The Successor by Stephen Frey Read Free Book Online Page B

investment firm owned thirty-eight companies that operated in a wide range of industries—from high-tech to pharmaceuticals to heavy manufacturing. Together, the companies had sales of more than $80 billion—which would have ranked Everest in the top twenty-five of the Fortune 500 if all the companies had been combined into a single entity. Along with running Everest, Christian also chaired twelve of the Everest portfolio companies, and six months ago he’d finished raising Everest’s latest leveraged-buyout fund—a $25 billion pool of equity capital that had stunned Wall Street with its size.
    “Which was one of the reasons I didn’t want you on the ticket,” Wood continued. “All those
issues.
”
    Jesse Wood had been elected president two and a half years ago—the first African American in history to occupy the Oval Office. His initial eighteen months as commander in chief had been rocky, made especially difficult by partisan conservatives who’d tried everything they could think of—ethical, unethical, even criminal—to derail him. But now Wood was riding a wave of popularity after crafting a Middle East peace accord that had gotten traction despite dire predictions, and being credited by many in Washington and the press with jump-starting a stagnant economy. Initially, Wood had chosen Christian as his running mate, then changed his mind a few weeks later, just before the Democratic convention.
    “You still mad about that?” Wood asked quietly. “About me picking you as vice president, then changing my mind?”
    In the months leading up to the convention, Christian and Wood had spent a lot of time together. But this was their first contact since Wood had won the nomination. They’d gone almost three years without speaking—not because of any lingering animosity, as far as Christian was concerned. But he’d been surprised when Wood had called. He hadn’t held the decision to switch running mates against Wood—it had never been publicly announced. But it wasn’t as if he’d been happy about the decision, either.
    “Now why would I be mad about
that,
Mr. President?”
    Wood rolled his eyes. “Call me, Jesse, will you? Like you did before. At least when we’re alone like this. Besides, I owe you big-time. Hell, you’re the one who pulled my ass out of the ringer.”
    Which was true. Christian had saved Wood’s ass, then been kicked in the teeth. “Okay, okay. It’s Jesse from now on.” The Secret Service agent reappeared with the water. “Thanks.” He opened it and took a quick sip.
    Wood pointed at him. “You look good, Christian. Like you haven’t aged at all since the last time I saw you. Still look like you’re in your midthirties, not your midforties.”
    Christian was six-two, weighed a trim 190 pounds, and kept himself in good shape with daily workouts, even when he was traveling. He had straight, dark hair combed back over his ears—highlighted with silver now—intense gray eyes, and sharp facial features: high cheekbones, a thin nose—bent slightly thanks to a face-to-face rugby collision in college—and a strong jaw.
    “Thanks.” Christian wanted to say the same thing to Jesse, but he couldn’t. Jesse looked as if he’d aged ten years since they’d last seen each other. His face had so many creases and lines that hadn’t been there before, and his hair had gone from slightly to completely gray. The pressure had to be enormous. Not only as the leader of the free world, but as the first black man to hold the job. Christian kept thinking about the famous before-and-after pictures of Abraham Lincoln. Before taking office and having to deal with a divided nation—then afterward, just before his assassination. An energetic and youthful man in 1861, a tired and worn-down politician in 1865. Just as it seemed Jesse was going to be, especially if he won a second term. “You seem to be handling the stress of being the first—”
    “Don’t even try to con me,” Jesse cut in.