Crown Jewel Read Free

he’d felt when he’d laid eyes on his sons for the first time. They’d been three then, little blond-haired boys all dressed up and hating every minute of it. They’d looked at him suspiciously and hung on to their mothers’ skirts. He’d just stared at them, committing their faces to memory. It was all he could do.
    The boys, born three months apart, were twenty-three now and had never met each other. In fact, neither of them knew he had a half brother. Tyler had lived with his maternal grandparents until he’d left for college because his mother was off singing with a country western band. Max had also lived with his grandparents after his mother married a real estate developer because he didn’t get along with her husband. Both boys had finished college and were working. He’d been tempted to call them, invite them to Hollywood, but Philly had made him swear not to seek them out, saying he should let sleeping dogs lie. “And don’t try to do it on the sly, either, Ricky, because you’ll be recognized, and I’m not pulling any more of your chestnuts out of the fire.” That had been the end of that, which didn’t say much for him as a father. It was always Philly’s way or the highway.
    He wondered what his sons would think of him as a person if they knew he was their father. Anonymously, he’d bought the boys their first cars, paid for their college educations and all medical and dental bills. They had both gone to exclusive summer camps and attended the best private schools in their areas. At least that’s what Philly told him. Most of what Philly had told him about Tyler was a lie, according to the private detective he’d hired to report on his sons. A report he’d never showed Philly. Tyler had been booted out of the prestigious summer camps, usually three days after arrival. Incorrigible, the counselors said. He’d been suspended eight times while in high school and how he’d graduated was still a mystery. What was even more of a mystery was how he’d gotten into college and managed to graduate in the lowest percentile in the class. But he had graduated. Add up all the arrest charges for speeding while under the influence, loss of driving privileges, and his bad-ass attitude, car wrecks, drug experimentation, and he could have posed for a portrait of his father in his early twenties. A chip off the old block.
    Max, on the other hand, could have posed as the poster boy for good behavior.
    Ricky stared down at the two golden-haired boys. Three years old. That was how long it had taken to settle everything. His second demand before he’d signed off on the deal was a picture of each boy before he walked away from the six-hundred-dollar-an-hour lawyer’s office. The pictures arrived two weeks later in the mail. He set both pictures back on the mantel.
    Right now, Ricky thought his life really sucked. The phone still hadn’t rung. “Screw it!” he said as he stomped his way back to the master suite of rooms where he hid out most of the time. Big Hollywood star a homebody. It was so damn funny he wanted to cry.
    Ricky looked down at the phone he knew resembled something in the White House War Room. It was hooked up to the alarm system, the security gates, the intercom, and the doorbell. It had nineteen buttons he could press if he felt like it. He still didn’t know how to work the damn thing. The doorbell was the funniest thing of all. No one could access his property without going past the part-time security guard, who had to open the security gates. How was someone supposed to ring his doorbell if they couldn’t get to the door?
    The phone rang. Ricky sucked in his breath before he picked it up. His greeting sounded cautious. It paid to be cautious with Philly. “Hello.”
    It was Ted Lymen, his stuntman. “Yo, Ricky, just calling to ask if you changed your mind about going to the wrap party.