Free The Royal Stones of Eden (Royal Secrecies Book 1) by Rae T. Alexander

multi-billion dollar company. He simply would give to his beloved and adopted son two worthless rocks.
    I had a father for a fool, but I shall be better and make my way.
    “Your mother and I have descended from royalty, my son. Although you are adopted, we wanted you to know that the parents that raised you did not do so out of pity. We have had kings and queens in our blood—but, it was not entirely true about your adoption. Yes, I adopted you, but you were born to your mother from an affair she had years ago. And I…”—Arthur was interrupted. That was the final straw for me.
    “You son of a bitch!"—I said it with as much disgust as possible from years of holding my tongue. “I groveled at your feet for years allowing you to run my life. But damn you if you ever say anything like that again about my mother. And, as for you, you can go to the devil as far as I am concerned. You bloody killed her when you dragged her off to one of your business trips! Who knows how she truly got sick! You probably had some affairs yourself with some bloody whores you had on the side. You didn’t think I noticed when the nurses that were attending you did not wear any kind of uniforms?”—maybe I was reaching, but, at this point, I was too upset at his accusation to think clearly or to properly articulate with a respectful attitude.
    I held the stones tightly, and I left the room in an angry rage. I flew down the stairs and out of the mansion. I got into my red Jaguar and tore out like a wild man. I almost hit a servant who hurriedly raised a gate for me. I raced to downtown London while my mind attempted to think of other things besides my mother and her supposed infidelity.
    Later that night, I decided to prepare for my final exams. I engaged the assistance of liquor at a downtown hotel, in a private suite. I threw papers all over the hotel bed. I had the box on. The news of the day played in the background on the television. I sat in an uncomfortable chair and eyed my exam papers. I downed a pint of colored euphoria.
    It was then that I noticed an unopened letter on a nearby desk labeled: “From Uncle Willie!” I reached for it. During the excitement of my earlier exit, I had forgotten that I had just that day received a letter from him.
    The letter was more of a note or a memo. “Peter, I must see you at once concerning the stones, Cordially, Uncle Willie!” it said. I tossed it back on the desk with a lack of concern, and I focused on the nightly news.
    A news story caught my attention when I heard the name Glastonbury. I turned up the volume with the remote, and I listened intently as the reporter narrated:
    “Today, during an archaeological digging in Glastonbury, remains of a skeleton were found, along with several ancient artifacts dating back hundreds of years, some dating to over a thousand years old.”
    While it was true that there were artifacts found, the report said that the discovery was a result of a cleanup and investigation after a fatal plane crash. A plane had plummeted into the grounds of an ancient abbey, in Glastonbury. It was not a planned or government-authorized archaeological site. It was an accidental find.
    The man who was in charge, the man who organized the accident cleanup, was an Egyptian, named Hajen Habib. He was a skilled archaeologist and gemologist who was sent there to assist in the preservation of the ancient historical site while the accident was being investigated.
    I moved to a footstool close to the television. I looked closely at the screen that showed a video of Dr. Hajen Habib of Cairo. The video showed him as he toured the crash site with monitoring equipment. He wore protective clothing, but there was something particularly noticeable around his neck.
    As I looked more closely, I saw that it was a necklace, and on it was a blue stone that looked just like my mum’s stone. I grabbed my coat on the back of my chair. I reached into a pocket, and I pulled out the necklace my mum