American Royalty: Book One

By Anthony R. Sissine

Sixteen-year-old Tyler Alexander has just endured an unthinkable personal tragedy. After his mother dies from a heroin overdose, he must move in with his father and grandfather, two men he hates despite the national importance attached to the family name. Tyler’s father, James, is the governor of Texas, heir to the family fortune, and current front-runner for the Presidency of the United States. His grandfather, Frank, is an oil tycoon responsible for the Alexander fortune.
Given the implications that could result from her death, James uses his inherited power to create a cover-up that creates a positive perception of him and his family. Everything is perfect—or so it seems. As threats loom, the illusion the Alexanders have masterfully shaped begins to slowly shatter. At risk of losing everything the family has worked for, all three men must come to terms with their pasts and their futures while attempting to win the White House without regard for the enduring consequences to not just their family but also the country.
In this political thriller, the Alexander family must do everything in their power to harbor their dark secrets and win the Presidency of the United States.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Apr 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665714129

Anthony R. Sissine

Anthony R. Sissine was born into a multi-cultural family that settled in McAllen, Texas. He attended the University of Texas Rio Grande Valley where he studied philosophy, economics, political science, and psychology. Anthony is a natural born storyteller who has penned several books and scripts, most awaiting publication. American Royalty is his debut novel.

Book preview

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CHAPTER

DEATH SAT ON THE EDGE of the old black leather chair. What was once the sight of a beautiful young woman had prematurely soured with age; she had become that of a decrepit forty-five-year-old, whose face had withered by the use of the drugs that had just consumed her life.

The heroin needle could still be seen dangling from her forearm as Tyler entered the room. Standing completely still, he took a moment to process what his eyes were currently witnessing.

Feelings radiated from within him, in a moment when sadness should have held him hostage, all he could muster was absolute rage. Even knowing what his eyes were witnessing, he didn’t rush to her aid. Deep down, he knew that this was more than an unfortunate moment. It was a cruel inevitability.

Her name was Kimberly Penny, a woman whose obituary would be full of non-interesting things, a name nobody would even look for or care to read, had it not been for two things. Both related to James Alexander, the first being that she had married the successful magnate and current Governor of Texas in their wild youth, and the second being that she had mothered his only son, Tyler.

The woman he had called mom had now become one with the world; her soul had finally acquiesced to the burden she had placed upon her body.

There was nothing he could do, and based on the look of her skin, there was nothing anyone else could do to help, either, as she looked as if she had been dead for several hours. Needing a moment, Tyler grabbed his jacket and some of her cigarettes and went outside for some fresh air. A mere moment to escape from reality, he had now found himself.

Unfortunately, no amount of nicotine or smoke could help clear his mind from the scene in the living room. After several puffs, he knew what he needed to do — the only problem was that he didn’t want to do it. There was a phone call he had been dreading to make. He had contemplated this call since the first time his mother had overdosed a year ago. Luckily, the paramedics had the experience to bring her back, something they had done four times already.

Borrowed Time. Tyler had always thought to himself.

Fuck.

Tyler took out his phone and searched for a name. Once he found it, he touched the name on the contact list. Tyler secretly hoped that the person on the other side of the line wouldn’t answer, as he wondered about what the world would offer if he were to hang up and brave it, absolutely alone.

Unfortunately, for both Tyler and the rest of the Alexanders, that would be an unlikely reality. Finally, there was an answer heard from the other side of the line.

Hello. Answered a low-pitched voice.

It’s over.

Have you called anyone else? Asked the man across the phone.

No.

Keep it that way. I’ll be there soon.

Silence had returned to his surroundings, alone yet again, to deal with a problem utterly unfair for someone his age.

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CHAPTER

SEVERAL HOURS HAD PASSED SINCE he had made the call when an elegantly dressed man looked outside of his parked SUV window. He was in the second vehicle in a caravan of three, consisting of black SUVs, parked across the street from Tyler’s house.

The man was someone who had commanded great respect by his stature, alone. A self-made man who had ascended to the top. A billionaire who had profited from the oil business, and by default, the man responsible for the Alexander fortune.

He had been waiting several years for this exact moment. Any chance to bring his grandson back to Texas, wherein his mind, he belonged.

Frank continued to puff away at his cigar, a signature of his while he read. It was a leather binder that held a file, a dossier on his grandson’s life. It was clear that whatever he was reading was something that had captured his attention.

How long has it been, sir, since you’ve seen him? Asked his driver and right-hand man, a retired marine named Leo Greene.

Since he left, Frank replied, sounding somewhat disappointed in himself.

Going to need any help, Frank, with the subject? Leo asked.

He’s my grandson, Leo. I’ll be fine.

It’s just, well, it’s been years, sir, Leo said. And yet, Frank knew that he was right.

Frank exited the vehicle and began to study his surroundings. It was a neighborhood that reeked of failure, an area where dreams came to die.

The house looked broken and abused. In his mind, no Alexander should have lived in such conditions; he had worked way too hard for far too long and had made too much money. This squalor was the way the Penny’s lived.

Still, Frank understood that this was someone’s home, and as such, he acted the way that he believed a man of his stature should — with the utmost respect.

In his mind, he saw himself being better than most, if not all, even though his cold and calculating actions would rarely show it. This was his way of life.

He took a moment to make his way toward the front of the door. The creak of the broken stoop was loud enough for Tyler to hear from inside. It was clear that his house was in complete disarray. The paint had already begun to peel off, revealing the decaying wood behind it.

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CHAPTER

TYLER SAT IN THE MIDDLE of the living room. The chair had been facing the door. In the middle of the room was a small wooden table covered with a small tablecloth. It was probably the best-looking piece of furniture within the house.

The table sat between the chair Tyler had been sitting on and the couch that still had Kimberly’s body laying on it. Tyler placed a blanket over her, as it was something he had not wished to continue seeing. He had listened to his Grandfather’s instructions and had not called a single soul.

Frank lifted the blanket away from the body, only for a brief moment to identify her. It was clear that she wasn’t the Kimberly that he had met years ago.

Shame, he thought.

Tyler had been sitting on the edge of the chair. His eyes transfixed on a man he hadn’t seen in years.

You’ve aged, Tyler said rather softly.

A decade will do that to you, Frank replied.

There was a still silence that had plagued the air.

Sorry to hear about your Mother, Frank said, breaking the silence, slightly reveling in the growing tension that permeated across the room.

Tyler looked at his Grandfather. It was clear that he had disdain for the words his Grandfather had uttered.

Your ability to lie. What a trait. Tyler responded in slight disbelief. There was subtle hatred to be found within his eyes.

You’re right. I found your mother’s life rather tragic and her existence in mine even more unfortunate. A drug-addicted whore who infested my family while trying to play the role of a socialite. But even then, she did give your father and me something extremely precious and irreplaceable, you.

Tyler didn’t know how to respond. His Grandfather had never been this honest, but he knew that he meant what he said.

You wanted honesty, right? Careful what you wish for, sport. Frank said as he sat down on the couch next to Tyler’s deceased mother.

It was clear that this had made Tyler uncomfortable. Something Frank had fully anticipated. Making others uneasy was a trait he had perfected. A tactic Frank had always loved to take advantage of, but this time, it had felt different. He had felt a pang of guilt within him using it on his grandson.

Let’s be honest with ourselves here, shall we? We both knew, deep down, that this day was always going to come. You can’t fight destiny, kid. I assure you; you’ll lose, every time. Frank said as he took out another cigar from his Brown and Amber Saville Row tailored suit. He watched his grandson’s reaction to how he took his time cutting and lighting up his cigar.

Smoke had begun to fill the room. It created an ambiance that favored Frank.

Tyler tried his best not to feel intimidated by his Grandfather. Still, it was difficult, given the presence that radiated from him.

What’s stopping me from waiting for the media — from telling my truth? That both you and your son let me live with a drug addict, I’m sure that won’t play well with his precious base. I’m more than sure; the New York Times would love to hear my story. After all, they don’t have much care for Republicans, these days, anyway.

There was a smile that escaped from his face and arrogance that had risen within him. Frank placed his cigar down on the ashtray that sat on the table. There was a sinister laugh that had escaped from his mouth.

Cute. He began to say as he became more comfortable on the chair.

Do you really think there’s a card you can play here? — Based off everything you know about your father and I, do you think we’d allow you to get in the way of the White House?

Are you threatening your grandson? Tyler asked.

No… I’m just outlining the world in which you now find yourself… Look, kid, you’ll be eighteen soon enough. Play your part, and in turn, I’ll personally see to it that you get exactly what you want.

Tyler seemed slightly disgusted with everything Frank had just mentioned.

Not everything’s a business deal, Frank, Tyler said, slightly more angered than before.

We both know that’s not true, kid, Frank said as he leaned toward his grandson.

We both know how this is going to end. So with that in mind, I truly do suggest you pack a bag, and quickly.

You think he’s going to win? Tyler asked.

There’s no doubt in my mind. Your father will be the next President of the United States. Freeing you to be the heir to the Alexander dynasty. If you want it.

Tyler remained silent for a moment.

I’ll play my part, but after my birthday, we are finished.

Frank contemplated what Tyler had said.

Frank said nothing as he extended his hand. Tyler studied it for a moment before ultimately agreeing to shake it.

Now, go pack a bag.

Tyler leaned to the side of his chair. He pulled out a backpack and tossed it on the table, much to his Grandfather’s surprise, who released a soft smile.

Tyler started to stand up, but his Grandfather stopped him.

Before we go, there are some things we need to get straight.

Like? Tyler asked, knowing there was always going to be more…

There’s always something more with this fucking family.

With every passing moment, Tyler felt more tired; even more so, he felt hopeless. Tyler realized the power he indeed lacked in his life, slowly accepting his current situation.

Your mother was never an addict. As of today, all of her medical records will say that she had a debilitating heart condition, and today was nothing more than a ticking time bomb reaching its natural conclusion, a tragedy that nobody could have prevented.

That’s it? Just like that, history re-written?

That’s right. Just like that.

Tyler remained silent as he took it all in. In a way, his Grandfather was correct. The Alexander’s were always a certainty, one that resembled a plague rather than a cure. They represented a heresy to the truth, yet nobody would ever know about it. After all, the victors of war were never the villains. It was the Alexander way…

Tyler ultimately accepted his fate and stood up, grabbed his bag, and began to walk toward the front door.

Frank placed his arm around his grandson.

You’re a soldier now, kid. Never forget that. Frank said.

There was a slight proudness he had felt, one that, even with all the disturbing and negative emotions he felt toward his Father’s family, had risen from within.

You got everything you need? Frank asked.

Tyler turned to look at an old picture on the table stand, a photograph of him and his Mom playing on the beach.

Frank noticed but ultimately said nothing.

Yeah, I’ve got everything, Tyler said as he exited his house for the last time.

Frank walked outside with his grandson.

It was clear that both of them needed a moment to themselves. It had been a chaotic morning made more difficult by moving away.

Frank continued to walk with his arm around his grandson as he led him toward the third SUV and opened the door.

Get in.

You’re not coming with? Tyler asked.

"There’s things I’ve got to take care of before heading back.»

In an odd moment of warmth, Frank looked at his grandson.

You sure you don’t need a moment, kid? Frank asked.

Tyler patted his Grandfather and looked him directly into the eyes.

There’s nothing left to say goodbye to, Frank, Tyler said.

Frank understood and nodded before taking a step back and closing the door. He watched as his grandson drove away.

Frank sighed as he knew that there was now plenty of work that needed to be done.

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CHAPTER

AUSTIN, TX:

I NEED SOLUTIONS, NOT MORE problems, damn it. The Hurricane is turning into a complete and utter disaster. When is it expected to turn towards us? the Governor asked.

The booming voice everyone was hearing was none other than James Patrick Alexander, The Governor of Texas and Tylers’s father. He sounded frustrated by nature’s cruel reminder of her existence.

Based on all the predictive models, within the next week. An aide said from afar.

The handsome forty-five-year-old Governor brilliantly wore a tailored grey three-piece Tom Ford suit. Perfectly fitted to his body as if it were a second skin, with a light blue tailored undershirt, the color of which helped exemplify his blue eyes.

James leaned forward from his chair as he unbuttoned his top two buttons. He and his team were looking at a growing tropical storm that was quickly turning into a hurricane.

That’s all I need. A fucking hurricane, could a better, perfect metaphor not be created? James said as he rubbed his eyes. It was clear that he was tired.

The campaign trail had drained much of his energy, mixed with the anxiety he had been feeling over seeing his son for the first time in a decade.

Not that he wasn’t aware of his son’s exploits and overall life, but it was always from behind the scenes; something, Tyler would never know.

James studied his watch, a Master Ultra-Thin Perpetual Jager Le Coultre in rose gold.

His most trusted aide, Eliza Mendoza, noticed it. She noticed everything. She was radiant and almost equally as ambitious as her boss.

She was the most intelligent woman James had ever known. James turned to look at the beautiful woman, whose skin flowed endlessly with a tone that resembled soft caramel. Staring into her eyes, hoping, even praying for a suggestion to escape from the confines of her lips, that would deliver him some relief.

Eliza had worked for James Alexander for the better part of the decade and was always by his side. She knew all of his flaws and still supported him. In return for her loyalty, James paid for her to get her master’s degree. Once she returned, he gave her a substantially increased salary. James needed her. Except for his Dad, she was his aide de camp, his true chief of staff; not that she particularly cared much for the title or ‘promotion,’ but she knew he needed her. And that was good enough for her.

We deal with this every year, and, every year, your poll numbers go up. So, maybe this is just the bump we need to get us over the hump. The convention is less than a week away. You need to make your pick. You should have done it yesterday, Eliza continued. It was clear that she had a name in mind, obviously not the same name that James wanted to hear.

I don’t want him, Eliza. James protested.

Well, that’s politics, James, we don’t always get what we want, but he’s the right candidate. Your Father also agrees.

James seemed annoyed by the options presented to him.

He’s a strong, Catholic conservative. He’s the bridge between the people that like you and the ones that don’t trust you. After all, if you win, you’ll be the first real bachelor to be in the White House in over a century. Eliza said as she dropped a file on his desk.

James looked at the file at hand. It had everything he needed on the Governor of Ohio, John Patrick, the current favorite to be chosen as James’s VP.

As he began to read it, his eyes widened with some interest. He was interrupted by none other than Lucas Marquez, a young man who had just graduated, top of his class from the University of Texas. Lucas was his primary social media and image manager. Being so recognizable, he was mindful of every move he made or didn’t make and its perception on social media.

We’re going to need something to distract from the fact your ex, died. More important than the hurricane, though, at this critical time, how are we going to ensure that the arrival of your son doesn’t drown this campaign? Lucas asked.

He looked at both James and Eliza; they seemed bothered by Lucas’s implication potentially being correct.

What do you think? Eliza asked.

James shook his head.

I don’t know, James said, genuinely baffled by his current situation.

Either way, if you announce Governor Patrick as your running mate tomorrow, that should buy us more than enough positive coverage. At least enough to move the story of Kim’s death to the bottom chyron. All everyone will be dissecting is your pick rather than your son. The thing is, if we announce tomorrow, he’ll need to be there… At least for several pictures. Eliza said.

It was clear that she was the only one that had a clear and concise plan, as usual.

Damn it. This kid will turn this campaign into a complete fucking nightmare - I mean, I don’t even know if he’s camera-ready, for fucks sake. I don’t know anything about this kid that’s not written in some file, my own son. James said, exasperated and disappointed with himself.

Mixed with the fact that we don’t know how he’s reacting to the death of his mother. He’s going to need at least some time to grieve. I know this might sound terrible. But possibly a well-placed photo of you holding your son, comforting him tenderly. Now that could go a long way toward appeasing some of those negative perceptions that continue to plague you on the trail. People want to see a family man at the helm. There’s nothing more endearing than a man comforting his only child, especially in this situation. It’s a tough optic to beat. In some ways, this could be a blessing. Lucas intervened.

We’re officially less than a hundred days from November 3rd. The convention is less than a week away, as Eliza very kindly pointed out earlier. We don’t have a running mate, we don’t have a plan for this storm that’s coming, and on top of that, we’ve got a full presidential campaign to run.

What’s your point, James? Eliza asked.

My point is: I don’t care if he needs time to grieve. He doesn’t have it. We, as a collective, don’t have it. Time is the only luxury that this campaign does not possess.

Then James, I don’t know what to tell you. We’re going to have to trust him, one way or another. Even if he’s not actively next to us, we can’t have him constantly trying to flee. Eliza said.

James remained silent, but he knew she was right. Everyone in the room knew she was right.

There was a knock at the door. It was Tony Ridley, the head of James’s Secret Service detail, before entering completely.

He had a small yellow note and handed it to James.

‘Call Me — Quincy.’ The note read. James looked at Tony and nodded. It was clear that he had read the message.

Tony excused himself from the room and left.

James turned to look at Eliza, who seemed puzzled by the exchange.

I think he found something, James said with a smile.

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CHAPTER

THE NAME’S CRANE, SAMUEL CRANE. A pleasure to finally meet you. The charismatic tough, yet stocky driver, had finally uttered words towards the young Alexander.

Tyler turned to look at his driver; he had finally broken eye contact with the window. It was as if his eyes were stuck to watch nothing but that of the outside world. It was clear to him that his life was about to change completely.

All the same, I hated this life.

Excited to be going back to Texas, sir? Samuel asked, continuing his curiosity about the young man.

Tyler took a moment to process the question. In some ways, he was, and in others, he was utterly ill-prepared. His head raced as thoughts plagued his mind. Thinking if he was indeed ready to be an Alexander. It was clear that his Grandfather had thought so.

What does he see that I don’t?

Samuel continued to study the kid in his backseat, occasionally turning to look at him with the help of the rear-view mirror.

I don’t know. Tyler finally replied.

Sorry to hear that, sir.

What about you? You like Texas?

A smile had appeared on Samuel’s face.

I love it, sir. It’s the only place in all my years that I’m comfortable enough to call home. There is no better place to be, at least for me.

Good day today, at least? Samuel asked.

Tyler wondered if Samuel had known about his mother, to which he could only guess, that Samuel honestly had no idea.

No. Not at all, Mr. Crane.

Well, sir. Maybe, it’ll get much better. Samuel said as he revealed a slight smile that could be seen through the rear-visor. There was something about the way Samuel had smiled. It was as if Tyler had felt the warmth that radiated from the man in the front seat. Oddly, it had felt to Tyler like a smile that came from a close relative rather than a stranger whom he had just met minutes ago.

Tyler turned his head, hoping that he would be able to catch one last glimpse of his hometown, but deep down, he knew that was a foolish idea. An idea mired in hope rather than realism. But, alas, the young man continued to look out the window, wondering how the reunion with his Father would go. Still, fortunately for him, it did not stay inside of his head for long as the SUV had made a turn toward a private hangar within the nearby airport.

Sitting in the center of the hanger was a beautiful Gulfstream jet. The jet was a spotless white painted work of craftsmanship, adorned with the ‘Alexander Enterprises’ logo written in black. Naturally, the family logo centered on the tail, which consisted of a lion holding the globe with its right paw, as if it belonged to it.

The vehicle had come to