1
Montgomery
Blue-blood lineage had a stench so thick and suffocating that only a true disciple could recognize the smell. It reeked of elegant sins, beautiful lies, and opulent obsessions. The odor dripped with inherited malice, the delicate revenge exacted by the super-privileged on whomever they deemed lesser, and the lavish corruption born of centuries with no one to answer to but themselves.
The fragrance was overpowering.
As I walked down the long halls of Oleander Manor, I breathed in the redolence of expensive bourbon, coveted cigars, and the intoxicating perfume of secret mistresses of times past as well as times present. And although many would be intimidated by such a refined aura, I was at home with it.
Elite.
It was who I was.
What I had been groomed for since my first breath of life.
The Kingston name had eternally represented power and prestige since my great, great, great grandfather. Nothing would change that course other than it would soon be my turn to take over the empire.
I’d waited for this day… for the invitation to arrive.
I knew it would never be as easy as my father simply handing over the keys to the kingdom. I was aware I would have to earn my spot, and although I never knew exactly what that would mean, I understood in due time, The Order of the Silver Ghost would come knocking.
“Gentlemen, I see you all received your invites as well.” I said the words deep and loudly. I was taught at a young age that announcing your presence the moment you walked into a room showed a level of confidence needed to compete in the rich alpha society of the South.
Five men, sitting around a circular table, turned to look my way.
Beau Radcliffe was the first to speak casually as he sipped from his tumbler of scotch. “Wouldn’t miss it. You’re the first of our graduating class to begin the trials. Glad we can watch you fuck it up first so we can learn what not to do.”
Ignoring his taunt, I took my seat at the round table made of Honduran mahogany meant for the recruits of the Order.
Six of us.
Up until tonight, we hadn’t reached the age or gone through the trials to earn our place with the members. Although since I was indeed the guest of honor for tonight’s gathering, it would only be a matter of time until I could leave the kids’ table.
“Did we have a choice?” Sully VanDoren asked as he seemed to slouch even more in his hand-crafted seat, gulping the booze from his glass as if it were water. The only thing that screamed high-class from the man was the expensive suit he wore accentuated by the tightly closed drapes that hung behind him in a heavy red and gold, so long and opulent they pooled on the floor.
His mama would be so disappointed in his lack of Southern charm. But I expected Sully’s sour disposition. Clearly, nothing had changed since we graduated Darlington Preparatory Academy seven years ago. He hated being here, always had, and by the look on his face, always would.
“Why did you even respond to the invite?” Beau asked, not out of judgment but mere curiosity. “It’s been years since you’ve been in Darlington. I figured you were dead or something.”
“Or something…” Sully shrugged and reached for the crystal container in the middle of the table filled with a scotch no doubt more expensive than the average Georgian’s mortgage payment. “Not my story to tell tonight. This is Montgomery’s Trial of Initiation.” He lifted his glass to give me a mock toast. “Here’s to getting what you’ve always wanted. Whatever the fuck that is.”
“I want the same thing you all do, or we all wouldn’t be here,” I said.
“Pretty boy Montgomery. Captain of the football team, top of his graduating class, listed in Forbes as one of the wealthiest men under the age of thirty, and one of the Kings of Darlington,” Sully listed with a smirk. “And now you get to be the first of us to turn twenty-five and be bestowed upon even more. Lucky, lucky you.” His sarcasm was not lost on me.
“Stop being such an asshole,” Walker St. Claire snapped. “It’s not any of our faults you hate this shit, your VanDoren name, and Darlington as a whole. But our heritage and ties to the Order aren’t going to go away no matter how badly you might want them to. It is what it is. It’s who we are whether you like it or not. And since Montgomery is the first of us to turn twenty-five and begin this process, our time together in this manor is just beginning. So, can we all agree to not be dicks about this?”
I knew Walker would be like me, think like me, and act like me. He too had lived his life as a true Southern gentleman with veins pumping thick with wealth. His father was one of the Elders of the Order, just as my father was, and we both knew that expectations weighed heavy for us to run the Order ourselves one day.
“Anyone have an idea of how much time and commitment this whole Trials of Initiation is going to take?” Emmett Washington asked, looking down at his smart watch. “I have a business to run and am a little short on time to play this gothic game of…”
He glanced around the room, looked up, and smirked. A large Baccarat crystal and brass chandelier hung from the fifteen-foot-high ceiling. Along the ceiling were plaster frieze mouldings that were made from mud, clay, horsehair and Spanish moss.
“I don’t even know how to describe this. But I don’t have a lot of time to waste on this morbid version of a class reunion.”
It was hard not to notice and be impressed with our surroundings. The Oleander Manor was one of the few remaining historical manors in Georgia that had not been burned to the ground in the Civil War. It was so rooted in southern history that you could practically hear the howls of the ghosts without trying.
“Well, it’s not truly your business until you go through your own Trial,” I pointed out to Emmett. His family might be new money, but his daddy had been invited into the Order more than a decade ago. They welcomed all men of influence and power into their ranks—but only men. We couldn’t be too progressive, now could we?
“We all work for Daddy until the ceremony of the key passing occurs. So, like Walker said, let’s make the best of it.” I reached for the scotch and poured myself a drink. “Yes, this is going to consume us, but it’ll be worth it. We’ll soon be richer men than we already are.”
“How long do you think they’ll keep us in here until we get summoned to the white room?” Rafe Jackson piped in, looking impatient. “I agree with Emmett on having to run a business. I have early meetings tomorrow and don’t exactly want to be up all fucking night.”
It would be fair to say that Rafe had to work harder than all of us combined. His money was not nearly as old and rooted as we were lucky to inherit, and he had to bust his ass daily to keep the Jackson name on the list as one of the wealthiest in Darlington County.
It wasn’t easy to be listed as the richest names in the most affluent county in Georgia, but we all managed to do so. Rafe was one stubborn son of a bitch who wouldn’t accept anything but sitting at this prestigious table we all circled around, no matter what it took to get there.
And that was a fact for all of us.
We all would do whatever it took to maintain the wealth for not only ourselves, but for many generations to come.
It was the blue-blood way.