Henry and Beverly Donovan had recently moved into a sprawling estate on seven acres of land in the Queensridge area of Las Vegas. To call it a home sometimes seemed an understatement with seven bedrooms, ten baths, four oversized garages, elevator, home spa, and basketball court. Not to mention the glorious views of the Strip and luxurious golf courses, it was more like a resort.
As Ben drove through the east-side gate he circled his BMW convertible around the stoned driveway and pulled into the garage behind a black Navigator he knew belonged to his brother. All the family should be here today, at least all of the Las Vegas Donovans.
Uncle Henry was the second oldest of the six Donovan brothers—whom the family affectionately called the Seniors—born to Dorethea and Isaiah Donovan. Together with Aunt Beverly, Uncle Henry had three children, Linc, Trent and Adam. Ben’s father was Everette. His mother was Alma and she was Ben’s favorite person.
The Seniors were born and raised in Texas where their grandfather and great-uncle started Donovan Oilwell, the seed to the family’s billion-dollar empire.
Three of the Seniors—Albert, Henry and Everette—remained in the family oil business, expanding the company and building their families. Henry and Everette in Vegas and Albert, the oldest Senior, in Texas. While the two youngest brothers, Bruce and Reginald used the Donovan name, their strong work ethics and good business acumen to branch out into the media industry and were based in Miami. Then there was Bernard who’d shifted his interests toward marketing and advertising and had his own firm in Seattle.
There were more cousins, his great-uncle’s family, who lived on the east coast as well, and some Donovans as far away as the UK. And even though their family was spread across the world they tried to get together for a reunion at least once a year on the private island they owned.
“I see you decided to join us this time,” Camille said, stepping out of her husband Adam’s SUV and smiling at Ben.
He quickly moved to her leaning in to kiss her offered cheek. “I’ve missed a few gatherings, I admit. Don’t shoot me.”
“Not me, but Ms. Beverly might.” She talked while opening the back door and reaching inside to undo the car seat where Josiah, their four-month-old son, sat.
Adam came around the truck, offering a hand for a shake. “You know we were about to come out to Agosta Luna to get you.”
Ben took Adam’s hand and then pulled his cousin in for a hug. He laughed at the threat to come out to the development where he lived, but Ben knew it was no joke. His cousins, with his brother leading the pack, would have done just that.
“No need. I’m here now,” he told him.
“He’s getting big,” Ben said when they all walked toward the house. He was looking down at the baby seat that Adam now carried. Josiah was the best of his parents, with Camille’s creamy mocha complexion and Adam’s deep brown eyes. When he lifted one chubby hand and swiped at one of the toys hanging from the handle of the seat, Ben couldn’t help but smile. Babies did that to him. They made him want, to yearn, to think about something he was beginning to realize might never happen for him.
“Whoa, the gang’s all here,” Trent said when the three of them walked through the house, coming out onto a covered patio filled with people.
The sun had just begun to set and warm golden light bathed the entire area, pouring through the columns, out onto the lush green grass. A few feet away was an enormous pool and just beyond that was Uncle Henry’s private golf course.
Ben walked onto the patio. He instantly found his mother and kissed her on the cheek. “See, I’m still alive,” he told her.
Alma hugged her son tight. “Good thing. I didn’t want to have to come down to that office and grab you up.”
Ben laughed.
“I told you she was looking for you.” That was Max speaking as he wrapped an arm around his wife, pulling her close.
Deena Lakefield had swept Max off his feet more than a year ago, bringing the man out of his dark past and giving him a bright future. Sophia cooed in the walker just beside the lounge chair they both sat in.
Another family, he thought with an inner sigh.
“I heard there was a mistrial,” Everette said coming up from behind and slapping Ben on the shoulder.
“Hey, Dad. Yeah, mistrial was declared on Tuesday. By Thursday morning the DA had a slew of motions delivered,” Ben said taking a seat and the bottled beer Trent—who had joined them in their corner of the patio—offered him.
“Wow, they didn’t waste any time,” Trent said. “What were the grounds for the mistrial?”
Trent wasn’t a lawyer, but he was a professional private investigator and an ex-Navy SEAL. He knew his way around the criminal element of the world just as Ben did.
“Jury couldn’t make up their mind especially after one of the jurors suddenly became pro-defense. The judge didn’t think sending them back to deliberate another day or so was going to help, especially since the DA was making some sounds about jury tampering,” he said, not thrilled to be discussing work at a family function. But if there was anyone he could talk to with the hopes of him understanding, it would be Trent.
His cousin nodded, rubbing a hand over the growing goatee he was cultivating. “Vega’s got a reputation,”
Ben nodded. “I know.”
“So how are you going to get him off this time?” Max asked.
“Whywould you try to get him off this time?” That question came from Tia, Trent’s wife.
