end of the room and sat alone, ignoring him even though they were the only customers.
Just over a year before, James’s wife, Elizabeth had left him for a wealthy hedge-fund broker in New York and, since then, he’d dedicated himself to his work, unwilling to expose himself to emotional pain again.
This was the main reason he took the job in Congo, and he’d kept pretty much to himself since his arrival. Some probably thought him anti-social but the need for female company and late-night parties was low in his priorities.
He was partly to blame for the divorce, spending too much time at work in places as far afield as New Zealand and Chile but still couldn’t completely forgive her for the callous way she’d terminated the relationship. Her announcement came as a total shock, and her marriage to the broker only two weeks after the divorce made him re-think the merits of female company.
When he’d married her he wasn’t aware of her preoccupation with wealth and in retrospect often wondered why she married him at all. It soon became apparent that he was unable to maintain her standard of living without working excessively long hours, so the relationship was doomed.
The irony of the events which followed the divorce gave James a bittersweet feeling of revenge.
Two months after it was all finalized he was sitting in his apartment gazing at the miserable weather streaming down the window and looking forward to the Congo assignment. His application for the post had been successful and he was due to leave in five weeks.
A knock on the door jolted him back to reality. A well-dressed man with an Australian accent stood outside. “Mr. James Kent?” he enquired.
The huge briefcase made James suspect he was an insurance salesmen, or peddling some unconventional religion. “Yes?”
The man stepped forward, hand outstretched. “My name is Edwin Smythe. I am an executor of estates,” he spoke somewhat aloofly. “I am here to notify you of the contents of a last will and testimony. Before I can proceed and, with no offence intended, I must ask that you provide photo identification.”
James still thought it could be a scam but decided to play along and produced his passport. “OK?” he enquired.
After scrutinizing the documents closely, Mr. Smythe returned them smiling. “Well, all seems to be in order. I’m sorry to be so thorough but I’m sure once you’ve heard what I have to say, you’ll understand.”
He looked past James into the living room. “Anyway, let’s get down to business. Is there somewhere we can sit?”
James led him to the dining table, his curiosity aroused. Both his parents were dead and since he had no other close relatives, he wondered who would leave him anything.
“First I must offer my condolences on the death of your uncle, Agnew Kent. He passed away in Sydney six weeks ago. We had tremendous difficulty tracing you but, considering the size of the estate and the business considerations involved, we left no stone unturned.”
Although James knew he had a wealthy uncle who lived in Australia, he’d never met him. His parents mentioned him once or twice but James always suspected they exaggerated his wealth.
“As you know, your uncle was a very rich man and, as you are the sole living relative, you inherit the full estate. Although you probably weren’t aware, he always took a keen interest in his few relatives, and closely followed their lives from a distance.”
“How much was he worth?” James enquired, intrigued but still not totally convinced that this wasn’t some practical joke, possibly even a media prank.
“It’s difficult to give an accurate figure at this time but our conservative estimates indicate the value of mining, the sheep ranch and wool-production at roughly six hundred million Australian dollars."
James was stunned, but before he could say anything Mr. Smythe continued. “Then there are the publishing and media interests, and real estate in Sydney and Melbourne; a further four hundred and eighty million dollars.”
James sat back, trying to digest the impact of the news and how it would affect his life. He suddenly smiled to himself as he realized Elizabeth would have a fit if she knew; he might even send her a gift.
After Mr. Smythe had explained the details of the will, which was remarkably simple considering the enormous figures involved, he summed up the situation.
“Basically, you have three options. Take up the reigns of the empire and involve yourself in the business, appoint an expert to manage your interests in some or all the ventures and allow someone else to take day-to-day control, or liquidate your equity.”
James knew nothing of corporate finance and was reluctant to start learning about it now. He’d always believed he wasn’t cut out for office work or the accompanying responsibility. He was also very keen to get far away from New York and his ex-wife. The Congo post was ideal, a place to get fit and healthy and to take stock of his life in a leisurely fashion.
“The third option would be my preference; can you recommend someone to handle the process?”
Mr. Smythe spoke sincerely, “I should caution you to consider your options carefully. Possibly think on them overnight and I will answer any questions and give advice in the morning. I am only leaving tomorrow night so there is no rush.”
“No, I’ve made up my mind,” James interrupted, overwhelmed by the prospect of being a multi-millionaire.
“OK. If you’re absolutely sure about this I can start the paperwork. You won’t be committed for a few weeks; in case you change your mind.”
He took a large, leather-bound dossier from his briefcase and handed it to James. “Here is the full list of business interests. I suggest you retain our services on a consulting and management basis for the process. We have handled Mr. Kent’s affairs for more than twenty years and are very familiar with the whole portfolio.”
He continued, taking his lead from James’s approving nods. “We also need to appoint a local investment-advisor to facilitate the placement and investment of capital as it frees up. We have used the Manhattan firm Bentley, Bentley & Walton successfully in the past, so I can recommend them.”
Another smile crossed James’s face. Elizabeth’s new husband, Bruce Atkins, was a junior partner in Bentley, Bentley & Walton. James wasn’t vindictive by nature but he derived some pleasure in the knowledge that sooner or later Elizabeth would hear of his good fortune. Elizabeth’s ‘rich’ husband had but a tiny fraction of his newfound wealth.
By the time James left for the Congo, Bentley Bentley & Walton had invested nearly seven hundred million US dollars in fixed income securities. They estimated the full process could take up to a year.
He visited their offices before leaving and happened to pass Bruce in the foyer. Bruce was very polite and keen to be of assistance, already fully aware of the substantial fees to be earned from managing such a large portfolio. James thanked him for his offer but a senior partner, Jack Bentley, was already handling his affairs.
James hadn’t taken particular interest in the opposite sex for months and found something about the new girl unsettling. He was aware for the first time that his self-imposed celibacy would be difficult to maintain indefinitely. She looked lonely and a little sad and, knowing the anxiety everyone experienced on arrival at Orion, he was tempted to speak to her.
She seemed totally disinterested in anything in the room, gazing nonchalantly at the distant mountains above the jungle. He couldn’t help admiring her soft profile against the magnificent backdrop, long lashes and intelligent forehead clearly visible from where he sat.
He also noticed only she ate fruit, avoiding the mouth-watering aroma of bacon and scrambled egg. He decided to make conversation at the earliest opportunity, possibly introduce her to the gym staff. The gym was always good for the ‘blues’.
Trying not to stumble over a chair or stare at her, he left the