This was another reason to change. His new boss was a complete jerk. He started walking again, the parking lot at his back. "I'm at my father's wake."
His hands itched and he noticed a dark smudge of residue from handling his gun on his thumb and fingers. He wiped it clean on the hem of his suit coat while his other hand held his phone to his ear as Smith said, "We need you back here, now."
Goosebumps grew on his arms. John's gut told him to check everything and everyone out, but he let it go. He leaned against the funeral parlor door, intending to go back in as soon as he ended the call. He'd told Alice about the million-dollar offer from his dad, which had been his reason to avoid business.
His foot tapped against the door. He'd realized then that his father would control him through money, just like he did Peter. Mitch Morgan expected nothing from him, which had always suited him fine.
Now that Mitch was dead, perhaps he could prove that he understood accounting better than anyone expected. He transformed his millions into one and a half billion dollars from investing without truly caring if he lost it all. He never lost, though. The idea lightning-rodded in his mind that he could now prove he fit his last name. His fingers itched to begin something new. "I told you I was taking a two-week break. I have enough earned leave."
"Bereavement is meant for those who actually cared about their family." Smith sounded spiteful.
Alice, who he saw through the door was still talking to the same man, was the opposite. Years ago, she'd grieved with him over Vicki. The late afternoon heat on his back pushed him to go inside. He swallowed.
Special Agent Smith was unnecessary. The man had been rude the moment he'd been assigned to the Georgia office. "You have no idea what I'm feeling."
Alice noticed him from behind the glass window. The guy she stood with stared back and forth between them. John recognized him from high school, but his name escaped him.
Then his boss yelled, "Your brother will be knee-deep in whatever caused you to hate your dad."
Peter might be. John didn't trust him, but he wasn't the one who killed Vicki. At worst, he'd covered up for their dad. Now wasn't the time. He broke the visual connection with Alice. "Now, I don't know that. So how would you?"
"It's obvious."
His boss's words were the final straw. "No. I wish it was." John's muscles tightened in readiness as he turned away from the glass, patting his concealed weapon. "I'm resigning."
His boss didn't try to hide the derision in his voice. "It took twenty-four hours for the money to call you back in."
He held his head high. John's memory flashed to Alice's blue eyes that shone brighter than the sun. Then his shoulders tightened. "Whatever. I'm through with the FBI."
"Rich kids like you should never have been allowed inmyoffice anyhow."
The ringing sensation in his ears along with the fluttering of relief in his chest told him he'd done the right thing. He kept his feelings about his boss to himself. He had nothing in Atlanta or anywhere that was in his small apartment. He had no reason to return. "I'll come in to drop things off when I'm done here."
"Don't bother. I'll send an agent."
A weight lifted off his shoulders. He widened his stance. "Great. Makes my life easier."
John ended the call. In one conversation, he'd changed. He texted the Morgan cleaning service to open his house for him and settle in there. Turning back to the entryway, John saw Alice through the rectangular glass smiling at whatever the man said. John opened the funeral home doors and strolled into the cold air conditioning. The chill made life possible in the subtropics. John chuckled to himself. His father was like the humid air, a blanket of smothering, oppressive heat that had suffocated his life.
Without that weight, John was a different person.
People stared at him, a member of the House of Morgan, but he didn't care.
Alice left the man she'd been talking with and stood next to him. "Are you okay, John?"
He stopped laughing. She must think him crazy. Her flawless skin glowed against her smooth brown hair, angled at her chin. No one ever seemed so sweet. "Yeah. Alice, we have to talk later, if that's okay."
Her lips pressed together. "We'll see."
That sounded like he was dismissed, but she was too polite to say so. John stared at the other guy who waited for her as he held two glasses of wine.
Emptiness filled him as Alice went back to her friend.
John's back straightened as Peter approached. Perhaps his boss at the FBI was easier to talk to than his brown-eyed, too-serious brother. Peter stopped in front of him. "John."
This was a conversation he wanted to avoid, but knew he couldn't. He hesitated as heaviness settled in his stomach. "Peter."
His brother hesitated too, his gaze going to Jennifer who took a step toward them, but Peter shook his head. Then he swallowed and asked, "Can we go somewhere to talk for a minute?"
