Chapter 10 Holly
I might’ve been a little uneasy when I first walked into this dive bar, but as I settle in and chat with Luisa, I’m finding it kind of…
cozy. And chatting openly with Luisa is refreshing.
None of my co-workers actually like Griggs Johnson, but we can’t exactly go around talking shit about club members. You never know who might be listening.
“So, why exactly do you care about Griggs Johnson?” I ask, setting my empty shot of mezcal on the bar.
“Are you familiar with the Preserve at Lake Chiaha?” Luisa asks me.
“The Westlake development?” I clean the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. “He’s been obsessed with it for at least three years. Is it finally getting off the ground?”
“On the backs of hard-working people whose land he stole,” Luisa mutters.
My eyebrows shoot up. “Are you sure?” I ask, placing our now-empty food baskets one over the other, then cleaning the bar with my napkin.
Force of habit. “Griggs may be a scumbag with an overinflated ego, but he doesn’t need to steal.
Trust me, that man is closing deals left and right.
I know because almost all of them happen at the club. ”
“Unless he has no other option,” Luisa says.
She pulls out her notebook and starts telling me about the Castillos—a hard-working immigrant family who were set to inherit acres of land on what is now the Preserve at Lake Chiaha.
She explains how the land was taken out from under them, something about a fake company and a fake deed.
“Without their plot, there’s no way to access the land around the lake,” she explains. “But they refused to sell. Griggs wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
I nod, not all that surprised. “Not many people say no to Griggs,” I say with a defeated sigh. “What options do the Castillos have?”
“That’s where I was hoping you’d come in.” Luisa sighs. “When I still thought you were Griggs’s mistress and could get close enough to him to secure proof of his underhanded dealings.” Luisa hands me a heavy binder.
I riffle through the paper trail—legal documents, land surveys, financial spreadsheets.
“Griggs didn’t just steal the Castillos’ land”—Luisa points to a development plan—“he’s bribing local officials, getting environmental regulations tossed, and I’m pretty sure there’s something shady going on with his family’s foundation.”
“His family’s foundation? The one he just accepted an award for, from the mayor?” I ask. That’s low, even for Griggs.
“Same one,” Luisa says, lifting another mezcal to her lips.
“Problem is, I can’t follow the money trail unless I have someone on the inside.
Proof. Solid evidence a prosecutor will consider.
” She takes a long sip, then taps at her binder for emphasis.
“And—dammit all to hell—I thought you were in bed with him, and the perfect person to get it.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” I grimace. “But I don’t think you understand. Griggs is untouchable. He operates with absolute impunity. Also, he’d never share his secrets with a woman—not even one he’s in bed with.”
“So we’ve hit a dead end,” Luisa says, dropping her head into her hands.
“Yup,” I reply. “Tomorrow, you and I and the Castillos will wake up wondering when it’s all gonna fall apart.
Not Griggs, though. He’ll be headed out to his standing tee time with Judge Thacker and Jim Wade—just another day on the course.
Then he’ll sip Macallan at the Men’s Grill before a steak dinner with Anna-Byrd on the terrace. ”
Luisa lifts her head, eyes wide. “Wait, who’s Griggs playing with?” she asks, grabbing the binder and then leafing through the handwritten pages of her notebook.
“Billy Thacker and Jim Wade—you know them?”
“Hell no, I don’t know Griggs’s golf buddies,” she says, searching frantically for something in her notes. “But I know those names. Here, take a look.”
Judge Billy Thacker: Shady judge overseeing Castillo’s case. Why didn’t he subpoena the deed holding company?
Jim Wade:
Griggs’s family foundation money man
Chair of State’s Board of Natural Resources. Pushed through Lake Chiaha 100-year lease for nearly nothing. Why did the board go along with this?
Offshore Bank in Panama: Who in the world is Dudley Magruder? Is he laundering money for Griggs?
Recognition dawns on me as I read through the notes. “A Panamanian banker was golfing with Griggs a few days ago,” I exclaim. “I mean, he lives in Panama now, but his family’s Old Atlanta, and he grew up here.”
“Fuckers! All of ’em,” Luisa grumbles. “These assholes are all in on the scheme, I’m sure of it. They’re gonna cash in big when this development happens.”
“But Jim Wade? Really?” I say. “I mean, Judge Thacker is a corrupt boozehound. I wouldn’t rely on him to dispense justice on my behalf, that’s for sure.
” I shudder at the thought. “But Jim’s such a mild-mannered old guy.
” I read through Luisa’s notes, tapping at the page with one finger.
“I’m pretty sure he dedicated his retirement to protecting wildlife habitats. How can he be in on this scam?”
“The guy is a crooked SOB,” Luisa assures me. “They all are. If only we could get solid evidence of criminal activity—bribes, fraud, money laundering, embezzlement, racketeering. If we could just catch them in the act. But how? And where?”
“The where is easy,” I offer. “The Men’s Grill, in the locker room at the club—that’s where all the big deals go down.”
Luisa lets out a hollow laugh. “Okay, first, don’t even get me started on why there’s a grill in a locker room. Second, what would we do exactly? Turn ourselves into naked, sweaty white dudes in robes? That’s one makeover I’d like to avoid.”
A loud noise erupts from around the pool table. Distracted, we both look toward the hubbub just in time to see the bearded guy sweep a clump of dejected KAs’ money off the table.
“He’s good,” I say, awed. “You were right.”
“He’s also a criminal,” she responds matter-of-factly.
“When it comes down to it,” I tell her, gesturing toward the pool hustler with my beer bottle, “that man is no different from Griggs. Look at him. He’s cunning, smooth-talking, and charming as hell.
” Luisa quirks an eyebrow at me skeptically.
“The only difference between him and the Golden Boy of the Dogwood Hills Country Club is a clean shave, a pressed oxford, and a crisp pair of selvage denim jeans.”
“Can’t say I have a lot of experience with country club criminals,” Luisa says, still watching him closely. “But it would take a hell of a lot more than a makeover to turn that man into somebody like Griggs.”
We watch the pool hustler saunter casually away from the frat boys, grinning as he slides the wad of cash into his pocket.
And, just like that, a flash of intuition moves through me.
I absolutely could turn that guy into a country club boy with cash to burn, a cocky kid who’s desperate to prove himself a man.
“Wanna bet?” I ask, leaning back and folding my arms across my chest, as my utter dejection turns into hope.
“Bet on what?” Luisa says, turning to me.
“That we can make that pool hustler into a country club boy,” I say, feeling bolder by the second.
Luisa looks at me like I have three heads. “You’ve lost your mind, Holly.”
“He’ll be in and out so fast,” I argue. “It will work. I know the place. I know the people. I know the rules. I know them all—even better than Griggs does. I know the front and back of the house,” I insist, undeterred.
“Plus, with your investigative skills and my know-how, we can easily make him into a trust fund baby. We’ll slide him into that golf foursome as a potential angel investor.
In and out, with the proof we need.” I snap my fingers beside my face for effect.
Ginny leans in to top off Luisa’s mezcal. She nods appreciatively and takes a long sip. I’ll say this about Luisa: The woman sure can handle her liquor.
“A pool-hustler makeover?” she scoffs, putting the glass down. “That’s your brilliant idea? Why would they let a stranger in on their secrets?”
“This wouldn’t be just any stranger,” I say.
“It would be a gullible young guy with tons of money to dump into their project. You have to understand—for Griggs, enough is never enough. I’ll bet anything, if there’s a big pile of cash sitting in front of him, under an impressionable young angel investor, he won’t be able to resist.”
“It’s not a terrible plan.” Luisa shrugs. “To find someone we can send inside for intel, but why not someone from their world? Someone already connected to them?”
“Have you lost your mind?” I exclaim. “No one—and I mean no one—from that world would risk double-crossing Griggs Johnson.” I shake my head. “You have to believe me. We need a complete outsider.”
I watch as Luisa thinks. I can see the wheels turning in her brain.
“Okay, let’s just suspend disbelief for a moment and pretend we can find some outsider to say he wants to invest. And I don’t mean Lumberjack Guy over there.
” She gestures toward the pool table. “There’s no actual cash.
Just a guy made over to seem like he has money.
How exactly are we supposed to finance this grand scheme? ”
It comes to me instantly, thanks to Janey embarking on a long and painfully irrelevant spill-the-tea session about Kasey and Miles Ketchum this morning before the Junior League luncheon.
Apparently, they have suddenly quit the club and relocated to Scottsdale, Arizona.
Clearly, Kasey Ketchum won’t be coming for that gleaming bracelet sitting in the safe in my office at the club, and I’m sure as hell not returning it to Griggs.
I tell Luisa about the abandoned bracelet, and watch as the corners of her lips turn down. “We can pawn it,” I say. “And don’t you worry. We’ll get a good price. As it happens, I’ve got tons of experience.”
“With pawnshops?” she asks, visibly surprised.
“How do you think I financed the first year of Aidan’s life?
” I lean forward in my chair, eager to prove my chops.
“I sold off the designer deb gown I never got a chance to wear, along with the family pearls.” I’m ticking items off with my fingers.
“I got a great price for the huge diamond cross pendant my darling mother gave me when I turned sixteen. The trick is to never let them take gemstones to the back room. They’ll try to—”
“But that was your stuff,” she cuts me off, exasperated. “You’re proposing that we steal a sapphire bracelet,” she says through a grimace. “Or, more precisely, commit larceny.”
“Okay, Miss Goody Two-Shoes,” I shoot back. “If you saw a twenty-dollar bill on the street, would you lean down and pick it up?”
“I wouldn’t get jail time for picking up twenty bucks out of the gutter,” she scoffs.
“Here’s the thing,” I launch in, desperate to make her see that, while this plan may not exactly be legal, it’s also not necessarily immoral.
“Griggs bought this bracelet for a woman he slept with a few times and then discarded like an old pair of sneakers, and now she’s long gone, starting fresh.
” Luisa tries to break in and say something, but I hold up my hand to stop her.
“I know what you’re thinking, but believe me, she does not need the money.
So, the way I see it, this is just good old-fashioned karma, which can be—as we all know—a real bitch. ”
“I’m not so sure that argument will hold up in court,” she says, gazing for a long while into her almost empty glass. “But it’s not like we have another option. And, frankly, part of me loves the idea of using Griggs’s dirty deeds against him.”
“Then it’s settled,” I say, trying to sound resolute.
I grab my beer and take a long gulp. Suddenly, I’m a rebellious teenager again.
I’ll be damned if I’m gonna fulfill my mother’s prophecy and let her win.
I’m a good mother and I’m keeping my job.
“But hey,” I offer. “If you have a better plan for getting justice for the Castillos, getting your career back on track, and taking down Griggs, I’m all ears. ”
“I’m fucking gonna regret this,” she groans. “Where do we find an angel investor?”
I smile slowly. “He’s our angel. I can feel it in my gut.” Luisa raises a brow as if to say, Lumberjack Guy? I nod vigorously as she narrows her gaze in his direction, possibly considering our options, or lack thereof. “I’ll bet you anything.”
This makes her laugh. “I don’t do open-ended bets.”
I glance over Luisa’s shoulder, where a bright orange poster announces Karaoke Night every Thursday. “Loser comes back to the Road Queen to sing karaoke,” I say. “Winner chooses the song.”
A full-bellied laugh bursts out of her. “Screw it,” she says. “You’re on.”