in mine, I turned to Paris, who was smiling like she’d won the lottery. “So, in what hole did you find this one, Paris? Please tell me you didn’t buy the suit he’s wearing, like you did the last one.” I spoke loudly to be sure the young man understood I didn’t care if he heard my insult.

“Daddy!” Paris shrieked. Her pretty, high yellow face turned beet red from embarrassment. I loved Paris dearly, but I never was one to mask my disappointment in her, especially in her choice of men.

“We met at Antun’s catering hall in Queens Village, sir, and it’s not like that at all. The suit’s mine,” Paris’s date asserted, to my surprise. The rest of the family was taken aback, too, from the looks on their faces. Most of Paris’s little male friends were, unfortunately, bad boys, thugs, or sheep, and were intimidated by me. Surprisingly, this one wasn’t.

“Oh, really? Tell me how it is, son,” I urged, my curiosity piqued by the nature of the stranger in our midst.

“We were having a fund-raiser for my father’s election campaign when I met Paris, sir. Nothing improper. I believe your wife was there also.”

I glanced over at Chippy, who nodded.

“His dad is Councilman Sims,” Paris added, trying to take back control of the conversation.

“Ronald Sims? He’s running for Congress, isn’t he?” I was keenly aware of New York’s political landscape and the players in all five boroughs, especially Queens. Ronald Sims was definitely a player who was on the rise.

“Yes, he is.” Trevor smiled.

I was sure he was hoping for a quick thaw between us, but he’d forgotten one thing: Paris was my daughter, and I knew his only objective was to get her into bed. He was going to have to show his face around here a hell of a lot more, and preferably on days I wasn’t conducting a board of directors meeting, if he expected me to thaw.

“So, no, I don’t need anyone to buy me a suit—but my father could really use your support in his reelection campaign,” he added.

I let out a hearty chuckle that filled the room, and then glanced over at Orlando and Harris, who both nodded their heads and discreetly began to type into their iPads. “You know what, young man? I admire your moxie—or rather your swagger, as it’s called these days. I’ve always been one to preach involvement in family endeavors to my children. Good to see your father is of a like mind. We’ll have to see what we can do for our future congressman.”

I nodded at Paris, who seemed pleased as she placed her arm in Trevor’s and led him toward the door. While not quite up to the level of her sister, perhaps there was some hope, after all, when it came to Paris’s choice in men.

Chippy leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Dear Lord, LC, has Paris lost her mind and invited that man to sit in on one of our board meetings?” I glanced back over toward the door and, to my dismay, watched Paris and her new friend take two empty seats by the entrance. Why the hell she would have that man sit in at one of our board meetings was beyond my comprehension. Perhaps Chippy was right; she’d lost her damn mind.

“Uh-huh, that’s exactly what she’s doing.” I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves, because I was known to have a very explosive temper. Why couldn’t that girl be more like her brothers and sister and just use common sense? Ain’t no way London or any of the others would be stupid enough to invite a stranger to one of our private business meetings. I was about to storm over there when Chippy took hold of my wrist.

“She’s only doing this to impress you. You know she usually doesn’t date guys like him. She wants you to see she can pick a smart man like London,” Chippy mouthed softly. “We might not be able to speak as candidly as we’d like with him in the room, but let’s see how it goes. The kids all know better than to discuss anything beyond the basics in front of a stranger, so it won’t matter. We can always ask him to step out of the room if we get on a topic that’s not for his ears. The rest we can discuss tomorrow in private.”

I glanced over at Paris, who was leaning up against the boy, with her head on his shoulder. She really didn’t have a clue, and that scared me.

“Besides, Trevor . . . and his father could be useful to us one day.”

I looked over at my wife, a little shocked by her response. “You sure about this?”

“Yes, I’m sure you can handle it. You always do. Now, let’s go get us a plate so we can get started.” Chippy smiled that prideful smile she sometimes gave me, admiring my ability to always think on my feet and adapt. It was one of the many qualities she said attracted her to me those many years past. Back then, she knew I was a man with drive and a certain “moxie” myself—moxie that rescued her from the cursed path upon which she once strode.

Once everyone was seated, I stood and cleared my throat to get everyone’s attention. They turned to me, looking eager for whatever I had to say, probably because they knew the year-end meeting was when I thanked everyone for their individual contributions and handed out rather substantial bonus checks. The only one who seemed to sense something awry in my demeanor was Orlando. He exchanged looks with his mother but came away with nothing.

“First of all, I want to tell you all that your mother and I are blessed to have everybody together tonight, including our new guest,” I said, with a nod to Paris’s friend Trevor.

I couldn’t help but notice how the acknowledgment chafed Harris, the last outsider to become something more within the family and the business. I could see he had already begun assessing whether the young man was a potential threat.

I continued, “As I do at the end of every year, I have called all of us together for a brief slowdown from the crazy pace we set for ourselves. This moment is to reflect and to thank you for your hard work. You’re all very special to me and your mother, and not just for your value as part of what we’ve built here, but as a family. It’s not my normal demeanor to be so emotional, but I do love all of you, despite some of our differences. I’m proud of you all.” I purposely glanced in Rio’s direction. Chippy patted my leg approvingly under the table.

“Damn, Pops!” Rio exclaimed, a mischievous grin forming on his lips. “You tryin’ to break a brother down or what? You acting like you got cancer or somethin’.” He wiped fake tears.

“Rio!” Chippy scolded.

“Oops. Sorry, Momma.”

Rather than burning Rio with my gaze, I said, “Let him be, Chippy.” This unusual action got everyone’s attention. London shushed Mariah, who was now seated on her lap. Paris stopped fidgeting with her hair for Trevor’s benefit. Junior sat with his mouth agape. “Right now, each one of you owns three percent of the company, for a total of eighteen percent. Your mother and I are giving each one of you five percent more.”

“Dad, what’s up? You and Momma okay?” Orlando asked.

With a glance at Chippy, I spoke, my deep growl diminishing with each successive word, to where it was almost a whisper at the end. “Yes, son. We’re okay, but your mother and I will be ending our hand in the day-to-day business operations.”

The room was silent, until Paris stood, ready to take on the world to protect me.

“Why, Daddy? Did something happen? ’Cause don’t nobody mess with the Duncans. ’Cause—” Paris cut herself off, glancing down at her date. I was sure she would have loved to say more, but Trevor’s presence kind of hindered that.

“No, princess. Nothing happened other than old age. All of you are grown now, and your mother and I aren’t getting any younger. We’ll be retiring to the house on Fisher Island soon, so we wanted to give you all time to adjust to the changes ahead.”

“Retiring,” Harris blurted out. I guess my right-hand man was caught more off guard than anyone. He looked hurt, too, probably because Chippy and I had kept this announcement very close to the vest, and he was used to being in the know. I was sorry for that, but he’d have to get over it, because it was already done.

“So if you’re retiring, who’s going to be in charge? Who’s going to be you while you’re in Florida?” I was sure Junior was simply seeking clarity. Although he was the oldest and possessed unquestionable loyalty to the family, nothing in his makeup said leader.

The room fell silent again as they all waited for my answer.

“I’m glad you asked, Junior. Your mother and I thought long and hard about this,” I replied, sure to make eye contact with each of them. “First of all, technically nothing changes. Your mother and I are still the majority shareholders, but someone has to make decisions in our absence, and ultimately... we decided the person best suited for the job is Orlando.”

All eyes turned to Orlando, and as they studied him, I studied them. They had no idea what the future would bring, and neither did I, but I knew something wasn’t right, and that was why I was stepping down so that I could prepare.

Every eye in the room was upon me the second my name slipped out of my father’s mouth. I scanned the room, looking each of my siblings in the eye as I tried my damnedest to hold back a smile. Yes, my father had chosen me to lead them, and I was sure there was going to be some resistance, but he had to choose me. It was the most obvious choice. Who else would he have chosen to lead us—Harris, Junior, or Rio? I don’t think so. I mean, Rio didn’t have a chance, and although Harris was smart and close to the old man, he still wasn’t blood, and everyone knew Junior didn’t want the responsibility. Besides, I’d worked my ass off for this business, f. . .