Tortugas Rising by Benjamin Wallace

throughout the world, he was surprised to discover that his old friend was aware of them. He had never spoken of the young man; he had never reached out to the boy.
    Thomas was quite sure the boy would be as shocked to find out that he had a father in Canada, as he was to find out that he was now in the upper ranks of the Forbes list.
    For this, Thomas resented Steve. That the son who never knew the father should take on the rewards of an empire built by a great man was unjust. But he had no choice – it was his client and dear friend’s final wish.
    The search was easy enough. He knew the boy’s name and the mother’s name. The circumstances, however, were left out of the final instructions. It merely stated that Steven Bennett would inherit Delacroix Industries and Henri Delacroix’s personal fortune.
    Shock was mild in comparison to the boy’s reaction. Campbell contacted him in person. He wanted to be there to see the look on the brat’s face when he heard the news.
    Everything he had learned about the boy was in line with his imagination. Not an exceptional student. Honors classes with a consistent C average, a college education, and then several jobs that led to no distinct career path. This boy had been given everything and applied himself to nothing. To cement Campbell’s hatred, he wanted to see the smirk on the lad’s face and verify Steven Bennett’s pettiness.
    The apartment complex was in a northern suburb of the city and held no distinction from the other ten he passed on the drive in. He huffed with each step as he climbed the flight of stairs and rapped firmly on the door. He heard fumbling inside the apartment for several moments before the door opened. The boy was just as he had pictured him: a smug look on his face, arrogant, and lazy; he leaned on the doorframe and looked Thomas Campbell up and down.
    “I didn’t do it.”
    “What?”
    “Huh?”
    “Mr. Bennett, I am Thomas Campbell, the executor of your father’s estate. I regret to inform you that your father, Henri Reneé Delacroix, has passed on.”
    “Reneé?”
    “I can see you’re obviously shaken by the news, but we do have some business to attend to. Your father left his entire estate to you.” He spoke more quickly than he would have to anyone else. His normal approach would have been consolation, compassion, possibly a hand on the shoulder and then, days later, the settling of the will. But he wanted to see, to prove to himself, that this boy was unworthy of the Delacroix legacy.
    “How much?”
    Americans, thought Campbell, “Your father was a billionaire.”
    “Are you serious?” A grin betraying his greed grew across the youth’s mouth. He gasped and Campbell incorrectly detected bourbon on his breath. It was whiskey. “Wow! That’s incredible.”
    Under his breath, and well under the screaming, Thomas said, “Brat.”
    Then aloud, “Your father was a great man. I’m sorry for your loss. But, we do have much to discuss.”
    A voice from the back of the apartment sounded a question, “Who is it?”
    The grinning youth shouted back, “Some guy that says ‘about’ funny. He’s says your dad is dead and you’re filthy rich.”
    Steve Bennett came to the door.
    “We’re rich. Well, you’re rich. But you can hire me for something or other. I don’t work cheap.” Paul headed back into the apartment.
    The look on Steve’s face was framed by ashen skin. His mouth was not quite closed, yet not quite open. His eyes didn’t seem to respond to the sunlight as he stepped into the doorframe.
    Thomas Campbell’s pedestal of pride crumbled and his shoulders sank as he saw the features of his dear client and dead friend in the young man before him. The calm blue eyes did more for Campbell in verifying the rightful heir than any number of blood tests ever would.
    He could see the boy was shaken and sincere. Steve spoke slowly and softly. “You knew my father?”
    Campbell hung his head. He had blamed the boy for not