Mistress-of-the-Game - By Tilly Bagshawe Sidney Sheldon Page 0,25

Neuman's opinion anyway, into a thoroughly spoiled, thuggish young man. At nineteen, Robert Templeton already had a juvenile police record for theft and drug-related offenses. Theft! What on earth could the heir to Kruger-Brent possibly need to steal?

Lionel Neuman had been around long enough to know that wealth on the Blackwells' scale, obscene wealth, was often more of a curse than a blessing. Robbie Templeton showed every sign of going the same way as poor Christina Onassis, lost to drugs, booze and depression. He reminded Lionel of Shakespeare's Hamlet. Denmark's prince suffered "the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune." Robert Templeton's fortune was certainly outrageous. Come to think of it, Kruger-Brent's market cap was probably higher than the entire GDP of Denmark. As for the "slings and arrows," young Robert brought those upon himself.

Lionel Neuman blamed the boy's father. Ever since that unfortunate incident with the gun, Peter Templeton seemed to have abnegated his paternal responsibilities entirely. He was too guilt-ridden to discipline his own children.

A stint in the army, that was what Robert needed.

Nothing like a taste of war to whip a young hoodlum like him into shape.

"As chairman and a life member of the Kruger-Brent board, your father has a right to be informed of decisions that may materially affect the company."

"But he can't stop me from signing away my inheritance. He can rant and rave about it if it makes him feel better. But there's nothing he can actually do. Is there?"

Lionel Neuman shook his head. So much anger. And arrogance. The arrogance of youth.

"Ultimately, Robert, you are correct. The decision rests with you. However, as your family's attorney for more than four decades, it is my duty to inform you..."

Robbie wasn't listening.

Save it for someone who cares, Grandpa. I don't want Kruger-Brent. I never did. And I don't care about the goddamn family. Apart from Lexi, not one of them is worth a damn.

He'd come to a decision last night. Admittedly he'd been looped at the time, lost in a heroin and tequila haze while playing the filthy, dilapidated piano at Tommy's, a gay bar in Brooklyn.

Some older guy who'd been coming on to him all evening yelled out: "You know what, kid? You could do that shit for a living."

It was a throwaway remark. But it hit Robbie like a bullet between the eyes.

I could do this for a living. I could run away. Away from Dad, away from Kruger-Brent, away from my demons. Change my name. Play piano in some anonymous bar somewhere. Find out who I really am.

Robbie Templeton wasn't interested in Old Man Neuman's concerns and warnings and quid pro quos. He wanted out.

"Here." He grabbed a piece of paper from Lionel Neuman's blotter. Using the lawyer's pen, he scrawled two lines that were to change his life forever.

I, Robert Peter Templeton, hereby renounce all claims, entitlement and inheritance left to me by my great-grandmother, Kate Blackwell, including all rights and shareholdings in Kruger-Brent, Ltd. I transfer those claims in their entirety to my sister, Alexandra Templeton.

"It's signed and dated. And you just witnessed it."

Handing the paper to the alarmed attorney, Robbie stood up to leave. Lionel Neuman was struck again by how unusually good-looking the boy was. Truly a gilded youth. But the telltale signs of substance abuse were already beginning to show. Bloodshot eyes, sunken cheeks, bouts of uncontrolled shivering.

How long before he winds up on the street, another hopeless, helpless, faceless addict?

Six months. Tops.

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Neuman. I'll see myself out."
Chapter Seven

LEXI TEMPLETON WAS NOT LIKE OTHER LITTLE GIRLS.

When she was five years old, her father received a phone call at the office.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to come and pick Lexi up right away."

It was Mrs. Thackeray, the principal of Lexi's kindergarten. She sounded distressed.

"Has something happened? Is Lexi okay?"

"Your daughter is fine, Mr. Templeton. It's the other children I'm worried about."

When Peter arrived at the Little Cherubs Preschool, a tearful Lexi hurtled into his arms. "I didn't do anything, Daddy! It wasn't my fault."

Mrs. Thackeray pulled Peter to one side.

"I've had to send two children to the emergency room this morning. Your daughter attacked them with scissors. One little boy was lucky not to lose an eye."

"But that's ridiculous." Peter looked at Lexi. Clinging to his legs in a yellow cotton sundress with matching yellow ribbons in her hair, she looked the picture of innocence. "Why would she do a thing like that?"

"I have no idea. My staff assures me that the attack