Alice, who he saw through the door was still talking to the same man, was the opposite. Years ago, she'd grieved with him over Vicki. The late afternoon heat on his back pushed him to go inside. He swallowed.
Special Agent Smith was unnecessary. The man had been rude the moment he'd been assigned to the Georgia office. "You have no idea what I'm feeling."
Alice noticed him from behind the glass window. The guy she stood with stared back and forth between them. John recognized him from high school, but his name escaped him.
Then his boss yelled, "Your brother will be knee-deep in whatever caused you to hate your dad."
Peter might be. John didn't trust him, but he wasn't the one who killed Vicki. At worst, he'd covered up for their dad. Now wasn't the time. He broke the visual connection with Alice. "Now, I don't know that. So how would you?"
"It's obvious."
His boss's words were the final straw. "No. I wish it was." John's muscles tightened in readiness as he turned away from the glass, patting his concealed weapon. "I'm resigning."
His boss didn't try to hide the derision in his voice. "It took twenty-four hours for the money to call you back in."
He held his head high. John's memory flashed to Alice's blue eyes that shone brighter than the sun. Then his shoulders tightened. "Whatever. I'm through with the FBI."
"Rich kids like you should never have been allowed in my office anyhow."
The ringing sensation in his ears along with the fluttering of relief in his chest told him he'd done the right thing. He kept his feelings about his boss to himself. He had nothing in Atlanta or anywhere that was in his small apartment. He had no reason to return. "I'll come in to drop things off when I'm done here."
"Don't bother. I'll send an agent."
A weight lifted off his shoulders. He widened his stance. "Great. Makes my life easier."
John ended the call. In one conversation, he'd changed. He texted the Morgan cleaning service to open his house for him and settle in there. Turning back to the entryway, John saw Alice through the rectangular glass smiling at whatever the man said. John opened the funeral home doors and strolled into the cold air conditioning. The chill made life possible in the subtropics. John chuckled to himself. His father was like the humid air, a blanket of smothering, oppressive heat that had suffocated his life.
Without that weight, John was a different person.
People stared at him, a member of the House of Morgan, but he didn't care.
Alice left the man she'd been talking with and stood next to him. "Are you okay, John?"
He stopped laughing. She must think him crazy. Her flawless skin glowed against her smooth brown hair, angled at her chin. No one ever seemed so sweet. "Yeah. Alice, we have to talk later, if that's okay."
Her lips pressed together. "We'll see."
That sounded like he was dismissed, but she was too polite to say so. John stared at the other guy who waited for her as he held two glasses of wine.
Emptiness filled him as Alice went back to her friend.
John's back straightened as Peter approached. Perhaps his boss at the FBI was easier to talk to than his brown-eyed, too-serious brother. Peter stopped in front of him. "John."
This was a conversation he wanted to avoid, but knew he couldn't. He hesitated as heaviness settled in his stomach. "Peter."
His brother hesitated too, his gaze going to Jennifer who took a step toward them, but Peter shook his head. Then he swallowed and asked, "Can we go somewhere to talk for a minute?"
They had nothing good to say to each other. They never had, but Peter approached a side room and John followed. Peter standing next to Mitch at every "family" meeting replayed in his memory. His brother, the model son, rarely said anything. John closed the door behind them in a small room with no windows.
This was too much. John ran his hand through his hair and sat in the chair across from his brother. "Am I here for this event so we can play perfect family?"
"No." Peter stared at him but said nothing else.
John swallowed as his heart raced. "Then why? Because Dad wanted me for this?"
"I wanted you here. The will reading is in a few days."
"How exciting for you." John pursed his lips. Everyone knew Peter would inherit the company. He'd get whatever second sons get, and nothing else. John fidgeted with the keys in his pocket as he wondered if he took a position in Dad's companies, then he might prove their father wrong about him.
"This was never what I wanted," Peter said.
Yes it was. Peter had earned every penny of his inheritance.
Part of John wanted to shout that he'd start his own business, but then he realized that Peter wasn't their dad. He owed him no explanations. John held back his thoughts and fiddled with the top button of his shirt. "Are you sure you care one way or the other? We don't have to play happy home life. I know I don't want to."
Peter rolled his shoulders, his eyes wide. "So we continue to be rude? It's not like we know each other."
Someone knocked at the door. John loosened his tie. The room was suffocating. Peter stood up and walked across the room. Jennifer whispered, "The President has arrived and you need to greet him."
Peter nodded, but then he silently dismissed his girlfriend. John wondered if he'd be dismissed like that once whatever Peter wanted was done. Peter closed the door. Without a word, he sat back down.
John leaned forward. "That's absolutely true. We don't know anything about each other."
"You went to work for the FBI."
John inhaled. Despite how he was in college and Peter was away in grad school, their father confided and trusted only in Peter. He was the heir and Peter kept their father's secrets. John assumed their father told him about John's FBI career, but then again perhaps they only noticed him because of the multiple arrests he'd made of Mitch's colleagues. Peter sat back in his chair as John nodded. "I did. I wanted to arrest Dad. Should I have gone after you?"
"I didn't kill Victoria. I miss our sister as much as you."
John winced. Score one for Peter. Then he reclaimed his righteousness. "Why bring her up now?"
"She's why you joined the FBI."
There was no reason to deny anything. John said, "True. She was the only one who treated me as family."
His brother shifted his weight as he averted his gaze. "I never knew how to ... we never spoke the same language."
John redid his tie. In a moment they'd go back out. "No, you were always off with Dad."
"I did whatever he wanted, but I wasn't allowed to do most of what you did."
He re-crossed his legs. No one would feel sorry for Peter. John simply said, "I guess we all have our issues."
"I'm worried Father left things to you."
Like what? At least this was the truth and the real reason Peter wanted him here. John's shoulders tensed. Was Peter concerned that there was an off-chance he wasn't the crown prince? John stood up. "Whatever it is, I'm sure I don't want it."