The Return Of Adams Cade. Bj James
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faded stare locked with the unwavering silver-brown regard. Remembering another daring young lion challenging the old guard long ago, he almost smiled. “For that reason, we’ve come offering a different opportunity.”
After a moment spent inspecting a wall hung with a mélange of superb paintings and yellowing photos, Jacob Helms continued, “We propose a meeting of the minds, an alliance, so to speak.” A brow arched, Helms’ head cocked in Adams Cade’s direction. “The first time you’ve heard that, I wager.”
Adams’ expression was noncommittal. “Why?”
The question brought Jacob Helms up short. Peering over gold-rimmed glasses, he asked haughtily, “Why haven’t you heard this proposal before?”
“No, sir, why am I hearing it now?” With a look at the men who waited to witness their leader’s prowess, he added, “Why with the board of Helms, Helms, and Helms in tow?”
Helms paced, then turned with the grace of a ballet master giving his best performance for a new disciple. “Why, indeed.”
Adams leaned back in his seat, an audience of one, waiting for the curtain to lift over the real show. “Indeed.”
“The answer is simple. Because we can offer the perfect deal. An alliance with a company offering services and products that mesh with your own.” Hesitating, the venerable blue blood looked about him. “And because we’ve come offering millions.”
A sweeping gesture indicated the small, uniquely efficient operation of Cade Enterprises, visible beyond a wall of windows. “Tens of millions.”
“Why?” Adams’ expression didn’t change. “For what?”
“For whom.” Helms corrected, his voice theatrical, as he moved in for the coup. “For John Quincy Adams Cade, eldest son of Caesar Augustus Cade. Scion of an elite family of South Carolina’s low country. For you, Adams Cade, and your expertise.”
“Until you pick my brain, then toss the shell of the elite Adams Cade aside.” The master inventor, Southern gentleman, family exile and ex-con almost smiled then, as well.
To the rustle of the board’s horrified mutterings, Jacob Helms spoke with the thunder of an itinerant evangelist. “Never. That’s the beauty of an alliance. Safety.”
“So—” Adams folded his hands over his rigid stomach, thumbs tapping a slow tattoo “—what’s in it for me besides money?”
“What more would you want?” Jacob Helms and his chorus of yes-men were stymied. “I don’t understand.”
“No,” Adams said softly. “I can see that you don’t.”
“But would you consider our offer?”
Adams’ answer was slow in coming. As he sifted through information garnered over the years on Helms, Helms, and Helms. Which comprised a reputable consortium, taking values to a higher level. An enterprise of honor, guided by men of honor. “Yes.”
The response was barely a whisper. In his surprise, Jacob Helms almost dislodged his gold wire rims. “You did say yes?”
Adams nodded. “Yes, sir, I will consider your offer.”
Jacob Helms was accustomed to fighting on his own turf. In this, a battle he wasn’t sure he would win, he had brought his distinguished board of directors as a show of force. Now the battle seemed to have been won in the first skirmish. Chastising himself for boosting millions to tens of millions, he moved quickly for closure. “Would you shake on that, young man?”
“Would you take the word of an ex-con?” Adams countered.
“I would take the word of Adams Cade no matter that he has been in prison.” Bemused, the elderly man reversed, reiterated, “No, I would take the word of Adams Cade because he has survived five years in prison and emerged a better man.”
“In that case, contingent on the agreement of my staff and certain others…” The telephone at Adams’ elbow rang. He almost ignored the insistent summons, but ended in lifting the receiver from its cradle. “Yes, Janet?” A frown pulled at his face, marring the controlled expression. “Jefferson!”
Brown eyes that seemed to lose their touch of silver grew ever more lightless. “Put him through.”
The room was quiet, all eyes riveted on Adams Cade, whose heart saw beloved faces present only in yellowing photos. “Jefferson?” Adams neither moved nor spoke again for a long-held breath. Then, softly, he murmured, “Jeffie?”
The childhood name tumbled from a man carrying the pain and hurt of years. “How are you? Lincoln? Jackson?” In a faltering stumble his voice dropped lower. “How is he? How is… Gus?”
The once pleasant and amiable expression contorted in sorrow. The handsome face turned ashen. As still as death, Adams listened. His body jerked, recoiling from the news. Then he straightened. “I’ll be there.”
With the receiver halfway to its cradle, he brought it back to his ear. “Jeffie?” Adams hesitated. Then, dreading the answer to the question he must ask, he closed his eyes, shutting his immediate world away. “Did he ask for me?”
Silence swarmed in the room, broken only by the scrape of a shoe. No one moved again. They were strangers, caught in a cruel vacuum until Adams sighed, his chest shuddering. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “I didn’t expect he would.
“Don’t! Don’t be sorry. No matter what your conscience would have you believe, none of this is your fault.” Sighing again roughly, in a voice grown deeper and huskier, he repeated, “I’ll still be there, as soon as the plane is ready.”
Adams listened again, oblivious of his captive audience. “Not there.” His words resounded in irrevocable decision. “I’ll come to Belle Terre. Not…” The word home hovered on his tongue, then was lost. “Not to the plantation…not to Belle Reve.”
The men of Helms listened avidly. Adams didn’t care. “From the city limits of Belle Terre to Belle Reve is less than five miles. Hardly a taxing distance.
“Where will I stay?” Adams shook his head, pondering. “I’ve been away so long I don’t know any places. Make some suggestions— I’ll have Janet do the rest.” Taking up a pen, on a notepad lying squarely in the center of his desk Adams scrawled the sources of lodging in the quaint city. “These should do it. Janet can gather information, then choose for me.”
Laying the pen aside, Adams slipped back a cuff to check the time. “Just a matter of hours, Jeffie. Hang tough.”
As the receiver rattled into place, Adams Cade stood, only then recalling his visitors. “Gentlemen, I’m afraid we must continue this conference another time. My father is ill. I will be leaving Atlanta immediately.”
“You can’t go,” Jacob Helms snapped with an edge of steel. This was the voice of command, meant to send minions scurrying to do his bidding.
Adams Cade had never been a minion. Anyone in his right mind would doubt he knew how to scurry. “You’re mistaken, sir. I can leave. I am leaving.”
“We had a deal.”
“No, sir,” Adams corrected the proper gentleman. “We were on the verge of making a deal with a contingency.”
A flush across his cheeks signaled Helms’ anger at the upstart’s contradiction. As he looked to his board and back again to Adams, he barely managed to quell his ire at being defied, even so genteelly. “We’d spoken our agreement.”
“We’d spoken of agreeing to agree, if all elements fell into place. For now, they can’t.” Adams rested his curled hands on the walnut plane of his pristine work space. “This meeting was your idea, the conditions your choice. Listening to and accepting or not accepting your proposal was mine.”
“Was?” Jacob Helms, for all his arrogance, had not built his business empire