Chapter 4
Fin
I did a double take at the message on my phone. I’d expected more text messages in the offense chat about Rachel Marsh being named CEO of the Coopers. This text message wasn’t from a teammate.
The text message arrived Wednesday afternoon and immediately caused the small hairs on the back of my neck to stand to attention. It was sent without a name or number. My screen simply said, ‘Private Number,’ yet there was something about the message I couldn’t ignore.
I responded.
“WHO IS THIS? WHO ARE YOU TRYING TO REACH?”
The response came back immediately.
“I’M WHO SHOULD BE WHERE YOU ARE. IF I WAS, I COULD HELP HER. I KNOW YOU’RE STILL AT HER PLACE. THERE’S A LOT MORE HAPPENING WITH THE HUBBARDS THAN YOU KNOW.”
Manure boy?
Or should he now be known as roses boy?
Either way, I was certain that Clark—Preston Clark—was the sender of the message. Seeing as Vee wouldn’t be home for a few hours and I’d spent too much of the day resting my sore rib, the text message seemed like an invitation I couldn’t ignore.
From what little I knew about Preston Clark, he was a snooty asshole from the same hometown as me.
Thoroughbred royalty, the Clarks liked to call themselves.
People in Bowling Green had different names for them, none of which were complimentary.
While I had no idea what Preston Clark wanted to tell me, I decided I’d show him that Vee hadn’t started slumming it since she broke things off with him.
Taking off the faded Cincinnati Reds t-shirt I’d been wearing, I kept my blue jeans on and donned a light tan cashmere crewneck sweater.
I winced as I moved. Next, I added a wool gray and tan check jacket and replaced my running shoes with leather loafers.
While the autumn day had been sunny, the temperature was past its peak and heading down.
These clothes would keep the chill away on my short walk from the Vine to Bourbon on Rye.
Avoiding the first floor of the Vine building, I took the elevator to the garage and walked out to the sidewalk.
Deep breaths of fresh air sent a twinge from my rib.
The sky above was still blue; nevertheless, I’d been right about the dropping temperature.
The brisk breeze tingled my cheeks. A large blue sign on the front of a limestone building displayed the name of my destination, Bourbon On Rye.
Decorative whiskey barrels sat near the door, adorned with Halloween decorations.
A glance at my watch let me know that I was a few minutes early.
Opening the glass door, I blinked my eyes.
It took a second for them to adjust from the late afternoon sun to the dim interior within the downtown tavern.
Once through the door, I entered a long, narrow room with dark-gray-painted walls, small leather booths lining the right side, a long shiny wood bar with ornate wood trim on the left, and numerous chandeliers glistening overhead.
The speakeasy vibe was strong.
Being the third time I’d seen him in the last week and the fact the tavern had just opened, Clark was easy to spot. He was seated, facing the entry, in one of the last booths on the right. As our gazes met, he tipped his chin.
I passed a couple at the bar and a woman with a laptop and glass of wine in a booth. The rest of the tavern was empty.
“Clark,” I said as I settled into the seat across the table from him.
“Graham.” He swirled the amber liquid and large clear ice cube in his tumbler. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
My lips quirked. “Cryptic messages are my kryptonite.”
Clark grunted.
“Besides, it’s hard to pass up an invitation when I’m literally a few buildings away.”
He narrowed his dark stare. “Can’t fucking believe you’re living there.”
“You’d rather she was alone?”
“No.” He took a swallow of his bourbon and lowered the tumbler to the table. “I had a feeling something was in the works.” Clark shook his head. “It’s why I asked her to move in together.”
“What are you talking about?”
He tipped his head toward me. “Do you want a drink?”
“I think I better be sober for this conversation.”
Lifting his glass, he drained the rest of his drink. “Suit yourself.” Clark lifted his hand garnering the bartender’s attention. “Another double.”
When the bartender looked at me, I asked for a glass of water.
An uncomfortable silence hung heavily in the air. It wasn’t until our new drinks were delivered that I asked, “Why do you think Vee is in trouble? What do you think is in the works?”
Clark sat forward, leaning over the table. “Reid was walking a fucking tightrope, one Vee doesn’t know even exists. On one side was Vee, on the other fucking demons ready to pounce.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“There was a shift,” Clark said, “after last season.”
“Football season?” I clarified.
“Yeah. The Coopers spent $38.4 million on Dennison with a fifth-year option.”
That amount was public record. “Kinda makes my contract renegotiation seem like chump change.”
“There was a lot of inner fighting about making that big of a spend. Vee could tell you. She heard it, but she wasn’t in the throes of the battles.”
“The Marshes?”
Clark nodded and took another drink, smaller this time. “I saw today’s announcement.”
“About Rachel Marsh as CEO?” The breaking news came across my phone earlier. And then, the offensive text string lit up.
“Yeah. Rachel wasn’t the decision Darin or Grant wanted.”
My neck straightened. “The decision wasn’t theirs to make.”
“It was supposed to be.”
“What do you mean?”
His nostrils flared and his voice lowered.
“Reid was supposed to sign the new will. Fuck, Eads was supposed to claim he signed the new will. That would have given Darin power. Granted, it was only thirty-nine percent, but it was something. He and Grant had the whole takeover planned. They thought they could push their percentage and convince Vee she wasn’t up to the task.
It was part of the reason they were upset that Vee was broadening her knowledge. ”
That was a loaded statement. “They didn’t want her to learn about the football operations.”
“No. The less she knew, the more they could manipulate her when the time came.”
It was my turn to narrow my eyes. “They knew Reid was going to die?”
Clark sat straight and scanned the interior of the tavern before his eyes landed back on me. “They didn’t come out and say it, but the thought was there. Let me just say, I wasn’t as surprised to hear the news as I was certain they’d carried out their plan.”
“Were they working with Bre Stanton?”
He wrinkled his brow. “Who?”
“Mr. Hubbard’s assistant. She was arrested yesterday at the celebration of life. The police said she was being charged with Reid’s murder.”
“Fuck,” he said under his breath. “My money says she’s innocent. She’s the poor schmuck they decided to pin it on—the fall guy, so to speak.” He inhaled. “I was fucking afraid it would be Vee.”
“They. You keep saying they. They who?”
“Do you know why Carroll Hubbard didn’t leave any of the team to his daughter?”
“Misogyny would be my guess,” I answered.
“It’s the easiest answer.” He swirled his large ice cube. “My father is thorough. When Vee and I became serious, he instructed his fixer to do a deep dive on the Hubbards. Needless to say, Dad wasn’t impressed with their lack of generational wealth.”
I clenched my teeth. “Not everyone is born with a silver spoon.”
“When Reid and Rachel were children, they were middle class—average. Carroll was lower, blue collar, no college.”
“I’ve read the story. Carroll and Mary Hubbard made their initial investment in McDonald’s. They worked hard and moved on.”
“It takes three-quarters of the league’s owners to approve the sale of a franchise. Who the fuck do you think knew Carroll Hubbard in 1978?”
“What does this have to do with Vee being in trouble?”
“Hear me out.” Clark was in a zone. “Carroll Hubbard and Blaine Marsh, Darin’s father, were casual friends.
Blaine was a renowned financier for Dean Coulson.
Meadow Farms had a long relationship with their firm as did prominent companies and individuals, including many NFL franchise owners.
Carroll wanted to own a team, but there was no way a first-generation millionaire would be allowed into the elite NFL.
Hell, history shows that they can squeeze out anyone they don’t want.
Carroll Hubbard needed someone on the inside. ”
“Blaine.”