Chapter Thirty-Seven #2
Ellen McKenna needed to sign that damn contract. She needed to give him what he wanted. He was trading far more valuable property for those two hundred acres! It made no sense that she wouldn’t take the deal. No sense!
He rubbed his eyes. When the pot was half brewed, he jerked out the pot, drips of coffee steaming as they hit the hot burner. He poured some into his mug, then put the pot back to finish brewing.
If he didn’t hear from her today, he would have Presley forge her signature and electronically plant the documents in the recorder’s office. He’d bribe the recorder to file the originals. He’d done it before; he’d do it again.
He just hadn’t done anything like that to the McKennas. They had never been pushovers, and he hadn’t wanted a legal battle.
But by the time they figured it out, the project would already be well on its way, and they wouldn’t be able to stop it.
In fact, he’d deposit money in her bank account to “prove” she had taken the deal. On paper, it would be true, and what court would believe otherwise?
Risky, true, but it could work.
“Dad, I was looking at the security cameras last night and that guy you hired was still at the Coulters’ house at two in the morning.”
He whirled around. His daughter stood there in baggy sweats and a faded T-shirt that read FUN FACT: I DON’T CARE.
“What? What are you talking about?” He had told her over and over that he hated the ridiculous shirts she wore, but she ignored him. The lack of respect annoyed him.
“The guy from Louisiana?”
He froze. Presley wasn’t supposed to know about any of that. Well, she knew the big picture, but he had never introduced her to Brock Jones, and the man had only been to his house once. How did Presley know what car he drove?
She rolled her eyes, and that made him snap, “Show some respect.”
“Dad,” she said coolly, “I think you should—”
“I don’t really care what you think, Presley.”
She glared at him, eyes narrowed, turned on her bare feet and walked out of the kitchen.
Dammit!
“Presley, you know that’s not what I meant.”
She didn’t come back. Well, shit, another woman in his life who was mad at him.
He’d make it up to her. He was just tired, frustrated, and angry.
If people just did what he said when he said it, and did it right, they wouldn’t be in this situation.
He pulled out his cell phone, no signal. Damn towers. He took his coffee to his office and called Tom Garza from his desk phone. The man had slept in the apartment over the barn last night because the roads were flooded, but it still took him five rings to answer that line.
“Yeah,” Tom said, his voice thick with sleep.
“I need you in my office now.”
“Okay,” Tom said and hung up.
Clive was standing in the doorway. How did his older brother always look so chipper in the morning. “Who were you talking to?”
Mitchell didn’t answer him. He didn’t want Clive around for this meeting. It was bad enough he’d already questioned him about Greg Baldwin’s shooting. Clive was the weak link, and Mitchell needed to get him out of the house for the next few days.
“I’ve been ignoring calls from Dad,” Mitchell said. “I think he’s lonely. Can you go keep him company for a couple of days? Maybe take Presley with you, talk to her about going back to college in the fall.”
“Why are you trying to get rid of me?” Clive asked.
“I’m not.”
“What’s going on, Mitch?”
“Nothing is going on except that Ellen McKenna is a stubborn bitch who hasn’t signed the best deal she’s going to get in her life.”
“Yesterday was stressful. I’ll, um, go over this afternoon. See where her head is at.”
“I know where it’s at. In the sand, ignoring progress and opportunity. I’ll talk to her, because you certainly haven’t been able to get anything accomplished.”
Clive bristled, but Mitchell didn’t care.
“She doesn’t like you,” Clive said. “You’ll never convince her to sign. Hell, she doesn’t even like me anymore because I’ve been pushing so hard.”
“We’re running out of time.”
“Maybe you should tell her the plan, offer her a stake in it.”
He stared at his brother as if he had grown a second head. “Just go away,” he said.
Clive reddened, then left.
Mitchell drank his coffee, now lukewarm, and grimaced.
He needed to think. He had less than forty-eight hours to turn this around. He’d find a way—he had to. Or he’d lose millions of dollars. All the land he bought was practically worthless if he couldn’t get that last two hundred acres.
Offer her a stake in it …
Never. Not the McKennas. He’d rather offer David Sudduth a stake than anyone named McKenna.
He felt hot and cold at the same time. Sudduth would laugh in his face, then bleed him dry. If he knew how desperate Mitchell was, that there were time constraints, he’d make Mitchell pay through the nose.
Tom came in, unshaven, dark circles under his eyes.
“Shut the door,” Mitchell said as Tom was already in the process of shutting it. “Lay everything on the table. All the dirt.”
Tom sat down slowly. “There’s nothing.”
“There’s always something.”
“Not with the McKennas. Not with anyone who works for them. I’m done, Mitch. I’m tired. I’m going home as soon as they open Mule Run.”
“You’re not done. Do I need to remind you—”
“You don’t need to remind me about anything.
” Tom stood. “The people you hired took the Mendozas hostage. Nearly got Ellen’s girl, Avery, killed.
I just got word from my buddy in the sheriff’s department that she’s home, but she was tied to a fucking steering wheel and left in a ditch.
She’s the same age as my son! Dammit, Mitch, I did shit for you I’m not proud of.
I’ll tell you this: You come after me, it’s mutually assured destruction. I go down, you’ll go down harder.”
“Do not threaten me, Garza.”
“I’m not threatening you. I’m quitting.”
He walked out.