Blood Brothers by Rick Acker Page A

evenly.
    “At least Dad has a good lawyer,” said Tom.
    Markus stirred. “What’s that?”
    “Dad’s hired a good lawyer, so at least he’s not dealing with the lawsuit all alone.”
    “Yeah, but he needs more than good lawyers,” replied Markus.
    “What do you mean?”
    “The real problem isn’t that Dad and Uncle Karl are fighting. The real problem is that both of them care more about that company than anything else in their lives. That’s not healthy.”
    “So says your shrink?”
    “Yeah, and so say I. You think it’s not true?”
    “I don’t know,” said Tom. “Dad put a lot of time and effort into the company. He should be proud of it, and it should be important to him.”
    “He’s not just proud of it,” replied Markus. “He’s addicted to it.”

    Night had fully fallen in Hinsdale. A cool breeze blew through an open window at the Bjornsen home, carrying in the sound of a few early crickets and the high squeak of bats hunting mosquitoes and moths. Anne sat in the family room, listening to the night sounds and reading. Gunnar finally emerged from his den. “Markus was talking to you,” she said.
    Gunnar stopped suddenly and jerked his head around. “What? Oh, I didn’t see you there.”
    “Your son was talking to you when you got up from the table.”
    “Was he? I didn’t notice.”
    “ He did. And so did I. It hurts him when you ignore him like that.”
    Gunnar sat down heavily. The armchair he chose was sturdily built, but it nonetheless creaked under his bulk. “If he wants me to notice him, he should do something worth noticing. He’s my firstborn, but he spent the last twenty-five years rejecting everything I’ve ever given him. Except my money. He’s not like his brother.”
    “Do brothers have to be alike?”
    Gunnar smiled ruefully. “I suppose they don’t.” He paused and stared into the middle distance. “We used to go fishing every Saturday.” He smiled again. “No matter how late we had been up on Friday night, we would get up early and be out on the water by six, when the fishing is best. We’d take bread and cheese wrapped in wax paper and a big canteen of lemonade. We would freeze the canteen the night before and drink the lemonade as it melted. Those were good days.”
    Anne gave her husband a quizzical look. “I don’t remember you ever taking Markus fishing.”
    “Maybe I should have. No, I was talking about Karl and me. We were never all that much alike, but we were close.” He paused. “We were close once.”

    It was Monday morning at Bjornsen Pharmaceuticals, which meant Karl Bjornsen was in meetings. He had found that meetings tended to make him unproductive both before and after they occurred, so whenever possible he scheduled them one right after the other and put them all on Monday mornings, which was his least-productive time of the week anyway. “There’s a Mr. Geist here for you,” announced Karl’s receptionist.
    “Thanks, Michele. Bring him in.” Thirty seconds later, she appeared with a man of medium height, bland face, and carefully unremarkable clothes. He was somewhere between forty and sixty, but his age was difficult to pinpoint. He was rarely given a second look, if he was noticed at all. But Karl could see that he was extremely physically fit and had hard, perceptive eyes that missed nothing. “Hello, Alex. All right, Michele. Please close the door on your way out.”
    “Good morning, Mr. Bjornsen.” They shook hands and Karl motioned Geist over to his guest table.
    “That was quick,” Karl said as they sat down. “So, what did you find? What can you tell me about Ben Corbin?”
    Geist reached into his briefcase and produced a one-inch-thick Velo-bound report titled Full Background: Benjamin S. Corbin . It had tabs marked “Executive Summary,” “Personal,” “Professional,” “Assets,” “Criminal/Regulatory,” and “Other.” He handed it to Karl. “There aren’t a lot of pressure points. Corbin has no