Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
“I appreciate you, Batista.”
“Yeah…” She pauses on her way to the door. “I wish her luck, you know. Any girl who decides to deal with your grumpy ass forever must be part saint.”
“Thanks again.”
She smiles at that—a tight, hard smile that slides from her face as she leaves.
Finally, I’m alone with the cases that could make or break everything.
I can feel the clock ticking as I page through them.
Most of the incident reports are petty crimes, one-off fistfights and boozing like I expected—nothing ever involving Forrest Haute himself, of course.
A few freak medical incidents. Fire calls requiring police presence. More drunken brawls over football and hockey.
Even in Haute’s high-end properties, people are the same at heart.
They love getting drunk, getting into fights, getting high, and falling off balconies. There are a couple auto accidents over the years as well. A memorable one features a man who stole his girlfriend’s convertible and crashed it into the golf course’s lake.
Something about insurance fraud which turned out to be an admin filling out some forms wrong.
But nothing showing any hint of big, organized crime.
Nothing truly shady.
Fuck.
When I glance at the clock, I’ve already burned forty minutes.
Time is running out, and I brush the reports aside, barely skimming them. As soon as I see the word intoxicated or medical, I move on to the next.
Until finally, I stop on a report with a few more pages.
Something about police recovering roughly two million dollars in counterfeit bills on the golf course. The file says a manager found it stuffed into bags and abandoned by an unknown guest before it was reported to the police. The trail went cold.
My brows go up.
It could be nothing. Only, the clincher is the date—five years ago, a time I remember from when we started looking into him—about the time Haute’s casino started going bust.
I make a note on my phone, marking the case number for any public record documents I can pull, plus relevant points and dates. When we’ve got more time, we can cross-check everything.
This isn’t a smoking gun, no, but it could be a clue.
I have to bring this shit back to my brothers now.
Junie’s gone when I finally get home, but that suits me just fine.
I need to think through what I’ve read and sit down with my brothers. They’re already on their way while I’m pacing the office.
Surprisingly, Patton shows up first, swaggering in like he’s going to get paid just for walking through the door.
“Shit, Brother. It’s cold as hell in here when it’s just you without your better half.”
“Don’t be a dick,” I snap, nodding at the chair in front of my desk. “This is serious.”
“I’ll say. You don’t usually summon us to meetings. That’s Archer’s job.”
“What job?” Archer asks, coming through the door. Instead of his suit, he’s wearing jeans today, though he’s still wearing a shirt and a jacket. Old habits die hard.
“Being the assertive asshole,” Patton says, sending me the ghost of a wink. “Dex beat you to it today. Better quit slacking.”
Archer brushes his dark hair back from his face and glares at us. “What’s so goddamn urgent? I had to cancel Colt’s swimming lesson to make it here on time.”
“We’ll make it up to the kiddo later. It’s too important.” I push carefully written notes across the desk so they can see them. “I found more material on Haute we need to look into.”
“Didn’t I do that already?” Archer growls. “You’re the one who wanted the deal to go forward, full steam ahead.”
“I still do,” I say as Patton picks up the paper. “But I can’t hide this. I’m getting a bad feeling, and now he’s got his hands in the bakery, too.”
“Fucking hell, Dex.” Archer rubs his eyebrows. “If this is about you getting cold feet—”
“You think I’d raise a bullshit concern for no reason?” I spit.
“Have you heard of coincidence?” Patton grinds out, shoving the notes away. “So what? With a business his size, dealing with the public, you probably have all sorts of weird people blowing through. Imagine who stays in our properties—you can’t vet everything, Bro.”
Yeah. I knew Patton would want to plow through with the plan anyway. “The dates are important. Remember all that bad press about money trouble and the casino going down? Haute Ozark or whatever it was called?”
Archer chews his lip as he picks up the paper and reads.
I summarize the police report, highlighting the lack of contract and his clear disinterest in the future of the Mill.
“Guys, I want this deal as much as you. Nothing else will land us this kind of money,” I say, my eyes on Archer, “but something about this waves every red flag in the book. I don’t trust him. I don’t trust that his dirty dealings are purely history. My gut says there’s something else rotten going on.”