Forty Acres: A Thriller Read Online Free Page B

I mean I’ve heard of you, but wow, I had no idea.”
    Solomon laughed along with other guests. “No need to apologize, young man. Believe me, I’m quite used to it.”
    Martin noticed Anna smiling at him along with the others. “Did you know Solomon Aarons was a black man?”
    Anna nodded. “Of course I did. He was profiled in Time and Fortune last year, baby.”
    Betty Aarons chuckled at Martin’s touch of embarrassment, then bowed her head to Anna. “Good for you, young lady. Looks like us girls take the early lead tonight.”
    A man sporting a mane of shoulder-length dreadlocks, wire-rim glasses, and an African beaded necklace over his tux stepped forward and laid a sympathetic hand on Martin’s shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, my brother. The sad truth is 57 percent of black males over the age of thirty would not be able to name the CEO of any corporation.”
    “Black CEO, white CEO, doesn’t matter,” the attractive woman at his side added.
    “Is that a fact?” Martin said, intrigued. “I must admit I’ve never heard that statistic before. I wonder if the numbers would be different for whites.”
    “Ah, now there’s an interesting question,” the man said with a smile. He stuck out his hand. “Kwame Jones. And this”—he gestured to the woman beside him—“is my queen, Olaide.”
    Olaide’s gown was a unique mix of a haute couture cocktail dress and African tribal ceremonial dress. Anna gushed over the outfit, and Olaide confided that it had been made for her by an up-and-coming designer who only worked with 100 percent natural fabrics and dyes.
    Martin noticed that unlike the other guests, who were all sipping wine, Kwame and Olaide were drinking sparkling water.
    “Kwame and Olaide are co-owners of one of the biggest advertising firms in the country,” Damon said. “They specialize in the African American market. You want to sell something to black people, you have to go through them.”
    “Got it,” Martin said. “That explains the statistics.”
    “Statistics, demographics.” Olaide shrugged. “Same difference.”
    “True, true,” Kwame said. “And to answer your question, the white male in the exact same economic subset is far more likely to be familiar with—”
    “Kwame, for Christ’s sake,” a tall bear of a man interrupted. “Give the man a chance to anesthetize himself with a few drinks before you pummel him with one of your social science lectures.”
    Kwame laughed along with the others. “Fine, fine. Just trying to elevate the conversation a little.”
    Damon introduced the big man as Tobias Stewart, founder and owner of Tobias Media. Martin didn’t know much about the company except that they owned and operated an insane number of cable networks, radio stations, and newspapers in every corner of the United States and Europe.
    The media giant was something of a giant in the flesh as well, but despite his three-hundred-plus pounds, Martin thought that Tobias appeared quite dignified in what could only be a custom-made tux. The svelte beauty dangling from Tobias’s arm, his wife, Margaret, helped a great deal to tame the burly man’s appearance.
    Tobias gave Martin a slap on the arm. “I’m ten grand richer because of you.”
    “Glad I could help. But I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
    “I placed a little bet on the trial,” Tobias explained. “I knew Damon couldn’t win ’em all.”
    “You bet on the trial? I didn’t even know that was possible.”
    “You gotta get out of the courtroom more often, counselor. People will bet on anything. You just gotta know who’s taking the action.”
    “Let me guess,” Martin said. “I was a thousand-to-one shot and you dropped ten bucks on me.”
    Tobias’s thunderous laughter was as jolly as he looked. “No. It wasn’t that lopsided, but close. Hey, tell you what, next time you got a sure winner, you give me a call. I’ll cut you a percentage.”
    Martin wasn’t quite sure if Tobias was