Chapter Twelve
Tom Garza didn’t understand why any of this was his problem.
He hadn’t hired the bimbo who fucked up the contracts. But it wasn’t like Mitchell Robinson would admit that he let his dick influence his business decisions.
Jerk.
But the jerk paid well, real well, and thus Tom sat down with Mitchell’s obnoxious, spoiled daughter Presley in her office—yes, the nineteen-year-old had her own office on the Robinson ranch complete with state-of-the-art equipment, video game systems Tom’s kid would have died for, a fully stocked mini-fridge, and a movie screen that came down from the ceiling with flair.
Presley Robinson was smart, sassy, and beautiful, and she knew it.
She popped a bubble with her gum and said, “This will be fun. AI is the best. Whaddya want me to say?”
“I just need them out of the house for a couple hours. Their daughter lives in Frisco, something about car trouble, being stranded.”
“Specifics, Tom,” she said in a condescending tone. “Like, I have her name and number but you need both old farts out of the house? We need to have a good reason.”
“The daughter—”
“Grace,” Presley said with an eye roll.
“Grace is worried that they won’t be able to get home during the storm, so they should pack a bag and stay the night.”
“Good, but still, why would both of them need to go?”
How the hell did he know that? He was divorced, he would have used any excuse to get away from his wife.
Maybe George Coulter was the same way, leave the wife at home and help his daughter.
Tom didn’t know these people—he’d moved up here from Houston two years ago to work for Verdacorp.
He’d quickly put the farm outside Willis that he’d grown up on in the rearview mirror as soon as he turned eighteen and got his first job in the city. He hated country living.
“Family dinner,” he said. “Her husband is Chris, their kids are little, like eight and six. They would love to see their grandma and grandpa. That’ll work.”
“Do they call them Grandma and Grandpa? Because I called my grandpa Papa, so that’s kinda important.”
Again with the eye roll and attitude. How did Mitchell put up with this shit?
Well, maybe because Presley was his only kid. A spoiled daddy’s girl who could do no wrong.
She sighed, typed rapidly on her computer.
“I got it. Grace and Chris have two boys, C. J. and Frankie.” She scrolled, reading rapidly, a half smile on her face. “God, these people! They post everything online. Their lives are a fucking open book.”
“Do you even need me?”
“Well, duh, as soon as I’m done, you’re going to have to make sure they’re gone. I’d send out my drone, but not in this weather. It cost over ten thousand dollars.”
Spoiled. Rotten. Brat.
Tom just nodded. “Okay.”
“Grandpa and Mimi.” She leaned back, closed her eyes, popped her gum.
Her neck looked good enough to strangle.
A minute later she abruptly sat up. She put on headphones, plugged her phone into her computer, typed on the keyboard.
This wasn’t the first time that Presley had called someone using an AI voice modulator, so they thought they were talking to someone else. All she had needed was a sample of the subject’s voice, and AI did the rest.
It was fascinating, and damn scary. Tom made sure his son knew that if he ever called asking for help or money or for him to do something completely out of character, that he needed to hang up and call him directly.
Presley and other scammers could clone the number, fake the voice, but they couldn’t reroute a phone call.
Yet. He was certain if it was possible, Presley would figure it out. Why couldn’t she use her power for good?
Because she’s Mitchell Robinson’s spawn, he thought.
Presley drank half her Red Bull, then typed on the keyboard. Tom couldn’t hear the Coulters’ end of the conversation, only what Presley said.
“Hi, Mom,” Presley said. “How are you?… Stew? Sounds great. Yeah … Well, I have a little problem. Chris had to go down to Conroe and help his parents, and I got into a fender bender … I’m fine, the boys are fine, but my car can’t be driven, and C.
J. has indoor soccer early tomorrow morning.
I know how much you like to watch the games …
No, I don’t want you getting up at four to come, it’s a mess up there.
Is there any way you can come down tonight?
I’m making my famous lasagna!… Ask Daddy, please? ”
Presley looked at Tom and winked. A half minute later, she said, “Hi, Daddy! Did Mom tell you?… Yes, I promise, we’re not hurt at all.
I mean my wrist is a little sore, but it’ll be fine …
The boys would love to see you … I don’t want you coming down if it’s already pouring up there …
Really?… Sure, stay the weekend! Chris won’t be back until Sunday night … Great. I can’t wait. Love you, Daddy!”
She hit a button on the computer and laughed.
“That was so easy! They want to leave within the hour to make it out before the roads close. Even said they should have thought of it before!”
“They have two bulls. They have no one to feed them.”
Presley shrugged. “They’ll figure it out.” She waved him away. “Go, watch their place, call when they leave.”
Tom got up and left. Dammit, this wasn’t going to work.
They’d call the McKennas, most likely, the oldest kid usually came over to help when they needed it.
But … that should be okay, he thought as he crossed through the large foyer to Mitchell’s office.
The bulls would already be secured in the barn, so Jake or Ellen wouldn’t go over until morning.
By then, they’d have the contract and no one would be the wiser.
He knocked on Mitchell’s door and waited until he heard “Come in.”
Mitchell’s grand office was intimidating.
Dark wood, hunting trophies, a desk half the size of a king bed.
The marble floor of the foyer gave way to a room with hardwood floors around the perimeter and a vast, plush burgundy rug in the center.
Two-story windows on either side of a stone fireplace looked out to the vast Robinson property—green grass, white split-rail fences, and a man-made lake that was stocked with trout.
Today, of course, it was gray, the rain coming down steadily, the lake barely visible in the distance.
Clive was sitting across from his younger brother.
Clive was actually a pretty good guy; Tom liked him.
Five years older than Mitchell, but he didn’t have the business gene in the family.
Mitchell was practically a clone of his grandfather.
In looks, personality, and business acumen—the good and the bad.
Their dad? Had no business sense at all, but unlike Clive, he didn’t know it.
“Did Presley take care of things?” Mitchell asked.
“Yeah. An hour, give or take.”
“Let me know when they leave,” he said.
Tom glanced at Clive. He didn’t want to go out alone, it was miserable out there and he’d like the company.
But Clive made no move to get out of the comfortable leather chair.
“Okay, boss,” Tom said and left.
Mitchell watched as Tom closed the door. He leaned back and said to Clive, “He doesn’t seem to be fully invested.”
“He is,” Clive said. “He just spent the last hour with Presley, she can wear anyone down.” He laughed. Mitchell didn’t find it funny. “Mitch, you know how she is. She’s brilliant and makes all of us peons feel dumb.”
His daughter was brilliant. Mitchell just wished she was still in college.
She had been expelled for a prank. No one got hurt, but it embarrassed the university, and she was asked to leave.
Mitchell got her into another college—he had many friends in high places—but then she tells him she wants to take a “gap year.”
“A year to work for you, Daddy, and teach myself. And we can travel and do fun things!”
She didn’t so much ask him as tell him what she was doing.
He didn’t think she would ever go back, but he found it hard to deny his daughter anything.
Her mother left them when she was six and maybe he indulged her, but she deserved it.
He was building this legacy for her. Clive was content being second, and Mitchell had no sons to leave his business to.
And even if he did, Presley was his firstborn and undeniably intelligent.
“Where’s Nicole?” Clive asked.
“I sent her down to the house in Dallas. She and Presley had a disagreement and I don’t have the energy to mediate.”
He would have to find a way to move Nicole along. Presley had called her stupid to her face, and Nicole was not having it. Truth was, Nicole was dumb, and just because she was gorgeous and wild in bed didn’t mean that Mitchell would tolerate her mistakes.
He should never have trusted her with the documents. Just because she had a background as a legal secretary didn’t mean she actually knew what she was doing.
But he needed to wait, because until he had all the contracts back in his possession, he couldn’t cut her loose. She might get angry and talk.
He’d send her to Europe, hire someone to seduce her, let her break it off with him. It was the only way to ensure his girlfriend remained silent.
Though even now she probably had no idea the seriousness of her mistake.
“Now, Clive, you were telling me where we are with Ellen McKenna.”
“She’s not budging. She’s more stubborn than John.”
“That’s not the right answer.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Mitch. I’ve been working on her for months. Hell, I got Travis to talk to her, and that was not easy. I had to lower our ask to only that two-hundred-acre plot between our land and the Coulters. He got on board, and she told him no.”
Mitchell was aware of the compromise, one he didn’t want to make, but it was the minimum area he needed to complete the project.
He would lose the contract if he didn’t get that plot of land. Of course, he’d offered to buy the entire property—it would be satisfying to take the land that his father could never purchase. But he only needed those two hundred acres.
He had to have those two hundred acres.
“What does she want?” Mitchell asked. “I’ve offered well over market value. I’ve offered for a small parcel.”
“According to Travis, she wants to grow.”
“Explain.”
“Grow or die, it was John’s motto and she’s zealous about it,” Clive said. “She has over a thousand acres now that she bought out most of the Mendoza property. She wants to double that.”
“There’s no way.”
“Well, Baldwin was going to sell to her, and so were the Coulters. The Coulters still can, but it won’t be contiguous since we have their eastern half.
Both those properties would have given her well over the thousand more she wants.
There are a few other small farms on the north she could offer for, but the land isn’t ready to farm, and it’s too dense for cattle.
She’d have to put in a lot of time and money. ”
“Double?” Mitchell didn’t understand why, after the death of her husband, Ellen McKenna would want to work herself to the bone to achieve next to nothing and for land that she had married into.
“Travis would be happy to sell off ninety percent of their land and just have horses, but he’s not going to push her.”
“He’s not on the deed?”
“No, it’s all in her name.”
“And her children would inherit,” he said thoughtfully.
Clive tensed. “Don’t go there.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not,” Mitchell lied. True, he didn’t want to hurt anyone. But he had to find a way to convince her that selling to him was the only way to survive.
“Look,” Clive said, leaning forward, “we follow through with my plan. It’s going to work.”
“It’s too slow. I need that plot.”
“I have an idea,” Clive said. “She wants to grow; we help her grow. She sells us those two hundred acres, we sell her part of Baldwin’s property we just bought, eight hundred acres. We keep the acres we need, give her part of what she wants, everyone is happy.”
“I’m not happy,” Mitchell said, but it was an idea. Maybe the only way he could salvage his plans—plans that were two years in the making. “But she needs to make the decision before five o’clock Sunday. We’re down to the wire. I need everything signed, sealed, and delivered by Monday morning.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to Travis—”
“No. Talk to Ellen directly.”
“She won’t talk to me. I was there this morning and Penny ran me off with a shotgun.”
“For shit’s sake, Clive, that old woman can’t hit the broadside of a barn. Go to Ellen, offer her the trade. She’s getting a great deal—I mean, it’s a fucking steal and I hate offering it. But we’re out of time. Draw up the contract and let me see it first, then get her to sign it.”
“Okay. Sounds good.” Clive rose.
“Clive,” Mitchell said sharply.
“Yep?”
“There is no other alternative, understand? Ellen McKenna will sign that contract. If I have to go over there myself to convince her, I will.”