lobby.”
Marcus dropped to his knees right there in the ballroom, burying his face in his hands, surrounded by the furious glares of his congregation.
Preston was sobbing now, reaching out to me. “Dad, please. It doesn’t matter whose blood I have! You raised me! I’m still your son!”
I looked at the man I had loved for decades. I remembered teaching him to shave. I remembered his graduation. And I remembered him tossing my lifeline into a drawer.
“A son protects his father,” I said, my voice echoing with finality. “He doesn’t sign his death warrant for a check.”
I turned back to the microphone, addressing the stunned, breathless crowd.
“I promised you a transfer of power tonight. And I always keep my promises.”
I reached into my breast pocket and pulled out a certified bank check. I held it up for the cameras in the back of the