The Family Business 2 Read online

  The Family Business 2

  Carl Weber

  with

  Treasure Hernandez

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgement

  Prologue

  LC - 1

  Sasha - 2

  Paris - 3

  Orlando - 4

  Ruby - 5

  Junior - 6

  LC - 7

  Sasha - 8

  Paris - 9

  Junior - 10

  Orlando - 11

  Ruby - 12

  Sasha - 13

  Junior - 14

  Ruby - 15

  Junior - 16

  Orlando - 17

  LC - 18

  Paris - 19

  Junior - 20

  LC - 21

  Sasha - 22

  Junior - 23

  Orlando - 24

  Ruby - 25

  Paris - 26

  Orlando - 27

  Sasha - 28

  Orlando - 29

  Junior - 30

  LC - 31

  Junior - 32

  Sasha - 33

  Paris - 34

  Orlando - 35

  Sasha - 36

  Ruby - 37

  Sasha - 38

  Orlando - 39

  Ruby - 40

  Junior - 41

  Paris - 42

  LC - 43

  Junior - 44

  Sasha - 45

  Paris - 46

  Sasha - 47

  LC - 48

  Paris - 49

  Junior - 50

  Ruby - 51

  LC - 52

  Orlando - 53

  Epilogue

  Discussion questions

  The Family Business 3: The Return of Vegas 2014

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Carl and Bettie Weber.

  Thanks for all the life lessons and love.

  I think you did a pretty good job. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  Acknowledgement

  I just want to say thank you to my inner circle of friends.

  Jeff, Walter, Albert, George, Martha, Amanda, Edward, Maria and Stephanie.

  You guys have done so much for me it would take ten pages to describe it. You each keep me grounded in a different way and because of that grounding I am able to do amazing things.

  I love all of you. A guy could never have a better group of friends.

  Prologue

  “Dammit, Harris, can you slow down a little bit?” London Grant said to her husband as he led her through the dimly lit showroom full of exotic cars at Duncan Motors. They were on their way to the back of the building, along the dark corridors of offices, headed for the boardroom.

  “Come on, London. We’re already running late,” Harris said with a sigh. He had tried to convince his wife, who was due to give birth to their second child any day now, to stay home. Her pregnancy had been difficult, and the last place she needed to be was at an emergency board meeting where tensions were likely to be running high. London refused to be left out, arguing that she had a responsibility as a stockholder and a member of the Duncan Motors board of directors to attend. Harris had given in simply to avoid another argument. He did, however, suspect that her insistence on being there had more to do with her being nosey than any real sense of responsibility or duty to the company. She wasn’t about to miss a meeting when she knew all of her siblings would be there.

  Sure enough, when they entered the room, Harris saw that almost all of the other Duncan siblings were in place at the table. He nodded to London’s brothers, Rio and Junior, as he led his wife around the table and helped her into her seat, purposely avoiding the seat next to Paris. Like London, she was about to pop, and if their sibling rivalry wasn’t already fierce enough, pregnancy was just making it worse. It was best to keep those two sisters at a distance.

  Lavernius Duncan, or LC as he liked to be called, stood at the head of the table with his wife, Chippy, seated next to him. An imposing figure in his mid sixties, LC was the founder of Duncan Motors. Although he had recently handed over the title of CEO to one of his sons, LC was still the chairman of the board, and there was no doubt about who was in charge in this room. As he scanned the table, his eyes fell disapprovingly on his youngest daughter, Paris, who quickly removed her feet from the table and sat up straight. LC was known to have an explosive temper, and as irritated as he looked already, she did not want to anger him further.

  When LC’s gaze rested on an empty chair at the table, Junior, the oldest child, shared a knowing glance with Harris. Conspicuous in his absence was the man who had summoned them all to this meeting, the company’s new CEO, Orlando Duncan.

  “Where’s Orlando?” the elder Duncan barked.

  The room fell silent until Rio, the youngest son and twin to Paris, said, “He went to get something out of his lab, Pop. He said to tell you he’d be here in a minute.”

  Rio’s explanation did not help LC’s mood. “What’s he doing in his lab?” he snapped. “Is that where he’s been the past few weeks? He’s supposed to be running this company, not dissecting frogs.”

  Rio shrugged, slumping back in his chair. “You gotta talk to him about that, Pop. I’m just relaying the message.”

  LC grumbled something under his breath. It was obvious that he was not happy about Orlando calling an emergency meeting in the middle of the night and then not being on time.

  Chippy spoke up for her son. “You’re the one who wanted them all to have specialties outside their jobs with the company,” she reminded LC. “You know him. He’s probably got some experiment running that needs to be checked on every couple of hours. He’ll be here soon.”

  LC looked at Chippy and his posture relaxed a little, signaling a shift in his attitude. She’d always had that effect on him. Besides, she wasn’t wrong about what she said. LC was the one who’d always pushed his kids to hone their interests and abilities no matter what they were. Each child was expected to have an expertise outside of the car business, so that they could fall back on them if need be. In Orlando’s case, he held a master’s degree in chemistry, along with a pharmacist’s license.

  Just then, Orlando strode into the room still wearing his lab coat. He closed the door behind him and checked to be sure it was locked.

  “Finally,” Paris huffed.

  “I know, I know. Sorry I’m late,” Orlando apologized, looking directly at his father.

  LC took his seat and folded his arms across his chest, but even his stern expression couldn’t wipe the excited grin off of Orlando’s face.

  “Well, I’m sure you’re all wondering why I called this meeting tonight,” Orlando started in right away, placing his briefcase and a small brown paper bag on the table in front of him.

  “No joke,” Paris said. “I mean, if you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly in the best condition to be coming to no late night meetings.” She placed both hands over her swollen belly and frowned at her brother. Across the table, London rolled her eyes, and Harris put his hand on London’s arm as a silent reminder not to take Paris’s bait.

  Orlando ignored the drama playing out between his pregnant sisters. “I suppose I could have waited until next month’s meeting, but I wanted you all to hear the good news right away.”

  LC leaned back in his chair. “Okay then, son. Let’s have it. What’s the good news?”

  Orlando’s grin spread into a huge smile. “I’ve done it, Pop. I’ve fucking done it! After all these years I’ve finally done it!” His eyes darted fro
m one family member to the next, but all he got back were confused stares. Standing there in his lab coat with a wild look in his eyes, Orlando came across like some kind of mad scientist, and no one quite knew how to process any of this.

  As usual, Paris was the first one to speak up. “Yo, O, you been sniffing that shit you makin’ over at the lab? Your ass is talkin’ real crazy. Keep it up and I might have to check your ass into Creedmoor for a psychic evaluation.” She gave him the universal sign for crazy, twirling her index finger at the side of her head.

  Paris’s joke broke the awkward silence at the table. Even Chippy couldn’t help but laugh.

  Orlando was not deterred, though. “I’m not crazy, Paris. Am I, Rio?” He tilted his head in his younger brother’s direction, and all eyes turned to Rio.

  Rio and Paris were usually the least mature of the Duncan clan, but this time Rio sat up straight in his chair, articulating his message clearly. “No, O, you are not crazy. Far from it.” Then he looked at his father and said, “What Orlando is about to do is make us all filthy rich.”

  “We’re already rich,” Paris spat skeptically. Clearly she didn’t like her twin brother taking anyone else’s side.

  “No, little sister, we are nigger rich,” Orlando said firmly then turned his attention back to LC. “I’m about to make us Donald Trump rich, Bill Gates rich . . . Warren Buffet rich. I’m talking about billionaire rich.”

  Orlando wasn’t normally one to exaggerate, so his pronouncement stunned even Paris into silence for a second. Finally LC spoke up. “Son, what the hell are you talking about?”

  Orlando looked over at Junior and asked, “You got that thing on?”

  Junior nodded. As the head of the family’s security, Junior had outfitted the boardroom and his father’s office with electronic jamming devices to be sure that all boardroom conversations remained private. The devices were so powerful that even the cell phones of the board members were disabled when the jammers were on.

  Orlando’s insistence on tight security at that moment changed the whole tone of the meeting. It let everyone know that the business at hand had nothing to do with their automobile distributorship. He was about to talk about the Duncan family’s dirty little secret—one they’d worked hard to keep hidden from both law enforcement and the general public. The Duncans weren’t just successful car dealers. They also ran one of the largest illegal narcotics operations on the East Coast.

  Orlando stood in front of his family, purposely hesitating for a moment as he enjoyed the expressions of confusion and anticipation on their faces. For him today was like Christmas Day, and he was Santa Claus about to give them the biggest Christmas present of all. He glanced over at his mother, who looked at him with love in her eyes, just like always. She was his biggest supporter, reinforcing in him the idea that he could do anything if he put his mind to it. His father, on the other hand, was not as easily impressed. For the first time in his life, though, Orlando wasn’t worried about that, because once he finished his presentation, he was sure LC Duncan would be kissing his ass.

  Orlando spoke directly to his father. “For the last thirty years we’ve been the ultimate middle man, distributing other people’s product around the eastern United States through our dealerships and transport businesses. Now, don’t get me wrong, we’ve made a lot of money. Distribution is a good business and we’re good at it, but wouldn’t it be nice if we didn’t have to pay for the product we distribute? Wouldn’t it be nice if we ran not only the distribution side of the business but the manufacturing and production side as well, Pop?”

  The two of them stared at each other for a minute, and it was as if no one else in the room dared to breathe—until a smile crept across LC’s face and he nodded his head.

  “You got my attention, son. What exactly do you have in mind?”

  “This!” Orlando picked up the paper bag he’d carried into the room and emptied its contents onto the boardroom table. At least a hundred red M&Ms came sprawling across the table. “Ladies and gentlemen of the Duncan family, I give you H.E.A.T.”

  LC stared at the M&Ms and frowned. “What the hell is this, some kind of joke?”

  “I ain’t complaining. I been craving M&Ms all week.” Paris reached out to pick up a handful, but she’d barely closed her hand around the candies before Rio grabbed her wrist.

  “Don’t eat that!” he yelled, squeezing tight.

  Paris yanked back her arm. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “Those aren’t M&Ms,” Rio said.

  “Then what the fuck are they?” Paris snapped.

  “Orlando, what the hell is going on?” LC demanded. He picked up a handful of the candy look-alikes then dropped them on the table. “What is this crap?”

  “I call it H.E.A.T., Pop.” Orlando held one in his hand. “It’s the new crack. No, actually, it’s better than crack. It’s extremely potent synthetic pheromones and endorphins laced with morphine, and it’s gonna make us wealthy beyond your wildest dreams.”

  Ever the practical one, Harris gave his brother-in-law a cynical look. “Excuse me if I sound doubtful, but . . . better than crack? How is that possible? And how about you explain it in a way us non-scientists can understand?”

  “Harris is right. What makes these things so special?” LC asked.

  Their skepticism did nothing to dampen Orlando’s excitement. “It’s a high no user has ever seen,” he said, practically vibrating with energy. “The drug takes them to the same place of exhilaration that crack does for about an hour—but it doesn’t cause the physical addiction or withdrawal. The worst that happens is a mental craving along the lines of marijuana. To make it simple, they can’t get enough of this stuff.”

  “Who’s ‘they’?” Harris asked, and this time Rio jumped in to answer.

  “He gave me five hundred of these things, and I gave half of them to the club dealers to give away last Friday. The next day dealers were buying them wholesale, five dollars a pill with a retail price of ten bucks, and they were begging me for more before the end of the night. Now the wholesale price is ten dollars a pill, and demand is so high that if I want I can raise the price at any time.”

  As the family’s flamboyant party boy, Rio was well suited to his position as head of marketing and promotions. LC might have had issues with his son’s homosexuality, but he couldn’t deny that Rio had his finger on the pulse of New York’s nightlife. Rio knew which drugs were in high demand and made sure the Duncans’ products got into the right hands in and around the clubs. LC listened to Rio’s explanation with interest.

  “We can barely keep up with demand,” Rio continued. “I must have sold five thousand already, and that’s being conservative. I’m telling you, these little red M&Ms are a gold mine.”

  Harris leaned forward in his chair, his doubt giving way to the dollar signs in his eyes. “What’s the manufacturing cost?”

  “Right now about a buck a pill, but once we gear up production I can get it to about thirty-five cents,” Orlando told him.

  Harris reached down into his briefcase and pulled out a calculator. He punched in some numbers then stared at the results, his eyebrows coming together in confusion. His fingers flew across the keys to recalculate. When his second attempt produced the same number, he shouted, “Holy shit!” and showed the screen to LC.

  LC glanced at the numbers then did a double take, removing the calculator from Harris’s hand. “Is that yearly?”

  Harris shook his head. “That’s monthly, using just our domestic network numbers. If we go outside the network, you can triple, possibly even quadruple that number. And that’s not including overseas.”

  LC sat back in his chair, stroking his goatee as he contemplated all of the information that had been presented to him. It wasn’t the type of thing that happened often, but he actually looked impressed.

  “Have you tested for side effects?” London questioned. Her specialty was nursing. “Synthetic drugs usually have side effects.”

>   Orlando had been ready for her question. “Yes, extensively. There are no side effects that we can see other than the user sleeping for long periods after consecutive use. Like I said before, it’s not physically addictive.” He opened his briefcase and handed her a folder. She seemed satisfied to sit back and skim through his lab documents.

  “Pop, it’s the ultimate recreational drug with no side effects,” Orlando said, continuing his pitch. “The yuppies can use it all weekend long and with a good night’s sleep, go to work on Monday feeling fine.”

  LC turned to Harris. As the family’s lawyer, he had a practical side that LC appreciated. LC liked to hear Harris’s opinions even when it came to their activities that fell well outside of the law. “Okay, Mr. Grant. What are your thoughts?”

  “You saw the numbers, and numbers don’t lie. If Orlando and Rio are anywhere close to being correct about demand and production cost, this is a no-brainer. We can’t afford not to be involved. There’s too much money at stake,” Harris replied without a moment’s hesitation.

  “How much money we talking about, Harris?” Junior asked.

  “We could make our first billion within a year, and that’s just in the U.S. market.” Harris smiled as his legal mind went into overdrive. “Smart thing to do is set up a factory outside the U.S. Buy a small South American pharmaceutical company under a shell corp to do all the manufacturing. We can do it here for a while, but once this thing goes national, we’re going to want to put some distance and corporations between it and us. We might want to bring in some of your Cuban and Colombian friends as fronts to give us some cover. We’re also going to need quite a few legitimate companies to launder the amount of new cash we’re gonna pull in.”

  Junior whistled. “A billion dollars. Damn, that’s a lot of bread.”

  “No, that’s a lot of shopping,” Paris interjected, dancing in her chair. She raised her hand and Rio high-fived her with a laugh.

  “That’s enough out of you two.” LC reprimanded them then turned his attention to his older daughter. “London, anything in that report that we should be worried about?”