Second Chances

Prologue

Prologue

The time had finally come.

Lord Winston Thurmond was a man who had everything. He was successful, wealthy, and still handsome, despite the unforgiving ravages of time and advancing age. His triumphs in the mercurial stock market were legendary. Corporate moguls fawned over his every word. The media rhapsodized about his greatness and generosity every time he sneezed. His wife was young, beautiful, and publicly devoted to his every need.

But even the man who had everything couldn’t have everything.

Thurmond had spent most of his life beating the odds with flamboyant style. But one way or another, there was a price to be paid for outrageous success. He’d known all along that his turn would come. The thick white folder spread across his wide mahogany desk only confirmed what he’d suspected for a long time.

Well, he’d never been a coward before, and he didn’t intend to start now. So he’d face his fate with whatever dignity he could muster.

It was the aftermath that worried him most. His beloved wife would never know hunger; he’d worked long and hard to ensure that. Physically she’d be provided for, until her children’s children were old and gray.

But emotionally… Yes, that was a different story.

He’d sidestepped his contemporaries’ colorful divorce-de-jour dramas by waiting until well past his prime to marry. But the long wait had been worthwhile.

Gwen was everything he could have wished for in a wife. She was intelligent, sensitive, caring, exquisitely lovely with her wide blue eyes and creamy pale skin. And her hair was long, lush, silky to the touch. He loved stroking her curling tawny locks as they sat near the big stone fireplace, watching whimsical flames caress a towering pile of fragrant cedar logs.

He would miss that, perhaps, most of all.

Regrets were something he’d allow himself later, if at all. Right now, he had work to do. One last task to set in motion for his beautiful Gwen.

Sighing at the effort it now took, he maneuvered his wheelchair closer to his desk, and curled shaky fingers around an elegant fountain pen. He must be strong, if only for her. Once her future safety and happiness were ensured, he could allow himself the luxury of relaxing. But not until then.

His handwriting firmed along with his resolve as ingenious plans took shape in his still-clever mind. A subtle hint here, a generous contribution there, and men all over the world would fall into line like obedient soldiers.

He did not intend to fail in this, the last—and most important—battle of his life.