The Angels' Share (The Bourbon Kings #2) - J. R. Ward Page 0,58

and clapped the Master Distiller on the shoulder. “I have enjoyed both you and your dad’s bourbon forever.”

Mack said a bunch of right things. And then there was a pause.

“So,” Lenghe jogged his Independence Day shorts a little higher—“about half an hour ago I got a call from your board chair, son. You want to talk about this in private?”

“Yeah, I really do. I need this all to be kept confidential.”

“Understood, and consider this in the vault. But I don’t have long. Gotta be home for dinner in Kansas, and I’ve got two stops to make before I get there. Let’s use my little paper airplane as a conference room?”

“Sounds good to me, sir.”

The inside of Lenghe’s jet wasn’t at all like what the BBC’s planes looked like. Instead of cream leather and burl ash, the Grain God had personalized his to be cozy and welcoming, from the handmade braided blankets to the University of Kansas throw pillows. Buckets of popcorn, not caviar, had been put out, and there were soft drinks instead of anything alcoholic. No stewardess. And if there had been one, she no doubt would have been his wife, not any kind of pneumatic bimbo.

When Lenghe offered them Cokes, he was clearly prepared to serve them himself.

“We’re good, thanks,” Lane said as he took a seat at a small conference table.

Mack sat next to him and Lenghe took the seat across the way, linking his thick-fingered hands and leaning in, his pale blue eyes shrewd in his tanned face.

“I hear senior management is not happy with you,” Lenghe said.

“No, they’re not.”

“Your board chair told me you locked ’em all out of their offices and shut the corporate server down.”

“I did.”

“Any reason why?”

“Not anything I’m proud of, I’m afraid. I’m trying to get to the bottom of everything now, but I have reason to believe someone’s been stealing from the company. And I’m worried some or all of those suits are in on it. I don’t know enough to say anything more than that, however.”

Liar, liar, Loudmouth Golf on fire.

“So you haven’t talked to your board chair?”

“Before I have the full story? No. Besides, I don’t owe him any explanation.”

“Well, son, I think he’s got a different opinion on that.”

“I’ll see him as soon as I’m ready to. When you have evidence of theft, on the scale I’m talking about, you can’t trust anyone.”

Lenghe pulled over a bucket of popcorn. “I’m addicted to this stuff, you know. But it’s better than cigarettes.”

“And a number of other things.”

“You know, you’re dancing around the issue pretty good, son, so I’m just going to come out and say it. Have you finally found out about your father’s mines?”

Lane sat forward in his seat. “I’m sorry … what?”

“I told William to cut the shit with those diamond mines in Africa. Dumbest idea on the planet. Do you know, I went there with the wife last year—I’ll bet your dad didn’t tell you that I checked them out, did he? No? They’re not even holes in the ground. Either he got swindled or—well, the other option doesn’t bear thinking about.”

“Diamond mines?”

“And that isn’t all of it. WWB Holdings had a lot of different businesses under its umbrella. He said there were oil wells in Texas, and of course, now you can’t give crude away. A railway or two. Restaurants in Palm Beach, Naples, and Del Ray. And then some tech start-up that I don’t think ever went anywhere. Something about an app? I don’t get why the hell people waste their time with that shit—pardon my French. There were also a couple of hotels in Singapore and Hong Kong, a fashion house in New York City. I think he even invested in a motion picture or two.”

Lane was very aware of having to keep his voice level. “How did you hear about all this?”

“When you’ve got eighteen holes to get through on a golf course, things come up. I always told him, stick to the core business. All these bright ideas can be tempting, but more than likely, they’re just black holes, especially when you don’t know the given industry. I’m a farmer, plain and simple. I know the ins and outs of the seasons, the land, the crops and a single kind of cow. I think your father … well, I don’t want to disparage the dead.”

“Rip his memory to shreds, I don’t care. I’ve got to know, and anything you can tell me will help.”

Lenghe was silent for a time. “He

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