An Echo in the Darkness(8)

Sextus was stunned. “You’ve never been so openhanded, my lord.” There was subtle challenge and unspoken distrust in his words.

“You may distribute the monies as you see fit, without answering to me.”

“I wasn’t speaking of money,” Sextus said bluntly. “I speak of control. Unless I misunderstand, you’re handing me the reins of your business holdings in Rome.”

“That’s correct.”

“Have you forgotten I was once your father’s slave?”

“No.”

Sextus assessed him through narrowed eyes. He had known Decimus well and had been long aware that Marcus had brought his father little but grief. The young man’s ambition had been like a fever in his blood, burning away conscience. What game was he playing now? “Was it not your goal to control your father’s holdings as well as your own?”

Marcus’ mouth curved into a cold smile. “You speak frankly.”

“Would you not have it so, my lord? Then by all means tell me so that I might flatter you.”

Marcus’ mouth tightened, but he held his temper. He forced himself to remember this man had been a loyal friend to his father. “My father and I made our peace in Ephesus.”

Sextus’ silence revealed his disbelief.

Marcus looked straight into the older man’s eyes and held his gaze. “The blood of my father runs in my veins, Sextus,” he said coolly. “I haven’t made this offer lightly, nor do I have ulterior motives that threaten you. I’ve given it a great deal of thought over the last few weeks. You’ve handled the cargoes that have been brought into these warehouses for seventeen years. You know by name the men who unload the ships and store the goods. You know which merchants can be trusted and which cannot. And you’ve always given a solid accounting for every transaction. Who better for me to trust?” He held out the parchment. Sextus made no move to take it.

“Accept or decline, as you see fit,” Marcus said, “but know this: I’ve sold my other holdings in Rome. The only reason I haven’t sold the ships and warehouses is because they were so much a part of my father’s life. It was his sweat and blood that built this enterprise. Not mine. I offer this position to you because you are capable—but more important, you were my father’s friend. If you refuse my offer, I will sell. Have no doubts about that, Sextus.”

Sextus gave a harsh laugh. “Even if you were serious about selling, you couldn’t. Rome is struggling to survive. Right now, no one I know of has the money to buy an enterprise of this size and magnitude.”

“I’m well aware of that.” Marcus’ eyes were cold. “I’m not against disposing of my fleet ship by ship, and the dock holdings building by building.”

Sextus saw he meant it and was stunned by such opportunistic thinking. How could this young man be the son of Decimus? “You have over five hundred people working for you! Freemen, most of them. Do you care nothing about them and the welfare of their families?”

“You know them better than I.”

“If you sell now, you’ll make a fraction of what all this is worth,” he said, alluding to Marcus’ well-known love of money. “I doubt you would carry this through.”

“Try me.” Marcus tossed the parchment onto the table between them.

Sextus studied him for a long moment, alarmed by the hardness in the younger man’s face, the determined set of his jaw. He wasn’t bluffing. “Why?”

“Because I’ll not have this millstone around my neck holding me in Rome.”

“And you would go so far? If what you said is true and you made your peace with your father, why would you tear apart what took him a lifetime to build?”

“It’s not what I want to do,” Marcus answered simply, “but I will tell you this, Sextus. In the end, Father saw it all as vanity, and now I agree with him.” He gestured toward the parchment. “What is your answer?”

“I’ll need time to consider.”

“You have the time it’ll take me to walk out that door.”

Sextus stiffened at such arrogance. Then he relaxed. His mouth curved faintly. He let out his breath and shook his head on a soft laugh. “You are very much like your father, Marcus. Even after he gave me my freedom, he always knew how to get his own way.”

“Not in everything,” Marcus said cryptically.

Sextus sensed Marcus’ pain. Perhaps he had made his peace with his father after all and now regretted the wasted years of rebellion. He took up the parchment and tapped it against his palm. Remembering the father, Sextus studied the son. “I accept,” he said, “on one condition.”